Londoners Magazine

Allow me to make a confession. I am a vegetarian. Meat has not passed my lips for well over 12 years. Stop sniggering at the back.

There tend to be two reactions when people discover this, either:

“Oh, I hardly eat any meat, except chicken, and ham, and y’know, the occasional steak,” or,
“If we were all vegetarians cows would roam the streets. Is that what you want? COWS in the STREET? Anyway, what’s your handbag made out of?”

Funny thing is, I rarely condemn anybody for what they choose to eat. You can munch whatever you like, the only things I’m uncomfortable with are foie gras, value eggs and those who exchanged their personality for veganism. I might not think meat is right for me but if you are down with it, then fair play to you.

So why aren’t I given the same respect back?

I’m having a barbeque this Sunday. It’s to celebrate my birthday. As it’s only once a year I have ventured to suggest that really, in my heart of hearts, I’d prefer it if people only brought veggie food ‘round. I admit, this is selfish. But it’s selfish greed: if people are bringing treats around I want to be able to enjoy them. However, my request has been greeted with dismay and outrage. One of my friends has even claimed that she doesn’t feel like she’s eaten unless she’s had meat.

Vegetarianism is never something I’ve shoved down people’s throats, metaphorically. But, if you come to my house, you will literally only get veggie food to chew.

My handbag, incidentally, is made of plastic.