R.E.M. @ The Apple Store, Regent's Street

R.E.M Live @ Apple Store Regent Street, originally uploaded by Shashinshi-San.

I’ve seem R.E.M. before, at Milton Keynes, Madison Square Gardens, Jules Holland’s Later studio and a studio concert for BBC radio – last night was really special as the band was on great form in a very intimate space and Michael Stipe was notably relaxed, even quite chatty. He practically invited the crowd (of about 500) for an aftershow curry.

He shared with us his love for all things Apple (although he conceded PCs are ok for offices – “My office is my mind” claims Stipe) and informed us the Regent’s Street store is the largest Apple Store in the world.

They played a mix of classic hits and new songs – the new songs came over really well; I’m looking forward to the new album released next week.

While waiting for me to arrive Liz tried out a display model iPhone – they really work. “I’m calling you from an iPhone in the store” she announced excitedly. I was excited to get a call from an iPhone, less happy that my number is now on an instore display model! Might get lots of calls from prospective iPhone purchasers.

Hakkasan

I was so looking forward to eating at Hakkasan – Liz took me as a delayed birthday treat last week.

The restaurant is tucked away in an alley just off the Tottenham Court Road/Oxford Street junction. One’s name is checked off on a list by a doorman; a back slate-lined stairway leads down to an incensed-perfumed reception hall and the restaurant. The decor is mostly black with backlit blue walls. Laser-beam spots punctuate the gloom, and geometric Chinese screens divide the tables. It manages to reference an art-deco Shanghai opium den while being very modern, luxurious and comfortable.

Waiting for Liz at the bar, I had something called a “Purple Emperor”: a wonderfully smooth, but actually yellow mix (a base of rum and sake). The purple was supplied by a massive orchid the bartender popped on top for decoration

My preconception was that a Michelin-starred trendy restaurant would offer small portions: however the opposite was very much the case, with every dish seemingly sized for two hungry eaters. A starter of Sechuan chili crab was enormous and completely fabulous; my dimsum selection was pretty good too and contained 8 large dimsum. My main of jasmine tea smoked chicken was amazing (but must have contained at least half a chicken). Liz had another massive pile – of ribs this time. Side orders were a very generous plate of pak choi and and a canister of steamed rice. Neither of us actually fancied the rice but our waiter insisted.

He was a funny one – all the staff were charming and friendly except our waiter, who was quite aloof and dismissive and really couldn’t be bothered to answer questions (all the staff are very beautiful – the restaurant could double as a modeling agency).
We got complete fireworks when we asked for a doggy bag for the large quantities of leftovers. “We don’t do takeaway! We don’t do takeaway!” our waiter insisted emotionally, as if the very suggestion was mortally insulting. OK, this is a very smart restaurant and obviously they want to distance themselves from fast-food joints: point taken (and obviously, Hakkasan is a world away from a takeaway). But there were HUGE amounts of leftovers of very delicious food I was loath to leave behind. However, I am completely averse to making a fuss in restaurants. Not so Liz, who made them very aware that on this occasion they would be doing a doggy bag! So, eventually, I climbed the stairs out clutching my precious hamper of leftovers (much admired by an American tourist). Even our waiter seemed to find the funny side at last.

Worth it in the end – I reheated the food for a sofa dinner the next night, snuggled up under a blanket watching Rageh Omar’s absorbing Turin Shroud documentary on TV. I even got out my chopsticks.

Quote London

“As Samuel Johnson once said, when a man is tired of London, he slopes off to Henley”
~ Ken Livingstone scoring a direct hit on Boris Johnson. Hooray! Hopefully I was wrong in fearing this would be a boring election. Now Boris just has to release his funny streak.

The History of Me in Cocktails: No. 2 – The Buck's Fizz

I think this is the first true cocktail I ever had: concentrate orange juice and South African sparkling wine, to celebrate something at work.

While drinkable enough, these days there are other mixers I prefer with champagne. But then, it was the height of sophistication for a spotty teenager.

I had a part-time job in the very lush HQ of a multi-national cement company, doing the weekly filing for their accounts department. My supervisor Antoinette taught me my first lesson in business: when your boss takes you to lunch, always order the lobster.

Buck's Fizz

Freshly squeezed orange juice
Champagne

Really, mix to individual taste. OJ in first, then champagne, to minimise a potentially explosive bubble situation.

The History of Me in Cocktails: No.1

The History of Me in Cocktails: No 3

This Election is No Joke

The Evening Standard reports that Boris is ahead in the opinion polls. The Standard is pretty desperate to get rid of Mayor Ken Livingstone – I think it goes beyond ideology; it’s deeply personal too. Ken has said some nasty things about the Evening Standard himself. Hard to believe he was once a (presumably paid) columnist for the paper.

I think Ken has actually been pretty good for London on the whole; however his response to the recent corruption scandal has been less than inspiring. One also must ask just how long he can stick around being mayor.

He is such an oversized personality the two other parties have been forced to put up ‘personality’ candidates to run against him. However, Boris Johnson has been terribly careful so far to reign in his jovial personality for fear Ken will succeed in labeling him a clown. Ken’s own dry humour also seems to be taking a holiday, so what at first promised to be a scintillating campaign season is turning out to be boring. I’m constantly wondering when the fun will begin.

Brian Paddick is no slouch at attracting publicity either; and he is definitely the candidate easiest on the eyes. I think his strategy of presenting himself as the sensible one is quite clever.

I really haven’t decided yet who to vote for; and to make matters worse, we have two votes each! Too many decisions.

The Orangery @ Kensington Palace

"Here thou, great Anna! whom three realms obey,
Dost sometimes counsel take—and sometimes tea."

With these lines Alexander Pope forever linked in my mind Queen Anne and tea. So it is only appropriate that Queen Anne’s little palace conservatory extension at Kensington Palace (1704, Sir John Vanburgh designed, no less, and three times over budget) now houses one of London’s great places to take afternoon tea.

The Queen’s orange trees were housed in a sumptuous baroque space – soaring ceilings, windows and Corinthian columns; classical statuary and Grinling Gibbons carving. Apparently, she hosted al fresco summer supper parties here as well, hence the decoration. The all-white space works well for the modern café, with its rows of decorative metalwork furniture and dainty miniature orange trees on the tables. It seems to aim for the luxe tourist and/or well-heeled local; it is so nice to see this sort of thing being done well in this sort of location. The café certainly lives up to its elevated architectural surrounds. Service was very friendly and obliging but perhaps a little off-focus: but the place was hopping all afternoon (Anne and I settled in for a lengthy gossip over pots of tea and cakes; there was no pressure on us to move out)

We ordered the exclusive Tregothnan tea – the first tea to be actually grown in England (in Falmouth). One has to applaud the ambition – at 50º N it is the most northerly latitude at which a tea garden has been planted. However, great flavour requires high altitudes and – even as someone who prefers weak tea – I found this one slightly underpowered. Our cakes included lemon meringue (a generous slice with a tart lemon curd filling and just right crisp and chewy meringue topping), chocolate fudge cake, and an apricot and almond slice. A plate of prettily arranged dainty finger sandwiches included cucumber, smoked salmon and ham.

A very successful afternoon, and I am sure Queen Anne would approve of her Orangery’s modern incarnation. I’d definitely go again.

