I used to be a vain man but these days I do not gaze into the mirror admiringly any more, for there is now little to admire. So it is often an unwelcome surprise when I see my reflection when I walk into the lift at Waitrose. Instead of the dapper man iI imagine myself to be, I see an insane pensioner with hair all over the place. (Do not rebuke me for taking the lift at Waitrose. I have enough of a hill, and stairs, to climb once I get out.) What I need is a haircut; and every week this goes on the hair gets a little madder. Yesterday it looked so bad I wondered how they managed to let me stay in the shop. I know Brighton is a tolerant town but really?
There is a slight problem. Two, really. The first is that my favoured barbers is quite a shlepp away. This is for historical reasons. Five years ago, when I moved here, I went for a long stroll through the town – all the way to Kemp Town. I was much younger in those days.
But as I was walking down St James’s Street I caught my reflection in a shop window and realised that it wasn’t Doc Brown from Back to the Future, but me, and I happened to be passing Ei8hty Ei8ght Barbers (for that is how they spell it, 88 being their address), and something about it looked welcoming, so in I went, and the barber available was Claudia, and she gave me – for the standard cost of a haircut for a gentleman – the best haircut I had ever had.
Of course, there is not much to cutting my hair. It’s pretty much a simple removal operation. I had a girlfriend during lockdown and after about a year my hair was going really lunatic so she borrowed a pair of clippers and it only took her two goes to master the technique. But there’s more to it than that and Claudia is still the best, and I can’t go anywhere else, it would feel like adultery.
But the thing is that Brighton has more hairdressers per square foot than anywhere else I have seen in my life. The only thing it has more of are tattoo parlours. But I am Brighton’s Amazing Untattooed Man so I can’t use them.
I typed “barbers brighton” on Google maps and there are 19 in a mile-wide radius from West Hill. There are three in a row in Seven Dials alone. After that they kind of peter out, but seriously, how many barbers/hairdressers can a town sustain? And it always feels odd, when walking from my place to Ei8hty Ei8ht, to have to pass about a dozen of them and go “No, not that one”, for I have to go there; it is the law. Anyway I can’t afford one today, not even at their reasonable prices. This magazine does not pay, we do it for love.
It’s that grey time of year, that stay under the duvet time between autumn with its romantic golden leaves and winter with its Bing Crosby snow. There’s nothing to like about this time of year – and this year, blimey.
Every time you open the front door it’s like some outtake from a post-apocalyptic “Day After Tomorrow” type film. Turn on the telly and there’s David Attenborough looking at a forlorn polar bear standing on a lump of ice, a lump of ice which was once a block of ice but which would now find employment in a large vodka and tonic.
Turn on the news and somewhere else is under water. Last night on the news there was a story about a town on a small Italian island that had been swept away by a tidal wave of mud created by the most rain since whenever it was that records began. No one knows when records actually began, but it was a long time ago. There’s the cost of living crisis. Recession. Inflation. More rain than there’s rain, all that.
Back in the old days I’d say to My Fine Wife “Come on, let’s just get away” and a couple of hours later we’d be at Gatwick holding a ticket that said “Somewhere sunny”. And in truth there’s a part of me where that impulse still lives. When friends say “Oh we’re off to Morocco”… there’s a part of me that reaches for my new post-Brexit blue passport (which has still got blimmin foreign writing on it – really, was Brexit for nothing?) because here it’s dark and cold and it’s wetter than ever since records began – I mean really, how much rain? – and Morocco’s nice, but I don’t know, you can’t really do that anymore, can you? Can you? No you can’t. Not when there are small Italian towns being swept away.
But it’s tempting, isn’t it. When you’re living in difficult times, what you need is something to cheer you up, something to make you smile, something to fill you with joy, with wonder, with awe. Something that would make you feel life was just better.
That was the train of thought when I turned round and looked at Pickle. Pickle is our new puppy dog, our new 12-year-old rescue, and without wanting to cast doubt on his previous owners, safe to say Pickle’s life has taken a turn for the better.
