Wednesday, June 1, 2011

Delifonseca "Deli of the Year" Bid

Candice Fonseca opened the Original Delifonseca in 2006 in an effort to pull Liverpool out of a culinary ennui and make it an exciting place to be for foodies and Bon Vivants. Last year the original city centre shop and restaurant on Stanley Street was joined by the Dockside branch at Brunswick Quays; affectionately referred to by the staff as "the Mothership" and "the Space Cruiser" respectively, the two venues offer the people of Liverpool local, seasonal produce as well as international classics. As the business (and my waistline) expands, the passion and interest in good food gathers momentum; and despite those bracing gusts that roll in along the Mersey and the equally inclement financial situation, the availability of good food is keeping the people of Liverpool warm.

The size of the Dockside store has allowed Delifonseca to stock a wider variety of produce and cater to the whims of any chef, fair-weather or die-hard, any proud host as well the busy, the lazy and those who just want a solid lunch with all the food groups included. As well as all the take-away brigade, we also have a loyal and growing crowd of restaurant frequenters. Dockside's size also means that we have been able to strike up a partnership with the award winning Broughs butchers, who have proved a delightful addition to the shop, the restaurant, catering and some superb events.

The increased floorspace have given us the opportunity to stock over 80 different cheeses from all over the curds-and-whey enthused world, as well as a mind bending variety of olives and delicious deli snacks. At Dockside we have started to reach a new food audience and the air of discovery is palpable and all around, we try and inspire with recipe cards placed in strategic places and ideas shared between customers, front of house and kitchen staff informs and develops knowledge, expertise and most importantly: A sense of fun.

Mia Tagg 2011.

Thursday, August 5, 2010



“How Soon Is Now?” is the 6th track on The Smith’s second studio album “Meat Is Murder” released in February 1985. Originally, “How Soon Is Now?” was not included on the British and European issues of the album. This seems odd in hindsight, but at the time, Jeff Travis and Rough Trade thought that “How Soon Is Now?” wasn’t sufficiently representative of the band’s overall sound.

“How Soon Is Now?” is arguably The Smiths’ most enduring track, the fact that it was covered by Russian pseudo-lesbian pop-sensation, t.A.T.u. in 2003, must have ensured that everyone in the universe has now had the opportunity to enjoy the bombastic anguish that so has come to define The Smiths. The song’s popularity is on one hand peculiar, as it does not conform to the usual pop structure, however “How Soon is Now?’ does provide the drama that has proven irresistible to many pop enthusiasts: I myself am one of those who cannot resist a minor key element in pop; especially in combination with a relentlessly happy beat. To me, and many others, this juxtaposition of happy and sad transcends the normal, everyday-pop-happy and exalts the pedestrian anxious sulk to the divine status of melancholy: the noblest of all emotions.

Apart from all of this, “How Soon is Now?” is a very good question. Often dismissed as childishly obstinate by adults who have lost their capacity for critical thinking and theoretical analysis, “How Soon is Now?” in contrast to “Are We There Yet?” is not a stupid question, and while the latter query should be met with nothing but ridicule, the first should be tackled in earnest; and so we shall.

Newtonians would say that “now” can only exist the moment it was conceived and is therefore redundant before the word can be uttered; that the notion of “now” itself is subjective and the word meaningless. Some more recent studies have shown that humans share an idea of “now” which lasts up to approximately 10 seconds. However, people misuse “now” to a staggering extent in order to lubricate and expedite social as well as professional situations; making use of our shared perception of “now”, yet simultaneously making use of its nebulous semantic nature.

It is apparent that in addition to all his other anxieties, someone less shy (but probably very vulgar) led Morrissey to believe that something would happen “now”. All M wants to know is what the vulgar person meant by that. When all you have to look forward to is nothing in particular, the prospect of anything happening “now” really is exciting. Especially when you have, as Morrissey clearly indicates he has, waited too long already.

But what is it that Morrissey wants? What does he yearn for so? We know that he wants to know what some vulgar type means by “now”, but why is the complex, opaque, conceptual semantics of a term indicating the temporally immediate on his mind at all? What could possibly inspire an individual to delve into a bottomless linguistic pit like this? Could it be a desperate loneliness generated, perpetuated and exacerbated by a crippling shyness?

The short answer is yes.

To be continued…

Mia Tagg ©

Wednesday, May 19, 2010


Since when was it OK to walk around in public with your knickers on display under your tights? This exact lack of skirt featured in my childhood as a frequently recurring nightmare in which I would go to school as usual only to discover that I had omitted to put my skirt on. This meant that my underpants were fully visible to my peers, this understandably caused much mirth to them and much mortification to me. Therefore I cannot fathom why young women seem to willfully put themselves in this situation, do they not know that footless tights aren’t an acceptable substitute for leggings? To this I would also like to add that unless your physique is comparable Claudia Schiffer’s in 1997, leggings are no substitute for trousers.