The Orangery @ Kensington Palace
(High Street Kensington tube)

Affordable

Credit crunch, what credit crunch? The Affordable Art Fair in Battersea Park goes from strength to strength – I have never seen it so heaving. This year showed strong evidence of infiltration by a hard-core Art Crowd, almost overwhelming the always strong contingent of South Chelsea yummy mummies with baby buggies and soy lattes. They all seemed to be buying like there was no end to the boom.

An international flavour to the galleries as well – great to see galleries from the USA, France and Germany in attendance. And the art? – a really invigorating mix of approachable contemporary art; something for everyone to hang on their loft wall.

The Affordable Art Fair
Battersea Park
13th-16th March 2008

Rockferry

Channel a 60’s vibe – listen to this album. A turbo-charged retread of classic divas from the Swinging London decade. Duffy’s voice is too extraordinary to miss, and the album is beautiful and comfortable listening. Looking forward to her developing her sound.

Quote London

“I slowly limp back toward Chelsea. I wander about in the semi-darkness once again filled with a kind of indescribable love for this gorgeous, rotting, progressive, sprawling, crazy, wonderful city. And love, my friends, does not suck. I promise you that.”
~ Neil LaBute

Duchamp, Man Ray, Picabia

I don’t get Surrealism. I was persuaded by the Marxists at University that Paris in the 1920s and 30s saw the final decadence and collapse of the French avant-garde; the Bauhaus (German) was the real deal. Surrealism was just so much bourgeois wank.

Unfortunately, this thesis is undermined somewhat by Surrealism’s continuing critical and popular success. In recent years one can’t move in London without bumping into a Surrealism exhibition: Surrealism at the V&A, Dali at the Tate last year, and now the current troika at the Tate. And whereas the acknowledged ‘greats’ of the twentieth century, Picasso and Matisse, are still admired today, the artists whose influence is current are all the Surreal – as Andrew Graham-Dixon points out in his review in The Telegraph, “the work of almost every British artist of note to have emerged in the past 20 years – from Damien Hirst to Sarah Lucas, from Gary Hume to Tracey Emin - is visibly anticipated here.” (No link – can’t find it on their site)

Catriona and I went off to the Tate members’ private view last night. My scores are as follows:

Duchamp

9/10

Considering his influence, I think he’s massively underrated. He’s an extremely intellectual artist, yet very capable of arresting visuals – all his greatest hits are in the show, which is wonderful. The Philadelphia Museum of Art especially has been a very generous lender. Nude Descending a Staircase is a fabulous early work influenced by stop-frame photography; wildly controversial at the time but rapidly surpassed in notoriety by Fountain (1917), the ceramic urinal which launched the ready-made’s career in art history. It’s actually quite thrilling that two groundbreaking iconoclastic modernist icons are both currently on display in London – Duchamp’s Fountain at the Tate and Malevitch’s Black Square in the Royal Academy’s Russian show.

Man Ray

9/10

No matter what the ideological underpinnings, as long as the visuals are great an artist will always have admirers – Man Ray was incapable of producing boring work. Even his solarised photographs of nuts and bolts are formally gorgeous pieces. The entire exhibition kicks off with a ravishingly beautiful profile portrait of Duchamp I’ve not seen before, and also contains his wonderful portraits of lovers and my favourite, the soft-focus porrtait of Marchesa Casatti with four eyes. The Marchesa felt he had captured her soul.

Picabia

3/10

In comparison, Picabia comes off badly. His work reminds me strongly of Pulp’s song “Common People” – he’s the original rich-kid wannabe. He was the son of an extremely wealthy Cuban-born Spanish aristocrat, and liked to collect racing cars (especially Hispano-Suizas) – apparently he had over 100 cars. That says pretty much everything you need to know about him. He was clearly very lucky to link up with serious artists; he’s benefited greatly from their reflected glory. It is quite comic how in every room in this exhibition, with every development of style (and Picabia dabbles in many styles), his work is by far the weakest.

If you have by any chance any random Picabias in your collection, my advice after this show is: Run, don’t walk to Christies or Sotheby’s and Sell! Sell! Sell! Sell! Sell!

After the show Catriona and I repaired for a restorative glass of wine and some nibbles to the Tate café on level 7. The view at night-time is utterly fabulous – London glittering magnificently over a dark river; St Paul’s spotlit sublimely on the skyline. Sad this wonder is busy killing the planet – turn off those lights!!


Duchamp, Man Ray, Picabia: The Moment Art Changed Forever
Tate Modern
21 February – 26 May 2008

The End is nigh, continued

James Lovelock, maverick independent scientist, predictor of our current eco-crisis 40 years ago, and author of the Gaia theory (earth is a self-regulating super organism), tells Decca Aitkenhead in the Guardian that global environmental catastrophe is inevitable, carbon offsetting is a joke, and ethical living is a scam. Recycling is almost certainly a waste of time and energy.

“Enjoy life while you can. Because if you’re lucky it’s going to be 20 years before it hits the fan”.

Happy Monday.

twelve

One post in the first week of February; two posts in the second week; two posts in the third week; and seven posts in the last three days. We can see what’s happening here, right?

This is not quite what I anticipated when I set the rules for my blog this year (12 posts on average each month, but not to fall below nine or exceed fifteen to improve consistency). Must concentrate more on an even spread across the month!

I could blame my lack of posting on work commitments, but really I’ve just been feeling a bit blah and meh. Almost gave up on the aim of twelve posts. However, that part of me which does pep talks explained I would be feeling even more meh and blah if I didn’t keep to my commitments; hence my late spurt.

So, hurrah, yay me for me, etc etc. Onwards and upwards . . .

P.S. I can do colours now. Wooo!

Evolution

Marc Quinn’s latest exhibition at White Cube’s Mason’s Yard Gallery (25 Jan – 23 Feb) was superb. He’s a very interesting sculptor, directly confronting the canon of classical western sculpture with his exploration of the human body.

Evolution presented 9 huge sculptures demonstrating the development of the human embryo. Each showed the embryo emerging from its marble bedrock, directly referencing Michelangelo’s Slaves, right down to the unpolished artist’s chisel marks (these get progressively more polished away as the embryo develops). I thought it was a very beautiful and major work; he is certainly developing an amazing oeuvre. One of our best and most underrated sculptors.

The History of Me in Cocktails: No. 1 – The Beer Shandy

Now, I have just bought a very definitive book of Cocktail recipes, and the Beer Shandy doesn’t feature (from this I deduce it must be utterly utterly uncool; don’t order this at Mahiki). However, this was the first alcoholic mixed drink I ever drank, aged three-and-a-half and upwards. My mother was partial to the beer/lemonade mix and I used to have a sip or two. I also remember enjoying the froth on my dad’s beer, and apparently in solidarity with my granddad’s mates demanded Guinness at the pub aged 2. I think though I may have ultimately settled for smarties and a coke.

These were the glory years of my beer consumption: can’t stand the stuff now; I swear I’m allergic. Can only drink wine or gin or vodka. Doesn’t make life easy at the pub after work; although I am an exceptionally cheap date – I’m usually drunk after half a glass!

Thank heavens for Wikipedia – more about Shandies here.

The History of Me in Cocktails: No.2

Overheard

Last night, in the ticket queue at Norbiton Station:

Silver fox lady: A return to Waterloo, please. Can you put tomorrow’s date on the receipt?
Ticket seller: I’m going to have to see your toyboy.

