Angel of Iran

Neda and her music teacher had gone to join an anti-government protest as thousands of young Iranians took to the streets. Moments later the 27-year-old philosophy student, who had singing lessons in secret, fell to the ground from a single shot wound. Neda Agha-Soltan was killed on Saturday during a protest in Tehran sparked by the disputed presidential election which saw hard-line incumbent Mahmoud Ahmadinejad re-elected. A series of huge rallies have been held in the city by enraged supporters of the more moderate candidate Mir Hossein Mousavi. In scenes reminiscent of the Tiananmen Square massacre, rebel Iranians have been bloodily suppressed. A video of Neda's death has been circulated around the world and the apolitical woman has become a symbol of the fight for freedom and democracy. The graphic, hard-hitting amateur footage shows the young Iranian on the ground, her helpless music teacher willing her to stay alive as blood pours from her chest wound and spreads over her face. Within an hour, footage of the video had been posted on You Tube as evidence of the killing of innocent and largely peaceful protesters. Neda's name means 'voice' or 'call' in Persian and already she is being hailed as the voice of Iran. Neda was one of thousands of women who took to the streets to demand a recount of the presidential vote which they believe was rigged by the Government. About 70 per cent of Iranians are under 30 and are growing up in a digital media age linked to the western world by Twitter and social networking site Facebook. Iranian women, who are persecuted for not adhering to strict Islamic dress codes, are blogging, reaching audiences outside the regime. Photos of Neda have been used at demonstrations around the world from Istanbul to Los Angeles. Twitter users have been tinting their profile pictures green in solidarity with Iranians and a Facebook page entitled 'Angel of Iran' has been set up to honour Neda. Nearly 12,000 people have joined the group adding video footage of the moments leading up to her death and her death itself. Discussion boards are packed with messages of support crossing borders, religion and culture. It seems Neda's death is fuelling the passion for democracy in Iran.

Nettle-eater

Last week about 50 people chewed through two foot long stalks of stinging nettles. They had one hour to eat as many leaves as possible and beat the current champion nettle-eater. The winner is the person with the longest length of empty stalk. This wonderfully bizarre English competition stems from an argument between two farmers in the mid-1980s over who had the longest stinging nettles. I know it sounds mad, but stinging nettles make great tea. The first time my fellow vegetarian colleague tried to make me drink nettle tea I was far from convinced - it has an unfortunate smell like sweaty feet and looks like pond water - but the dark green liquid has an abundance of health related properties. Even the Romans used it to cure chronic rheumatism by flogging each other with the stingers. It can soothe allergic reactions such as hay fever and gargled it can heal a sore throat. Nettles are also very useful when suffering from the alcoholic excess of a night before. These soft yet prickly leaves have been used for hundreds of years as a folk remedy, brewed as teas, steamed and eaten like spinach or applied to the skin as a painkiller. I'm not suggesting we all hurry out in search of wasteland to pluck these weeds from the ground and start beating each other with the stalks or chewing them, but there's something to be said for natural remedies.

District and Circle

The weekend before someone in a hurry knocked her over at Victoria train station. She went flying twisting on her heels as she hit the ground. Slightly inebriated she gathered herself up and carried on walking to the train. The two-hour train ride passed uneventfully and she got home, by now in some considerable pain. It turns out she had fractured her ankle and broken some bones in her foot. All because someone was in a hurry. When the tube strike crippled the transport network in the city last week, thousands of commuters stood like confused and lost sheep stuck outside train stations, groaning at bus queues and ringing to warn already absent bosses they would be late. Business leaders estimated it would cost the economy £50million a day. The city had been forcibly slowed down. I normally move like a silent, slightly uncomfortable country bumpkin from one carriage to the next, then onto a new train, unaware of the true distance of places in the blackness of the underground. Bus people are different. Used to the constant stop start of the bus, they accept the journey and take their time reading and people watching from the space above the ground. I too was pleased to be out of the hostile tunnels. It was just as he described it in District and Circle. But I had rushed then - anxious to arrive on time to hear Seamus Heaney read his own poetry. His lyrical Irish tone captivated the audience and that poem, which sits somewhere near the beginning of my autographed book, summed up the hurry which pervades London life...a crowd half straggle-ravelled and half strung like a human chain, the pushy newcomers jostling and purling underneath the vault, on their marks to be the first through the doors.