There are small clues. For example, we take him for walks. To you this may be a small thing, being taken for a walk. But to Pickle, this is a revelation. Similarly, playing with a ball. Not sure Pickle had ever seen a ball before. He still doesn’t quite know what to do with it, but Mum and Dad say it’s fun and that’s good enough for Pickle.
As antidotes to the grey go, Pickle is perfect. How can we sprinkle a bit of Pickle’s joy over the grey? Not by going to Gatwick. Not when there are small Italian towns getting swept away.
But why are we talking about this? We should be talking about Christmas and with due respect to Sam’s column on page 7, we like Christmas. Drinks, chocolates, that song by The Waitresses… Baileys on your cornflakes. Another bottle of Old Spice. Eat, drink and be merry. Or eat, drink and fall asleep. Maybe play charades or that one where you stick a piece of paper on your head and people have to guess who you are. Whatever you do, be more Pickle and have a ball. And remember, every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings.
Well, you can do rock climbing in the mountains, but generally when you go to the mountains, it’s more… It’s not as technical as rock. You can climb up a mountain, depending on the mountain, but it’s not so technical that you need loads and loads of equipment like you do with rock climbing. With mountains you don’t necessarily need a harness, whereas he’ll be in a harness…”
It wasn’t a conversation I was expecting to have in a fabric and upholstery shop, but then again “And we don’t know what happened, but he ended up in the back of an articulated lorry” isn’t a sentence I expected to write when transcribing the interview tape.
The Whistler is with Denise Robins, wife of Adrian Robins, they of the fabric and upholstery shop of the same name in Guildford Road. We’re surrounded by rolls of beautiful fabrics and textiles and just lovely stuff you just want to touch and cover yourself with.
Adrian’s not here – “Adrian’s off rock climbing in Scotland at the moment” – and Denise is only here because she’s done something unnecessary to her knee. “I won’t climb this year. I think… maybe the winter, late winter. But I think it’s a good six months.”
It’s a nice contrast, isn’t it? The delicacy of the fabric world and the out and about mountaineering and all that.
“We’re passionate about the outdoors, which is quite funny because everybody expects us to be passionate about our home, and you know, we’ve got a nice home, don’t get me wrong, we’ve got a nice home. But it’s just a nice home. I wouldn’t say we were passionate about our home and about everything being just so, that’s not really who we are.
As much as they love fabrics, it’s the white knuckle stuff that’s in their blood. “We did loads of that. We still do. We were away every weekend in various clubs. We met in the Brighton Explorers Club, we were in the Sussex Mountaineering Federation, we were in Hastings Rock Club, the Brighton Excelsior Club. We were doing all that, all the time working, that’s what we did. Yeah. And then when I was 27, I had our first child. So I kind of stopped all the mountaineering and stuff then because I just did stuff with the kids. Adrian carried on I just thought I was way too valuable to hurt myself!”
Do you still cycle and..
“Yeah, yeah, mountain bike. Adrian had a very bad cycle accident 15 years ago and he was told he would never work again.”
Wow, what happened?
“He’s like the bionic man. He was training, he was doing triathlons at the time, and we don’t know what happened, but he ended up in the back of an articulated lorry. He broke his back, very badly punctured his lung, broke lots of ribs, sustained a head injury because his helmet split into and was in intensive care. He had to have surgery on his back, so had bone taken from his hip, put into his back and he’s got big metal rods in his back holding his back together. And slowly, being Adrian and because he’s so fit, he got back to swimming and, and then wanted to work again. So he only actually ended up having less than a year off. And then he was back at work.” And now he’s off rock climbing in Scotland. Crampons and ropes and all that.
Denise is Brighton through and through. “Yeah my lot go back to the 16th century. My great, I think it’s great great great grandfather, was the last map person off the chain pier, the last person off the chain pier before it collapsed. He was head of maintenance or locked it all up or something. But it’s mentioned in a few books, because my maiden name is Fogden in which is an old Sussex name – and “Adrian Robins” the shop has been on Guildford Road since 1983.