Earthquake in London!

Both the Evening Standard and BBC London relate that residents in London felt the earthquake that hit the UK last night (5.2 on the Richter scale, the biggest in almost 25 years). The epicentre was Market Rasen in Lincolnshire.

I was awake at 1am and definitely felt nothing untoward happening. Maybe it was just West and North London that felt anything? Growing up in Johannesburg, we frequently had tremors, caused by the gold-mining activities thousands of feet down.

Modern Painters: The Camden Town Group

Went with Catriona to the private view. Have always avoided the Camden Town group wherever possible in the past, and the first room reminded me why! – they are all so reductively derivative; aping the concerns and style of French post-Impressionism. Yargh!

Luckily, the Tate peps things up a bit with contemporary documentary film footage of London. I enjoyed seeing a top-hatted gent descend the (open) rear staircase of a horse-drawn omnibus as it pulled up Whitehall into Trafalgar Square – all the buildings remain recognisably the same, but everything else is so different. I wonder how this stretch will appear in a hundred year’s time? A glowering, attitudinal bowler-hatted boy was clearly just waiting for hoodies and the onset of Catherine Tait. Chavtastic before his time.

Refreshed by the film footage, the following rooms were far more enjoyable. Especially, it was charming to see familiar London sights expressed Post-Impressionist stylee. Charles Ginner’s Piccadilly Circus (1912) depicts another London bus: the 19 to Clapham Junction!

The most distinguished Camden Groupie is, of course, Walter Sickert. Catriona was intrigued by Patricia Cornwall’s theory he was the real Jack the Ripper. Apparently, Cornwall spent $6 million of her own money investigating this theory – controversially, she even destroyed a Sickert painting she bought searching for forensic evidence!!

Sickert’s prostitute paintings and paintings of the Camden Town Murder can easily be explained by his French Post-Impressionist influences: Manet, Toulouse Lautrec and Degas all painted prostitutes and sometimes violent scenes of ‘real life’. Also, it is unclear why Sickert, if he really was Jack, would wait 20 years after the Ripper murders to start painting such scenes. Also, has anyone checked out Sickert's knowledge of the backstreets of Whitechapel? In justice to the unfairly accused Sickert, let us hope this exhibition causes his prices to rise and Cornwall to regret her misguided iconoclasm.

The exhibition ends with more newsreel footage. Be warned, though, that footage of the suffragette Emily Davison throwing herself in front of the King’s horse at the Derby horse race in 1913 is included, and is pretty shocking: think frog in a blender. I’m amazed such an event was caught on camera at the time. I don’t think she meant to kill herself, just interrupt the race. A glancing blow from the leading horse knocks her right in the path of the horse following and down she goes, in a welter of hooves and skirts. What this has to do with the Camden Group, who knows, but it is interesting.

Modern Painters: The Camden Town Group
Tate Britain
13 February – 5 May 2008

Oscars 2008

I am absurdly pleased and proud of Europe’s success – all four best actor prizes went to America’s foundation colonial powers (UK = 2; Spain = 1; France = 1). However, can’t say I’m planning to see any of the films – they are either too scary or too worthy. Two of them (There Will be Blood and No Country for Old Men) definitely have very scary haircuts and moustaches.

Javier Bardem’s haircut mercifully was vastly improved for the Oscars. However, can’t say the same for Daniel Day-Lewis – he was channelling Elizabethan travelling player style with lank locks and earrings. I do not agree with all the flak Tilda Swinton and Marion Cotillard got for their frocks – I liked both their outfits; it’s nice to see individuals expressing their own taste rather than displaying the safe stylishness imposed by stylists. Julie Christie especially looked great.

Quote London

I can walk about London and see a society that seems an absolutely revolutionary change from the 1950s, that seems completely and utterly different, and then I can pick up on something where you suddenly see that it's not.
~ Penelope Lively

Bad water

So, after last night bottled water is now on every eco-warrior’s hit-list: it’s the new Chelsea Tractor or patio-heater. BBC’s Panorama programme made a really strong case against – the transportation and (plastic) bottling of water is a real ecological nightmare and complete waste of resources. Discarded plastic harms wildlife and pollutes the oceans an will hang around for hundreds of years.

Fiji water turns out to be quite a bad deal. Originally funded by the EU to source fresh water for the islanders, the government now licenses an American company to bottle and export the water to North America and Europe. But a third of the islanders do not have access to safe water and typhoid is still quite prevalent. The Fiji water company is doing something to help this situation, but obviously as a private company doesn’t have the responsibility to supply the islanders with their water needs. One wonders what their government is doing with all the royalties from the export of their fresh water.

The Rules of Shopping

1) Sainsbury’s guarantees never to have the crucial ingredient Hedgie needs. This ingredient will always be the last item on Hedgie’s shopping list.
2) Hedgie will always choose the wrong queue at the check out. This effect will be magnified when shopping on limited time at lunch hour, when there will be a confused moron in front of Hedgie who queries a £2 special offer, causing spiralling confusion amongst the till operator and her supervisor, finally resulting in an IT meltdown which will take 20 minutes to fix. It will then be found that the moron was mistaken and the bill was correct all long.
3) And what is it with Asda’s bread? It certainly wins the prize for most bizarre baguette ever. A bouncy, chewy texture much like a doughnut, with a sugary crust much like a doughnut. Not unpleasant, but definitely weird and definitely not ever to be given to French friends.

Made in the Dark . . .

And should have stayed there!

☹

V. disappointed with Hot Chip’s new CD – it’s massively different to The Warning, their excellent 2006 release, and to my ears not as good. At first listen I like only two tracks: the first single “Ready for the Floor” and “Don’t Dance”. About 3 or 4 other tracks are ok; the others are either dismal dirges or just noise. Some Sunday paper reviews felt it was “more commercial” – not so!!!

I’ll give it a few more listens to give it a chance, but in the meantime, disgruntled of Clapham signing off . . .

Tube Rage

Blissfully, I have managed to avoid rush-hour tube travel for almost 25 months. Unfortunately, however, I had to take the tube up to Euston on Monday morning at 7:18 am.

From previous experience, I thought this would be early enough to at least be able to squeeze into a carriage at Clapham Common station, if not actually get a seat. However, we were packed so tight I was able to identify people’s preferred toothpaste brands. At least, and thank goodness, people on the southern end of the Northern line use toothpaste in the mornings!

Well, things were fine if tightly packed ‘till Stockwell, where I changed to the Victoria line. I then unwittingly stood in the personal and private space of someone else on this packed platform (he had followed me closely all the way from the Northern line platform, huffing and puffing). When the train came in this gentleman elbowed me roughly in the ribs in order to get into the carriage first, then deliberately blocked me off from getting a seat (unsuccessfully). He glowered threateningly at me. I glowered as fiercely as I could back, and thankfully before things escalated the carriage became packed and we were separated.

So – beware of Mr Angry on the Northern line: a middle-aged gent with a few wispy ginger curls clinging nostalgically to his bald pate. Doesn’t look like a yob but is a total psycho. Hope he gets seized by the authorities and forced to watch Ken’s “courtesy on public transport’ video back-to-back all weekend.

Stalker Alert

A google search hit according to statcounter.com:

One hopes this is a desperate attempt by his mother, who has just mislaid her address book. Conceivable. Just about. Hopefully.