Today, on my way down Bold Street in Liverpool, there was a girl walking in front of me whose wide blue and white striped underpants were fully visible under her footless tights. She had coupled this highly questionable lower half with an elegant biscuit coloured satin top, resting perfectly on her hips, leaving her buttocks for all to behold. It didn’t help matters that her posterior was of the flat, low-slung ilk, yet especially jarring was that the unfortunately shaped rump was suspended in nautical, cotton knickers with a shiny, black nylon mesh stretched over it. Worst of all, the seam of the tights, slightly askew, was worming its way up along the girl’s crack, where her hungry buns were slowly devouring the gusset of her sensible pants. Why parade your wardrobe malfunctions in broad daylight?

It is wrong, right? I mean, I don’t mind an accidental flash of someone’s pants, find a VPL reassuring, and if someone is capable of just sporting pants and nothing else with confidence, that is more than fine; but if you are going to risk a pant/tights combo, please keep the pants on the outside and at least pretend that you are doing it on purpose as a homage to a superhero.

Mia Tagg 2010 ©

Mia Tagg 2010 ©

Friday, January 29, 2010


Someone called "Favour" sent me a message at my BadFormat! account today:

At 2:32pm on January 29, 2010, favour said…
"Compliment of the day,how is your health including work and business over there, guess fine. My name is favour, in search of a man who understands love as trust and faith rather seeing it as a way of fun but a mature man with good sense of humor after reading your profile at ( ,in fact,i derive interest on you so contact me directly with this email address and here is it( i believe we can start from here, awaiting to hear from you to enable me send my pictures to you for further introduction. kisses with love and cherish you."

I know I'm getting on a bit, but a "mature man"? Shall I reply to him and get pictures?

Thursday, January 28, 2010


St Valentine, a kiss on a card
a hearts outline mapped on
a bare arm.

A Shitty bunch of flowers,
two years too late.
A heart shaped balloon,

Bin bags and a door step,
a still born kitten,
a cellar full of rats.

The four fat tyres which
you slowly swallowed over
the past five years.

Ya ma, when i had her.
Your face, under a brick.


Sunday, January 10, 2010



“Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?” is the third single and the 9th track taken from Culture Club’s debut album, “Kissing to be Clever” from 1982. It was not intended for release by the band and Boy George (A.K.A. George O’Dowd), the singer and lyricist of Culture Club, even threatened to leave the band if the record label insisted on releasing the song as its content is deeply personal to him. Controversially, Boy George and Culture Club’s drummer, Jon Moss had a clandestine affair for 6 years, a situation which often left Boy George feeling deeply hurt and compromised. With these facts in mind, I shall now attempt to unravel the true meaning of Boy George’s lyrics and answer the question “Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?” once and for all.

There are two radio edits of “Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?”, one starts softly with an acapella intro: “Give me time, To realise my crime, Let me love and steal, I have danced inside your eyes, How can I be real?” By contrast the other version launches straight into the chorus after two staccato chords as introduction, akin to two swift punches to the chest and immediately confronts you with two loaded questions: “Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?” and “Do You Really Want to Make Me Cry?”

Questions which cannot fail to affect; we have all been hurt by someone in our past, some of you less fortunate individuals may be hurting as you read this; it is not unusual. If we consider Boy George’s plight at the time of writing “Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?” we can all surely sympathise. Despite rarely wishing to, hurting those closest and most dear to us seems traumatically inevitable; even more distressing however, is the pain inflicted upon us, often by those same people: and so it goes, back and forth, forever…

Boy George and the rest of Culture Club fell out eventually, Boy George’s infamous drug abuse and consequent erratic behaviour, no doubt has played a major part in the breakdown of the band’s relationship. I also feel that amongst the chaos exacerbated by substance abuse, the pain and anguish Jon Moss (most likely, unwittingly) inflicted onto poor old Boy, still governs the whole of Mr. O’Dowd’s being and existence. In an interview about the release of his autobiography, “Take it Like a Man” Boy George said: “In writing the autobiography, I can really chuckle when I look at the songs. I was acting out the part. I saw myself as a victim.”

You know what? I very much doubt that George often “chuckles” about it, really, I mean with sincerity. Jon Moss certainly doesn’t find Boy George’s state of mind and bruised ego in the slightest bit chucklesome: "He's like a nightmare ex-wife. This guy's being rude about me all the time. I've lived with it for years and I've just had enough…"

What I’m alluding to here is of course that while Boy George has been taking it a step, a step too far, what he really meant was: “In my heart the fire’s burning” and whereas he could have wasted a thousand years wrapped in token sorry words, instead he’s prepared to let Jon go. So what exactly have the last 24 years been about Boy? The answer is “No” Boy, Jon really didn’t want to hurt you; he just did. People just do. At least he didn’t kidnap you, tie you up and beat you with a metal chain.