HENRY Rollins once said war could be stopped if people would only eat with each other.

The punk icon turned political preacher-of-sorts once told me – amid a crowd of thousands – that it would be near impossible to bomb someone you’d shared a meal with.

He implored his acolytes to follow in his footsteps, to travel the world and sit down to eat with anyone who would agree to break bread together.

An idealistic stance for a hardcore punk, perhaps, but one not without merit.

Years ago I lived in Amsterdam in a huge house stuffed with international students from all corners of the globe, my friends hailing from Finland, Lithuania, Germany, America.

I travelled to Bosnia just this year with a group of compassionate young Muslims from Bradford, accompanied by enthusiastic Christians and guided around Sarajevo by Bosniaks still shellshocked by genocide.

My experiences – not yet on a par with Black Flag’s erstwhile frontman, admittedly – left me with a rich appreciation of the value of other cultures and the simple humanity that is common to all.

Eating together, living together, sharing stories and comparing anecdotes meant the breaking down of boundaries established historically, socially, geographically, culturally.

Conditioned largely to see the world as us and them, it’s sadly all too common to question and suspect difference rather than celebrate it for the gifts it can bring.

The boundaries of difference are there to see each day as we follow the current plight of the world’s refugees from a distance, as we watch thousands shifted from place to place, meeting barbed wire and brick walls both physical and mental.

Would it be so easy to reject them if we knew them? If we had shared that meal with them? Heard their stories and attached them to real humans rather than the abstract construct of the modern refugee.

There are huge numbers of people out there that give voice to and support the somewhat compelling concept of a world without borders, of shared meals and shared experiences – and I like them.

From their idealistic souls stem beautifully realised concepts like couch-surfing, a means of travelling around the world via the sofas and the kindness of strangers.

Taking a leaf from their book, I’ve spent this year opening my house up to strangers who turn up on my doorstep with backpacks, trust and stories to tell.

It’s a wonderful thing. Just last month I hosted an Israeli girl, a Canadian family of three, an Italian artist and an entire Swedish death metal band.

Without exception they’ve given more than they’ve taken – along with the maple syrup, homemade ragu and death metal fanzine, I’ve been left with an insight into worlds unknown and the beginnings of many a friendship.

I’ve never been much for warfare anyway but I’m definitely on Rollins’ side when it comes to shared meals and their ability to destroy ‘us and them’, leaving just us.

Next month I’ve got acclaimed singer Louis Barabbas arriving on my doorstep to stage a living room gig in my house – in the spirit of shared experiences, give me a shout if you’d like to come.