We were getting slightly bored of hearing about all the nice operas and restaurants that Emily gets to go to with her dates. So this time, for the Free issue, we decided to send her to a soup kitchen instead. Then we felt bad and decided to send along King Charles as well to lend the proceedings a little touch of class.

By now I know not to argue when I’m sent to strange and random places. So one fine Saturday (it was bloody freezing) morning (I had to get up at 8.30am), I found myself on the way to Church. I have never been particularly religious, mainly as one side of my family is Jewish and the other Strict Baptist. So as not to offend either, I have abstained from my spiritual quest until I am forty, have a midlife crisis and run off with my Tantric yoga teacher.

Another thing I should point out is that I had been ill all week with an evil stomach bug and this was the first time I had ventured out of the house. So looking slightly greener and thinner (the only bonus of the vile illness) than usual, I hopped down to the Whitefield Memorial Church on Tottenham Court Rd to meet King Charles (no I’m not delirious that is his name).

The church looked closed when I got there so I hovered around for a bit looking sorry for myself. King Charles came up to me and introduced himself. The first thing I noticed was his hair. There is a lot of it, kind of dreadlocked (but clean). I hoped he might have more information on our excursion than I did.

“Do you know what we’re doing here?”

“I believe it’s a soup kitchen.”

We went down to the basement where there was an outside area with a makeshift gazebo in one corner where a small kitchen was set up. There were people dotted around on benches and chairs warming hands on cups of tea and warm soup.

“I feel sick,” said King Charles.

“Why?”

“I’ve had food poisoning all week… been throwing up.”

“Really! So have I - just started to feel better today actually. It’s going around. A few of my friends have had it too. I don’t think it is food poisoning.”

“What?!” he said in alarm.

“I just mean I think it’s a bug, not something you’ve eaten.”

“Oh… I called the council on my local kebab because of it.”

This lulled us into silence, and we carried on with our good deed. We met a man called Paul who after living on the streets for ten years is now training to be an Outreach worker. Soup kitchens like this are a lifeline to those stuck on the streets in the cold winter months. I don’t think I will allow myself to act so miserable when I’m cold in future.

Later we sat down and had a coffee and discussed our eventful morning.

“I don’t think you should have commented on that guy's teeth,” King Charles pointed out.

“I was complementing them! I didn’t know they were false. (I change the subject) So what do you use on your hair?” He laughs at my question.

“Er, anything that goes, but mainly Kerastase.”

“Oh, I’ve never heard of it. Is it any good?”

“Well I have quite dry skin so it’s good for me, what do you use?”

“Oh, I’m about to swap product. My usual has stopped working so well.”

“Really? Does that happen? Maybe I need to do that.” He taps his lip in thought.

I took another sip of my coffee, the milk curdling in my delicate stomach.

 “So you like polar bears?” His Myspace is riddled with them.

“I love them. They are so big and powerful.”

“So if you were an animal you would be a polar bear?”

“No, I’d get lonely in the Arctic. (He ponders this for a while) I think I’d be a lion or a crocodile cos they are bad ass and in the wild you have to survive.”

I try and get back on track.

“So have you ever been in love?” Direct Emily! I really need to start thinking before I speak!

“I don’t think so.”

“Really? (I lean in) how come?”

“I always fall for girls who don’t love me. How many times have you?”

“A few times.”

“I just feel love is unselfish. It’s like what Massive Attack said, ‘Love is a doing word.’”

At this point I feel like I’m going to throw up. I look at King Charles, he looks at me. I can tell I have probably gone the same shade of green he has.

“I need to go home,” I mumble.

“Yeah so do I,” he mumbles in return.

And we go our separate ways before we start projectile vomiting on each other.


I didn’t get to spend as much time with King Charles as I would have liked AND I never found out whether King was his first name or not (answers on the back of a postcard pls). Please check him out - he has really nice hair (and his songs are good too): www.myspace.com/zadokthepriest