Divinity

Advertising – how does it work? While I did quite like the M&S food ads before they got irritating and people started sending them up, I can’t say any one of these highly seductive and beautifully shot exercises in food porn really made me buy anything.

Last Friday Jonathan Ross ate (noisily and messily and very fast) an M&S chocolate pain-au-chocolat-and-butter pudding. The sight was gross, and Jonathan was careful to tell us this pudding was more dangerous to our health than anything Pete Doherty has recently ingested could be. So I rushed out the next day and bought my own Simply Divine Bread and Butter pudding. Not the pain au chocolat version, the ordinary one – I’ve made my own pain au chocolat pudding and definitely prefer a more classic approach.

I specially didn’t read the nutritional info on the pack until the next day. But it is fantastically bad – so bad M&S only gives the info “per half pack” – basically, if you eat the whole pudding (as Jonathan and I did, and you will if you get your mitts on one), the calorie count is just short of 1400. About 100g of fat and 100g of sugar.

Simply divine, though! – totally gets my award for the best bread and butter pudding ever.

The End is Nigh, Part 1

Alex Renton wrote a really interesting article about food price inflation in The Observer last Sunday, speculating that the post WWII era of cheap food in the Western World is ending, due largely to 4 factors – market instability, the growing demand of the ethanol industry for crops previously grown as food, climate change resulting in floods, droughts, etc damaging crop yields, and the growing wealth of Chinese and Indian populations creating a larger demand for meat, which is wildly inefficient to produce in terms of resources.

The one thing we can change quite quickly is the ethanol factor, which is clearly a dead-end. Renton claims that faith in ethanol’s ecological credentials is “largely misplaced” - “Its increasingly voluble critics claim that growing grain and then transforming it into ethanol requires more energy from fossil fuels than ethanol generates.”

Furthermore, “the maize to fill a tank for a 'Chelsea tractor' would feed a family of four for three months. In October the United Nations' spokesman on famine, Jean Ziegler, called the biofuel boom 'a crime against humanity'.”

Ditch ethanol now!

This is clearly a watershed moment, where we are seeing the first effects of global warming on our food supply, mixed up with a clearly mistaken strategy to combat climate change. The imperative is to think cleverer.

2007 Review

I did this at the end of 2006 so it’s good to continue for 2007:

What was you favourite movie in 2007?

I was going to say Pan’s Labyrinth, but checking back I nominated this for 2006 so I’m going to go with Atonement.

What was your favourite book in 2007?

2007 was not a reading year for me. My book of the year is Patrick O’Brian’s The Nutmeg of Consolation (1991). I’m a fan of his Aubrey and Maturin books and this is the 14th in the series.

What was your favourite song in 2007?

Anything from Arcade Fire’s first two albums, Funeral and Neon Bible will do. However, for the sake of variety and in admiration of their wit I’ll nominate LCD Soundsystem’s North American Scum.

What was your favourite album in 2007?

Arcade Fire’s Neon Bible, no question.

Are you richer or poorer?

A fascinating question, depends on how you look at it.

In 2006 I was unemployed but my flat was rocketing in value – it went up almost 53% in just over a year, so far more than my annual salary would have been.

In 2007 I started a new job, which pays a salary that allows me to service the enormous amounts of debt racked up while unemployed. However, my flat’s value is now in freefall. So who’s to say if I’m richer or poorer?

I suppose the bailiffs aren’t exactly beating my door down yet, so I’m ok.

Thinner or fatter?

Again, rather debatable. I reckon I’m fatter and could choose to tone up and lose some excess belly.

What kept you sane in 2007?

Employment is really good for mental health, strangely! – plus my blog keeps me happy ☺

Which personal accomplishment in 2007 are you most pleased with?

Becoming employed again!

Keeping my little blog going while computer-less!

What was the happiest moment of 2007?

Friends from South Africa visiting.

What was your saddest moment of 2007?

The death of my father at the end of April.

Being burgled end May.

What resolutions have you made for 2008?

I’m increasing my posting average to 12 a month, with a consistency level of between 9 to 15 posts a month.

I will cycle to work.

I will work to continue the improving trend in my finances.

I will replace all the stolen equipment without increasing my levels of debt.

Which bad habit are you most motivated to break?

No procrastination! See it, do it; blog it!

What are you looking forward to in 2008?

Hoo. At the moment, the summer. Let’s hope it’s less wet than last year.

Stats

A few months ago when I last checked my stats, people were curious about Dalek cakes at Marks and Spencer’s. At the time, I didn’t know M&S did Dalek cakes, but now I can confirm a sighting of a chocolate Dalek cake in the Clapham Junction branch. Woo! Very exciting, although I would have preferred a standy-uppy Dalek rather than a lying-down Dalek. Exterminate! Exterminate! Anyways, a possible contender for my very own upcoming birthday.

The fickle public has moved on and now the googling masses can’t get enough of bombs in Balham in WWII. You may remember the Balham tube bomb disaster features in the movie Atonement, and it is indeed based on a true incident, when a bomb damaged a water main and flooded Balham Tube station, where locals were sheltering from the air raid. They all drowned.
Celebrity-wise, my most hits are still on Her Grace the Dowager Duchess of Devonshire (rather mysteriously), although the wonderful Keira Knightley is zooming up the hit rate chart.

Which brings me to this pic:



I papped the filming of Atonement on location in central London! From this distance, can’t tell you which one is Keira and/or James McAvoy.

Clapham Junction

Commuting again through Clapham Junction brings home just how awful this station – the busiest in Britain and apparently Europe – actually is. It was constructed as a joint venture between competing train companies in 1863 and their conflicting requirements (and joint enthusiasm for cutting costs) must have informed the appalling design of the station – for something this busy, space for passenger orientation is simply inadequate.

Access to all 16 working platforms is through a leaky underpass barely 15 feet wide, with not a single lift or escalator anywhere. Imagine what it is like in rush hour, with people beginning their journeys to work or changing trains. Not to mention, Clapham Junction is a major hub for people making their way to Gatwick Airport.

So I’m pretty thrilled to hear that there are plans to upgrade this station – it’s desperately needed. Hopefully these will go ahead – however, a major plank of the funding is going to be two tower blocks of luxury flats built up over the station. One wonders how commercial these will turn out to be – would you like living over a station with a through-put of 119 trains per hour off-peak? That is, of course, if complaints from locals don’t scupper the development at the planning stage. Also, it has to be said, in this post sub-prime economic apocalypse, it would be a very brave developer who actually went ahead with this!

From the drawings released, the development doesn’t look architecturally distinguished – not anywhere near the standard of the Waterloo or St Pancras Eurostar terminals or the stations on the Jubilee Line extension. However, I suppose this is sarf London and we must be grateful for what we can get!

Tamara Drewe

Joanathan Cape, 2007

This graphic novel was originally serialized in The Guardian from September 2005 to December 2006 – I hardly missed an issue; I loved it. However, it was only when I bought the book (published Oct 2007) that I realized the plot was an updated version of Thomas Hardy’s Far From the Madding Crowd.

Quite embarrassing as (a) the novel was one of my set texts at school and (b) Posy Simmonds doesn’t exactly disguise her intentions in any way! – “Far from the Madding Crowd” are the first words of her book - the headline of an advert for a writer’s retreat where the action is about to take place.

