Wednesday, 5 December 2007
Tuesday, 4 December 2007
This is the kind of re-issue that Off Tha Cuff likes. In my opinion these should be in constant rotation. I'm not entirely sure of the colour ways, I personally prefer the cleaner, more crisp whites, blacks, and blues when it comes to a running shoe, especially when the design is as busy as on the Huarache's. I had a pair of these when I was a kid, and I remember going out and playing football in them for hours. Inevitably the toe completely came away from the shoe and they quickly began to fall apart. Not long after I'd got them I was already asking my mum for a new pair of trainers. "Have you been playing football in them?" I said I hadn't, and she beleived me! A couple days later she marched me down the shops and, using all her motherly attributes, convinced the shop they had sold us a faulty pair of shoes, so they gave me a brand new pair for free! Those Huarache's never felt so good. I think I managed to spin that one out a couple more times before the shop and my mum got wise to it. But what can you do, that inner sock makes them so comfortable to have a kick about in!
Sunday, 2 December 2007
The last time I felt the unforgiving urge for food at some un-godly hour, I found myself somewhere I stumble upon all too often these days. This place may seem like a normal bagel shop, where the little beauties come rolling, warm and soft out of the oven, and are then sliced and ceremoniously stuffed with anything from salt beef and cream cheese to chocolate and peanut butter. But my suspicions force me to suspect this Brick Lane bagel shop was in fact built on ancient ley lines that seek to remove all normal sense of thought and behavior. The realist in me quickly persuades my suspicious side that this lack of sensibility among the bagel shops occupants is more likely due to the crack epidemic of the 1980's. However, my brief flirtation with the idea that a druid once built this place in exact alignment with Stonehenge tells me I fit in perfectly with the other clientèle. As I wait impatiently, for mash head after absolute mash head to deliberate over the relative merits of sausages and/or bacon, a man asks me politely for a cigarette. I oblige, and watch as he crumbles the tobacco up in his hand. My assumption was that this was for a spliff he might later roll. "Enjoy the zoot" I said. He replied with complete nonchalance "No, no, I only smoke crack and heroin, weed makes me paranoid". Go eat a bagel on brick lane, they taste of alternate reality.