“No, no, we didn’t have this one. Adrian rented the shop next door for two years. He’d finished an apprenticeship in town in upholstery, and then he set up on his own, and by time we’d got together this came up for sale, and he desperately wanted his own shop. So we sold my flat and bought this. When we bought it, it had been rented out to students as individual bedsits each room for about 10 years. It was utterly hideous. hideous, you know, it was it was so funny because we, you know, we were so young and people would come along and I just, I’d look at it and they just didn’t know what to say everybody thought we were completely mad. Because we had no money. And we bought this wreck. And, and they just say the word that was said all the time was potential.
1983. That’s a fair while ago. The area must have changed hugely since then. “There were lots of shops which have gone. We always fought to keep the shops because once they’re gone, they’re gone. They never come back”
Do you remember what other shops they were on this stretch?
“There was a restorer. That was a few doors down. There was a TV shop. Right on the corner. There was a basket making. That was a basket making shops and guys sat in there making cat baskets all day, and then at the top on the corner was like a wholesale butchers. Actually, this had been a butcher at some stage before because it had all butchers hooks in the ceiling.”
Or maybe that was just for the students.
Denise, it should be said, is a great interviewee in that she likes talking. And she’s a terrible interviewee – because she likes talking.
“Do you want to know about the shop?”
OK, let’s talk about fabrics. Do you design your own fabrics? “We used to do a lot of that years ago, but I like to advise rather than design. I like to tap into people’s personal taste, and then help them look good.
“There are certain things that we don’t do much, for instance and I don’t have many glitzy books here. They don’t sell in Brighton, I think there’s an understated look they want, people want things to look really nice, but not in a flashy way.
“If I was going to say what’s the best seller, it would be probably plain and natural weaves. Very natural. So cotton linen blends walls, things like that. But sadly, plain, actually.”
And what’s your favourite?
“I love William Morris. I really like William Morris. I like prints. I like bold prints. So yeah, I mean, it’s you know, it’s funny when we were redoing our sofa Adrian said ‘Why don’t we just have plain velvet’ and I was like ‘No. No way’, you know because… we just shouldn’t.”
Do you often find yourself talking to customers and they’ll pick something out and you think to yourself ‘Are you sure about that?’
“Yes, and I would say that because I really want people to be happy with what we’ve done. I’d be mortified if we did some work and then people didn’t like it, they felt that they’ve made a mistake, because it’s a lot of money. I mean, I’ll say to people, it’s not like a dress you bought that you can hide in the wardrobe and pretend you didn’t buy it. It’s a sofa, it’s a bay full of curtains. Once you’ve got it, you’ve got it.
“If you came in here, I would look at how you’re dressed and it would give me an idea of what to pull out. Some people don’t think they’ve got any idea, some people don’t even think they’ve got any taste, but everybody has. I find that quite fascinating.”
Have you noticed over the years, how tastes have changed? “People are far more conscious, environmentally conscious. I’m being asked for things that are natural, all natural fibres. I’ve got some (fabric) books that are made from recycled fabrics and things like that. Also I think the air miles of fabrics, people are more conscious of that, where things are made.”
It’s time to go. You don’t want to take up too much of people’s time so a bit of small talk while I pack up…
Good luck with the physio and I hope you get out and about sooner rather than later.
“It’s OK. I’m not going to get back into it till the end of the year, and until then I’ll do all my water sports.”
I thought you were resting up?
“I’ve bought a paddleboard. And I’m a sea swimmer and try to do lots of sea swimming.”
Clearly we have different ideas about resting up.
“Yeah, I bought a dinghy and I’ve started sailing, so I’m a member of the Brighton Sailing Club as well. And I like to do some surfing if I can kneel OK.”
So there’s mountaineering, cycling, surfing, the dinghy…. Anything boxes not ticked?
