Vegging out: A month without meat
MY childhood was made a living hell by the fruit-and-veg set — from the Morrissey worshipping pal who espoused that meat was murder while bedecked in a leather jacket, to the mother of a mate who lectured my own ma about never allowing her kids eat meat (while draped in a rabbit pelt), to my best friend’s flirtation with veganism which turned her into the Norma Desmond of Spelt, flying into seismic rages when she ran out of soymilk.
(The limited options for vegans at this time meant that she came dangerously close to unconsciously coupling with an eating disorder.)
