Food For Free: The Edinburgh Diary

The plan is to find a bin full of loaves of bread... George Penny finds a large can of hairspray as he tries to live like a Freegan for a few weekend

Feature by George Penny | 08 Jun 2008

Freeganism is viewed as ridiculous and irresponsible by some, and totally essential by others. I'm going to try it out - to live without eating any food that I have bought for a weekend.

Saturday 0130. It’s my last chance to eat food which I’ve bought - I think it's a good idea to stock up for the weekend. What better than a doner kebab pizza? I make my way back home via the back of the shops on Clerk Street, the plan is to find a bin full of loaves of bread and boxes of eggs in which only one egg has broken. Perhaps a chicken too. And some vegetables. (The literature I have read thus far suggests this is an inevitability).

It takes a long time to check all the dustbins on the way home. I find a black pair of women’s boots, a bag and a large can of hairspray but no food. There is a toy fire engine near Sainsbury’s on Rose Street, but I can’t get close to it due to the thick stench of urine. The night delivery at Sainsbury’s gives me no clues about where I might find some of the tons of perfectly good food we throw away every day, so I turn home with no prospect of breakfast.

1400. The butcher near me cooks sausages for people to try on Saturday morning and the Farmers’ Market on Castle Terrace is always good for a few free samples. Unfortunately I sleep through both of these after my rather hard Friday night. Hunger soon sets in and after a breakfast of water I am off to Sainsbury’s at Cameron Toll. They have a table set up for tasting bread and butter so I go back a couple of times and manage to get nearly half a slice before I feel I’m pushing my luck.

1600. Armed with some marigolds and consumed by hunger I walk up to Blackford Hill to pick a carrier bag full of nettles. After being soaked by a thunderstorm I head home via Waitrose where I try some cheese at the counter. Once I’m back I find a cup of nettle tea rather restorative, but dinner is disgusting: nettle soup made with beef stock (I got a free bone from the butcher). No onions, salt, or pepper, just stock and nettles. After forcing down two bowls the prospect of fishing through bins after Saturday night drinkers have done their pit-stop thing doesn’t really appeal. Bed.

Sunday 12noon. After sleeping for as long as possible I abandon my less than triumphant jaunt into the world of urban foraging with a cup of tea and a muffin. It has been about 35 hours. Some commentators I have read in research for this article say they have been tempted to follow on with this way of life after experiencing it for a couple of days. This reporter is not.