It goes to show though that one can enjoy Tamara Drewe on its own merits, without any knowledge of Hardy’s original text. But equally, it’s great fun to follow Simmond’s exceptionally imaginative and intelligent recreation of the novel’s plot, characters and even themes.

I particularly like the way she borrows and repeats the novel’s motifs and incidents in a reframed way – for example instead of the cheeky Valentine’s card inflaming Farmer Boldwood, Nicholas Hardiman gets an email (cc’d to Tamara’s two other suitors from her computer by a mischevious village teenager). But for me the most satisfying reuse of a motif is the mad dog herding livestock to destruction – to completely different ends.

While fairly dramatic, it is clear Simmonds restrains Hardy’s wild melodrama somewhat. Ben Sergeant isn’t nearly as wicked a character as Sergeant Troy, although his sulky sexiness does cause trouble for the female characters.

I have to quote Wikipedia’s marvelous line from their plot summary:

“Her [i.e. Bathsheba’s] initial dislike turns to infatuation after he excites her with a private display of expert swordsmanship.”



Quite so.

All About Eve

All About Eve

“Miss Casswell is an actress, a graduate of the Copacabana School of Dramatic Art.” - George Sanders as Addison Dewitt, a critic, introducing Marilyn Monroe as Claudia Casswell. My favourite line from this movie, which is composed entirely of fantastic lines.

I have wanted to see this movie for ages, and took the opportunity to see it at the Curzon in Mayfair when it came out on re-release just before Christmas. The thought of seeing this remastered old classic (1950) on the silver screen was exciting; slightly disappointing therefore that the Curzon Screen 2 is just about the size of an overgrown domestic plasma screen!

The film richly deserves its classic status, with a wonderful script by Joseph L Mankiewicz and great performances.

I was very struck however by the gender politics on view.

Actresses complain about the lack of good roles for women today; this movie contains 3 totally central female roles. It is the message these roles convey which is odd. The women are the protagonists of the story, with the men virtually oblivious adjuncts to a female cat-fight. In terms of the power structures in the story’s theatre world, however, the men dominate: as playwright; director; producer and critic. The only power available to women in this world is as the star – Bette Davis as Margo Channing is the archetypal diva-bitch.

Margo’s foregoing of a plum role in favour of her relationship with her man is seen as her salvation as a woman. The movie contrasts this with Anne Bancroft’s Eve, whose ruthless ambition is depicted as completely without limits.

Resolutions for 2008

1) If at all possible, I really really really want to replace all the stuff that was stolen last year – my mac powerbook, iPod and camera. But NOT on credit.

2) Last year I resolved to try and post at least 9 times a month. In 2007 I made 113 posts – a monthly average of 9.416. Well done to me, I hit my target! Yippee! BUT – my monthly numbers ranged from zero (August) to 22 (March). So, for 2008, I’m aiming to for a monthly average of 12 posts, with never less than 9 or more than 15 to improve consistency.

3) Finances finances finances – please may 2008 see a turnaround in this area!

In Rainbows

Speaking as someone who parted ways with Radiohead around the time of Kid A (OK Computer being a hot contender for my best album of all time), In Rainbows is absolutely genius. My expectations were not high, but encouraged by the hype over their choice of distribution channels, as well as reviews suggesting this was their most commercial attempt for quite a while, I took a punt on the CD. I’ve played it back to back all week. I’m sure my neighbours are going completely crazy. Ah well, at least it’s a change from my previous obsession with Arcade Fire!

As I didn’t download this last year due to an ongoing computer absence, and as the cheap CD version was only released at the beginning of January, this is definitely my album of the year (2008). It will really take a lot to beat this.

Quote London

Rosie Boycott, in ES Magazine, 4/1/08:

“Cities use up 75 per cent of the world’s resources and London alone uses the environmental resources of an area 120 times its size – equivalent to all the productive land in Britain. Londoners spend £11 billion on food a year and 80 per cent of it is imported from abroad.”

Belated

Happy New Year!

I’m feeling a bit perkier this morning. Hopefully my chronic cold is finally on the way out (had it since 20 December). At any rate, my bio-active Echinacea tincture made with live kombucha culture arrived today, so here’s hoping!

The cold was grim and depressing – it keeps coming back and spreading around; I’ve had it everywhere – chest, throat, nose, ears. Eyes, etc etc etc.

Back at work, we’ve had major server problems so between the coled and server issues I’ve not done any blogging.

Into 2008 . . .

The Parakeets of Clapham

I have finally seen these mythical beasts with my own eyes – a rowdy group of around 12 birds were squabbling over a plane tree trunk outside Holy Trinity, Clapham – a most exotic sight and sound in the current deep freeze. The birds seemed completely undeterred by the weather: they have obviously acclimatised well.

Of course, nothing exciting can happen in the UK without being attacked by zombie bureaucrats – the poor parakeets are under sentence of death because they are too foreign. Are parakeets Brazilian? Avoid the tube!

The Voyage of the Damned

AKA our staff office party. A “Dinner” and “Disco” “Cruise” from Kingston to Teddington and back. Boss entertainingly tore up the dancefloor. I was sorely tempted to jump overboard to escape the horror. The horror.

Got back home at 3 am. Drunkenly frootled around in the kitchen for something warming and came up with excellent inspiration: hot cocoa with a shot of Bailey’s Irish Cream. Yum!! Definitely doing that again.

Mum ‘phoned at 6:45 am Saturday morning.

I was still attempting to make breakfast when my houseguests arrived from Cambridge around 6 pm. Inexplicably, my porridge oats exploded in the microwave.

My niece found them much later on when she was preparing convalescent food for her catastrophically ill pet rat. I know how it felt. It was that sort of weekend.

Diet – wk 10th December

Coffee x 4

Crisps x 0

Choc bars x 1

Pack choc biscuits x 1

Once again, not too bad. Also, Saturday was a virtually food-free day – spent the day largely in bed recovering from The Voyage of the Damned.

Diet: wk 3 December

5 x coffees

1 x packet crisps

1 x choc bar

On the whole, not too bad!

Faking Fingerprints

I’m rather pleased about Labour’s ongoing funding scandal; at least that distracts the government from its all-out misbegotten attempt to destroy our civil rights in the name of ‘security’.

Of course, they also had the recent scandal about half the Nation’s personal info going missing in the post on a couple of unencrypted compact discs – hopefully this will make ID cards harder to introduce. But the government is taking the stance that ‘biometric data’ will make ID cards more secure.

Ha. More people should be aware of Ben Goldacre’s Bad Science column about Biometrics in The Guardian (24th November. Ben Goldacre's Bad Science blog here)

Crucial quote: “every time you touch something, if your security systems rely on biometric ID, then you’re essentially leaving your pin number on a post-it note.

…In fact you might sense that the whole field of biometrics is rather like medical quackery: as usual, on the one hand we have snake oil salesmen promising the earth, and on the other a bunch of humanities graduates who don’t understand technology, science or even human behaviour. Buying it. Bigging it up. Thinking it’s a magic wand”.

Ben points out, frightingly, it has already proven easy and cheap to fake a fingerprint either from the original finger, lifting a fingerprint from a glass surface, or reconstructing a fingerprint from digital data alone (ie the way fingerprints will be stored on the ID card). The faked finger thus produced fools scanners 80% of the time.

Hooray for our Brave New World.

Diet: week 26th November

Much better!

Chocs x 0

Crisps x 1

Coffee x 3

Yay! Must keep up the good work . . . .