“I’ve always been a bit of a thrill seeker. So… I’ve never done any diving and then somebody mentioned to me that where I’m going on holiday there’s a dive school… “
Philip Lymbery, global CEO of Compassion in World Farming is busy on his laptop as I gaze out of the Eurostar window at the blur of green farmland between Calais and Brussels. “Where are the cows?” I ask idly. “I haven’t seen any cows for hours.”
It’s 2017 and Philip and I are on the way to the European Parliament where he’ll host a conference about the impact of factory farming on the planet, which I’ll record for an episode of his podcast that I produce called Stop the Machine. Philip sighs and tells me a story of where the cows have gone, about the gradual and largely hidden industrialisation of some of Europe’s most famous foods including Parmegiano Reggiano and Grana Padana which is produced by cows who never see the light of day.
Five years later, we’re chatting again about his new book, Sixty Harvests Left “a warning from the United Nations”, a clarion call to get animals back on the land before it’s too late. I ask him about the outcome of the report, Hard Cheese that Compassion in World Farming published about that trip of his through the Po Valley to investigate the real story behind our most popular cheeses.
“It was about raising the issue that cows belong in fields rather than spending a lifetime in barns, sometimes even tethered”, he told me. “Some of them can’t even walk around the barns. We have started a dialogue with the producers in the consortium behind Parmesan and Grana Padana cheeses, but progress is slow. We need to keep up the pressure.”
It’s more than just the massively important welfare issue; “I believe they’re misleading consumers who believe that the cows are living more bucolic lives. But it’s also that this intensification of farming practice is causing wider harms to the countryside. So things need to change.”
Philip has painted an apocalyptic vision of the impact of food production on the planet in his books Farmageddon and Dead Zone: Where The Wild Things Were. In Sixty Harvests Left, he picks up the soil where farmed animals once grazed, naturally fertilising the land and providing rich pickings for the bugs and worms, and shows us what our junk food culture has done to it.
“Our soil has been disappearing at such a rate that the UN has warned if we carry on like we are, then we have just 60 years left before our soils are gone,” Philip tells me for my podcast Cooking the Books with Gilly Smith. “No soil, no food. Game over.’
Philip is one of the most important campaigners against factory farming. He and I have worked together on his podcasts Stop the Machine and The Big Table, and he’s appeared with me on the delicious. podcast and Right2Food, the voice of the Food Foundation in a bid to change the food system. He’s clear about the relationship between buying supermarket BOGOF chicken in shrink wrapped trays, burgers from junk food outlets that contribute to the destruction of rain forests, the lungs of the earth as Philip calls them, to grow grain to feed cattle that should be naturally fertilising our soils.
“It’s all inherently connected and not in a good way through factory farming. Animals like pigs, chickens and hens have been taken out of pastures and woodlands and kept in cages. And that industrial production of animals is usually accompanied by the industrial production of crops using chemical pesticides and fertilisers and monocultures of cereals and soya and similar crops.
And in that transaction, what happens is that intensive production drives out biodiversity. It means that the bees that are needed for the pollination of our crops see their numbers plummet. It means that while birds and other animals disappear, the forests are wiped away. And as soils go into decline, so does the future of our food system.’
But Philip’s book is hopeful; if we change the way we eat and stop buying factory farmed meat, get the animals back on the land to naturally fertilise the soil, nature will do the rest, bringing the bugs and insects, the worms that aerate it and bring the life back.
“I do think that there is a portfolio of solutions. Eating more plants, eating less but better meat, milk and eggs making sure by better making sure it comes from pasture fed free range organic. So broadly speaking, regenerative food sources, I think that’s really important.”
Buying better sourced food, eating 30% less meat or going vegan or vegetarian – there will be enough meat eaters to support the high welfare farmers – is a no-brainer and reduces the weekly food bill. But it’s not enough; we need to be asking every restaurant waiter or chef where they source their meat, fish and dairy. At a particularly sparkly launch this summer, I asked the chefs where their ingredients came from. They hadn’t a clue. I wrote to the PR company. No reply.
We’re blessed with great restaurants in Brighton, and most of them shout loud on their menus and their social about their ethical sourcing.
The Whistler 