Diet: week 19th November

. . . And the wheels fell off this bus.

OMG. Oh, the shame:

1 x apple Danish

3 x full-fat caramel lattes

2 x M&S cream slices
3 x chocolate bars (one of them a mars bar)

2 x packets crisps

1 x tube Pringles (the crack cocaine of crisps, and 750 calories a tube!!!)

4 x M&S custard tarts

1 x massive wedge carrot cake

1 x very large sausage roll

1 x M&S freshly baked chocolate chip cookie

I’m thinking keeping a food diary and noticing what I am eating is skewing the results: I am Schrödinger’s greedy cat. Diarising is forcing me to obsess; therefore I eat more!

This Sunday I shall bake Nigella’s nectarine and blueberry galette as a reward IF I manage to be good all week.

Here goes.

Hedgie's First Law of Croissants

The more difficult crumb-control, the better the pastry. So, if your black cashmere polo neck is festooned in golden crispy flakes, the pastry is very good indeed.

I am enjoying a quick pitstop in the V&A's new cafe, an ambitiously large space opened last November - fairly quietly, I think. I don't recall much press notice at the time.

This is possibly because the poor old V&A was the innocent victim of a grotesquely philistine ad campaign back in the benighted 80s – “An ace café with quite a nice museum attached”. Thatcherite values gazumped the Victorian ones that inspired the museum’s foundation, and suddenly it had to raise money – fast. Cafes and shops were the way forward. The museum is still trying to live this down.

But the truth is the café then was actually dire - a greasily pine-clad, unclean health-hazard situated beneath ground level. The corridor leading to it was dubbed ‘broccoli court’ by V&A staff in honour of the overwhelming smell of boiled brassica that thickly fogged the air.

The new café is a brilliant success. It has moved back to the three original Victorian café rooms – one of which was the first public commission of William Morris & Co. The whole cafe complex now forms the climax to a splendid axis through the centre of the museum: from entrance hall to shop to courtyard garden to café.

The Victorian café rooms are magnificently over the top but at the same time oddly and charmingly practical – Gamble designed his grandiose neo-baroque hall with ‘wipe clean’ tiles ceiling to floor.

For the refurb, the V&A has spread the café into the three galleries between the Victorian rooms and the courtyard – these have been renamed the garden rooms. The centre one serves the food; the two flanking rooms are cleanly minimalist (so restful after the Victorians): all slick lines, white stools and dove-grey banquettes. Gorgeous. The V&A commissioned McInnes Usher McKnight Architects for this project.

The coffee and pastries are excellent too (handled by Benugo), so for me the whole thing has definitely become a place to go in its own right, as well as being a stylish adjunct to a museum visit.

Bah! Humbug!

I am turning into a recluse – really must get out more. This weekend was a complete washout, in more ways than one.

Saturday turned into a duvet day – I barely made it out bed. I snuggled up with a book and copious mugs of tea. Usually, duvet days invlove packets of Sainsbury’s Belgian chocolate chip and hazelnut cookies but mercifully for my diet not this time.

The duvet day stretched into Sunday.

Basically, the most exciting bit of my weekend was washing my woolly jumpers and bleaching the bathroom. Actually, bleaching was exciting – who knew how effective bleach could be? Only one mold spot left standing and that is slowly being worn down by liberal applications every few hours.

It’s not as if I lacked options – I was invited out to dinner on Saturday (but passed) and even more excitingly was offered tickets to the Arcade Fire gig at Alexandra Palace on the Sunday.

Now Arcade Fire is my favourite band of the moment and I actually tried to get tickets earlier in the summer – all sold out. So I should have been really excited and grateful that the universe had opened its bounty to me. But not. Sorry, Universe.

So, instead of having an exciting write-up on the Arcade Fire gig, I am blogging about bleaching the bathroom.

Sad, sad and sad.

Diet: week 12th November

2 x full-fat latte
2 x packet crisps
4 x chocolate bars
1 x apple Danish

Obviously, can do better! But was good on cutting wheaty carbs out of lunches and dinners; also watched potato intake.

COS

I was amused to see cardigans have become so fashionable again - they were a wardrobe staple of mine years ago.

Anyway, I felt I had to pay my respects fashion-wise before it was too late. Obviously, any old cardi was not suitable: I didn't want to end up looking like grandad. So I decided to head up to COS ("Collection of Style"). Apparently it is supposed to be a m ore sedate, upmarket H&M with classic stylish pieces.

The shop is in Liberty's old Regent's Street premises. Very stylish, with welcoming and helpful (but not overly assertive) staff. Got my cardi - quie gorgeous, very fine black silk/wool mix with a light grey edging. I bought it without trying it on. £39.

A bad idea for a fat boy.

Also, the contrast edging does no favours whatsoever for the fatter boy belly profile :-/

Considered taking it back, but I think I'll try to get by wearing it unbuttoned.

diet week 5th Nov

1 x pack crisps

1 x choc bar

2 x full-fat sugared lattes

Not bad. Was good with carb control - no pasta, hardly any potatoes etc

Epoisses

Food of the Gods

One of the best things about my midlife crisis is finding new things to try that hadn’t really crossed the radar before.

This cheese is just remarkable. Apparently, it is the second most stinkiest cheese in France and was allegedly Napoleon’s favourite.

I’m getting a picture of ‘ol Boney being a bit of a sniffer – famously, he wrote Josephine to stop washing as he made hi way slowly back to Paris from Austerlitz on horseback (or something) – definitely a boy who liked his women stinky and his cheese stinkier.

WARNING: You are banned from eating this cheese on public transport in France.

But if you can get past the smell sheer heaven awaits. It’s like Camembert on steroids – everything about it is Bigger: the texture is smoother, claggier, more mouth coating; the taste is huge: powerful, rounded, complex – even the deeply wrinkled, soft and dusky orange rind has a melting ‘eat-me-now’ quality.

And remember I am eating a supermarket cheese – this gorgeousness is available in Sainsbury’s Taste the Difference range. Fantastically well done, Sainsbury’s.

I was attempting to spread the cheese on a granary roll (sublime marriage of textures) unsuccessfully – the cheese is so oozy it ended up all over my fingers. I didn’t wash my hands so I could enjoy the stinkiness some more (definitely no intimate moments with A. N. Other at chez Hedgie last night). In France, they eat it with spoons. Who knows how Napoleon ate it. He may have spread it across Josephine.

Epoisses was invented by Cistercian monks in the 16th Century. Whatever evil the Catholic Church has committed over the centuries, this one is definitely on the side of the angels. On the other hand, no purely saintly organization could have come up with something so good.

More Epoisses lusciousness here and here.

Go on. You haven’t lived until you try it.

weekend news roundup - Jean Charles de Menezes and Sir Ian Blair

I remember the news the police had shot a terrorist coming in one morning at work. Everyone was so pleased but my stomach lurched. In fact, my comment at the water-cooler was it would be great if the person shot did in fact turn out to be a terrorist.

It was horrible to be proved right, and even more awful to realise how dubious I am about police competence.

The shooting of Jean-Charles de Menezes was a complete tragedy. The pressures the police were under were huge, and actually I could sympathise with their position were it not for the appalling way they have handled the aftermath –video footage going ‘missing’; Jean Charles’s character being besmirched; resisting a proper investigation; and now Sir Ian Blair absolutely ruling out considering his position as leader of the Met.

Andrew Rawnsley in last Sunday’s Observer made the most eloquent case for Sir Ian’s dismissal:

“We too often talk about this or that trifling controversy being morally outrageous. The editor of Blue Peter lost his job because of a bit of malarkey over the name of the programme’s cat.”

So I do think it would be appropriate for Sir Ian and his political bosses to have a rethink on this issue.

just say no

My name is Hedgiecc and I am a carboholic. When I find myself baking cakes to celebrate National Pudding Day – and then eating them all myself – problems are looming. I have never been so large.

The fightback begins here – no more chocs, no more crisps and no full-fat caramel lattes (on saving money grounds as well). Also all carbs will be viewed with suspicion.

Last week I had two packs crisps, 3 coffees, and no chocolates. Good! I also avoided sandwiches for lunch – instead having soup at around 11 and then fruit in the afternoon.

Excellent progress: hopefully the tummy will start receding visibly soon.

Apologies on getting all Bridget Jones, but this calls for desperate measures.

Fireworks!

The weekend started with a bang at the Clapham Common bonfire night fireworks display. According to Time Out, this is one of the biggest displays in south London, with some 100,000 visitors. The fireworks were provided by Festival Fireworks, winners of the Italian Pyrotechnical Association World Championships. 

And very good they were too. There were a fair sprinkling of unusual ones, and after half-an-hour it climaxed spectularly, if slightly out of synch with the music (Starwars theme).

Usually one can see Wandsworth Common’s fireworks from Clapham, but this year Wandsworth Council decided to cut back on fireworks. Let us hope Labour Lambeth keeps up the tradition, even now they don’t have to demonstrate heavier fire power than the Tories.

Juicy Royal sex scandal

When will the Royal Family learn it's not still 1936? They simply can't expect to hide the relevant information from us plebs loyal subjects in the UK when the whole rest of the world knows. Especially when the allegations are this juicy: Royal/Gay sex/blackmail/secrecy etc etc etc.

Also, surely some civil law issues here? - How can thay have a trial completely in secret??? - is it going to be 'off with their heads' next?

As all of us slavering gossipoholics know, thank goodness for Google. And Wikipedia.

Serpentine Pavilion

My lack of a camera inhibited me from going to see the Serpentine’s 2007 Pavilion: I really like photographing the structures. This is one that is better in real life than in photos – strangely, photographs don’t really show how it fits together or works spatially. The Serpentine’s description is pretty good:

“The Serpentine Gallery Pavilion 2007 is designed by the internationally acclaimed artist Olafur Eliasson and the award-winning Norwegian architect Kjetil Thorsen, of the architectural practice Snøhetta. This timberclad structure resembles a spinning top and brings a dramatic vertical dimension to the traditional single-level pavilion. A wide spiralling ramp makes two complete turns, allowing visitors to ascend from the Gallery lawn to the highest point for views across Kensington Gardens as well as a bird’s eye view of the chamber below.”

While very modern, the building seems to foster a ritualistic approach: the spiral is quite processional, and affords great views over Hyde Park as one slowly progresses to the top. Near the bottom, the walkway dramatically opens out into the internal space, which while large feels cosy and cave-like, with amphitheatre-style seating curving around an oval space and a large uneven conical dome opening up overhead with an oculus at the top lighting a balcony precipitously jutting out over the space. This balcomy is definitely calculated to bring out your inner shaman. The pavilion's colouring is uniformly a dark bronzy brown which adds to a sense of mystery.

Even though the building shows you where the processonal spiral terminates as you ascend, when you get there it is still a surprise – the disjuncture between walking gently up in open space in natural light and suddenly entering a dark, enclosed, high space artifically lit is quite pronounced. The balcony suddenly feels quite vulnerable and dangerous. One has an amazing view of the crowds seated in the amphitheatre. Some balcony visitors couldn’t resist giving fascist salutes – it is that type of space.

I worried this wasn’t going to be as spectacular as Olafur Eliasson’s last gig at Tate Modern; that it wouldn’t stand up to Rem Koolhaas’s astonishing 2006 Pavilion - but was completly swept away. Much recommended.

Ping Pong

Ping Pong opened the last year I was with my old company, and we had our departmental Christmas dinner at the original branch opposite the London Palladium. It was packed solid, and I remember it was difficult to get a booking. I had the day off due to moving into my new home that day and met my shortly to be ex-colleagues for what was a very fun evening, with delicious, madly affordable food served in a gorgeous setting. My boss managed to give me no sign I was to be unfairly dismissed right after Christmas.

My fondness for Ping Pong survived this incident and I went back with my now ex-colleagues (minus the boss) for a catch-up about 6 months later, after the legal wrangling was completed. Again, it was fun.

And in the last few months, I have been back twice, with very different crowds – once with my houseguests in the summer, after a performance of “The Sound of Music” at the Palladium, and last week with my brother and the niece and nephew after our Royal Society lecture.

Both visits were great. I think my older guests enjoyed themselves – the Jasmine tea is always a show-stopper – and they are the type of older visitors who appreciate an experience of ‘trendy’ London. The dim sum were duly demolished while friendly banter was exchanged with a couple down from the North at our communal table.

Professional critics have sniffily compared Ping Pong to Hakkasan and Yauatcha. I have yet to go to Hakkasan but I’ve been to Yauatcha and I think the Ping Pong dim sum stand up very well, considering Ping Pong is aiming at a completely different market: mostly the post work crowd; with the dim sum hoovering up excess alcohol consumption.

The trip to the new branch at the Royal Festival Hall on the South Bank was a wonderful half-term family treat. We arrived just after 8pm, me thinking innocently that there would be a lull as punters left for performances at the Hall. Ha ha ha. The place was hopping, with a queue snaking out the door. We were told we had a half-hour wait but would shortly be moved into a bar area. I asked if the kids could have a snack while they waited, and my brother started complaining we couldn’t wait 30 minutes with the children ‘at this hour’. I mentioned there was an EAT around the corner – but my nephew bridled at this (EAT is clearly their default pit stop in Cambridge). Also, he had spotted the Chinese script on the ceiling and wanted more.

We were asked to hang on for 5 minutes and a table was magicked up for us. I was really impressed they even bothered, considering they had flocks of people to spare. Service was brilliant and slick, and the dim sum arrived smartly. Stand-outs were the Har Gau and the squid in satay sauce. The Jasmine tea blew the children away – my little nephew thought it was an alien pod hatching.

The dim sum are keenly priced for such a glam atmosphere – the most expensive item is £3.99: each menu item comes with 3 portions, allowing easy sharing. My nephew had a series of lemonades with fruit ‘shooters’ – these were as phenomenally beautiful as the jasmine tea. My brother and I stuck to G&Ts – quite fabulously delicious. These were Tanqueray but on a completely different plane to others I have had recently. 3 G&Ts = half the bill for 4 (12 courses) : £67 including service.

up your street

According to various free-sheets and celebrity magazines, Keira Knightley is planning to move to Clapham to avoid the paparazzi.

The London Paper claims she is buying a £3.5M house in a street that already boasts Johnny Vaughan and Mark Owen of Take That fame as residents. Who knew? I thought Vivienne Westwood was our only genuine celebrity.

Another claim is she is moving into her boyfriend’s Clapham bedsit.

Alas, if the delightful Ms Knightley was planning to come here to avoid the press, she’s unlikely to do so now that they have already rumbled her. A pity, as I would have enjoyed bumping into her in the aisles at Sainsbury’s.

National Chocolate Day

chocolate malteser cake, originally uploaded by hedgiecc.

Nigella Lawson's Chocolate Malteser Cake (from her last book, Feast, made by me in honour of the clocks going back (and, apparently, yesterday was National Chocolate Day and October is National Pudding Month).

Funniest clocks going back story is the cock up at Gatwick Airport. Hilarious, except i suppose for all those poor passengers.

half-term with the brainiacs

My bother's idea of a half-term break treat for the children is pretty jaw-dropping stuff: he took them to an evening lecture at The Royal Society. Professor Ottoline Leyser was addressing the question of 'Thinking Like a Vegetable'.

Ottoline is the 2007 recipient of the Royal Society Rosalind Franklin Prize. My brother said her work on X-ray diffraction images formed the framework for Watson and Crick's hypothesis on the double helical structure of DNA (Watson and Crick won the Nobel Prize: she didn't), that she was controversial, and that Watson (he of recent racist-comment notoriety) had apparently bad-mouthed her.

This riled me up considerably. "That bastard", I thought. "Stealing credit and denigrating women as well as making racist comments." It inspired me to come along too just to show support.

Well, I thought Ottoline looked surpringly young to have worked with Watson and Crick. My brother explained this was because Ottoline didn't, his comments were about Rosalind Franklin. She didn't get the Nobel, but at least they named a prize after her. Oh, I see.

Anyway, how can you not love a city which offers, amongst all its exhaustingly multifarious entertainment options, a free public lecture on Vegetable Thinking by a top scientist?

Ottoline's lecture brilliantly explained the basic concepts of plant hormonal systems in a very clear, memorable and entertaining way.

One of her basic points is that in studying plants it is desirable to attempt to achieve a plant-centric viewpoint rather than our more natural animal-centricity, as this creates the correct mental atmosphere for the right questions to emerge.

For example, a picture of a bee visiting a flower can more correctly be viewed as a flower manipulating a bee to help it have sex with another flower somewhere else. All the energy in the transaction is supplied by the flower - it supplies all the bee's energy needs as well as reproducing itself.

The hormonal systems of plants which regulate growth and growth options and patterns became quite complex quite quickly, which temporarily lost me and the children, but then Ottoline brought it back on track with a ringing condemnation of our modern cult of the 'natural'.

Nothing we grow is natural - all of it has been artificially developed over thousands of years.

She took the example of a can of organic sweetcorn. "This a can of sweetcorn babies. The sweetcorn does not want you to eat its babies".

Compared with 'real' sweetcorn, our cultivated sweetcorn is a massively engorged freak. 'Real' sweetcorn is tiny, brown, and bristling with unappetising fibres - it evolved this way to avoid being eaten. South American farmers used the technology they had to develop the sweetcorn we have today over many years - by implication, GM is just a souped-up version of what we as a species have always done to the plants we cultivate. The plants scientists want to genetically modify are artificial to begin with.

So I think Ottoline is a GM-supporter. I wanted to ask her if she felt there was absolutely no value in the Organic movement's philosophy, but the chairlady stopped taking questions from the hippies at the back of the room after a magnificently hairy French hippy asked about plant consciousness. Ottoline took the question in her stride, however.

My brother wanted to ask how the hormonal systems evolved, but he looks even more like a hippy than me so stood no chance.

The Royal Society's intellectual generosity did not spill over to offering us a glass of wine (invited reception only), so we spilled out into the crisp autumn evening in search of dinner. I think the children were moderately amused. It was a visit to London, after all.

ban bags now

Everyone in London can register their opinions on the control of plastic bags. I prefer banning them outright, but I think the councils see another opportunity to make money and so want to introduce a levy. Banning them will make more of a real impact on the environment. Currently London gets through 1.6 billion plastic bags a year (not counting ones tourists use, apparently. Don't know how they got to that conclusion.)

Make your voice heard here - closes Friday.

news roundup

South Africa wins the Rugby World Cup - hooray, I suppose. My neighbour told me I was the only South Africa he knew who wasn't excited. I replied rugby was the reason I left.

If anything, I was disappointed England didn't win. Does that make me English??? My father, his father, and so on back to who knows when, was born on this island. I made the mistake of being born in Africa and despite living here for 20 years clearly will never be English. My nephew, on the other hand, also born elsewhere (Portugal) and only one-quarter English by blood, is quintessentially English because he learnt to speak here.

Ratatouille

Still on the food theme – I saw the new Disney animation film Ratatouille this week, and it was really fun. Much recommended. Far more adult and complex than their previous releases (obviously they are focussing on the kidult market), the visuals are wonderful. There is a bravura display of digital skills in the sequence where the rats get washed down a drain; my favourite bit however was a chase along the banks of the Seine – Paris was realised so beautifully.

The basic plot is standard issue “follow your dream” but the developments are always imaginatively surprising, A really refreshing experience, and blissfully calorie-free.

just desserts

I am slim and trim and never put on weight. Until now. And in fact, even now my ferociously skinny and very kind colleague tells me I’m not fat – however, I have a definite incipient doughnut. Yikes!

I keep telling myself when I start cycling to work this will melt away. When. And, to be truthful, if. But I *must*.

While I build up the willpower to cycle, I am attempting to control calorie intake. This is challenging as our sandwich van man’s wife makes the most superb carrot cake imaginable and they serve it in vast wedges. I have succumbed to it two days running.

Picking up a few things (mostly salad) from Sainsbury’s for dinner later on, an intense urge to buy a pack of extra chunk chocolate biscuits almost carried me away. I held painfully to my goals however and departed triumphantly with my cucumber, lettuce, etc.

Only to find on the doormat when I got home bars of Galaxy chocolate – a marketing genius has come up with the idea of posting free chocolate through SW4 letterboxes to promote Galaxy’s new shape!

Now that’s the kind of junk mail I like! :-)

This was clearly a reward from the universe for my virtue in Sainsbury’s, and gratefully I scoffed the lot.

Oh well.

news roundup: a bad week in politics

The Observer last Sunday: ‘Blairites plotting as Brown lead evaporates’

Ouch!

Luckily, the exit of Menzies Campbell as leader of the Lib Dems must have eased the pressure a bit on our poor beleaguered Prime Minister.

under the weather

If I were Michael Fish, I would reconcile myself to the fact that my name, unlike the names of lesser weathermen, would live forever – admittedly not in the most glorious context imaginable, but hey. No-one can seriously blame Mr Fish for the hurricane of ’87; he was just the face on tv reporting the information he had been given. But unfortunately, he did make that comment:

"Earlier on today, apparently, a woman rang the BBC and said she heard there was a hurricane on the way... well, if you're watching, don't worry, there isn't!".

His claims now that the remark was made about a potential hurricane in Florida, that he wasn’t on duty *that* day, that the whole of Britain and the news media have gravely misremembered the actual situation, are just so embarrassing, pathetic, and demeaning.

More edifying News Roundup

I love animal stories in the news; animals always get into the most amazingly inventive situations. Two great ones this last week:

Daisy the miniature dachshund unearthed a fossilized woolly mammoth bone up to two million years old on the beach at Dunwich, near Southwold, Suffolk. The Dialy Mail has the full story and a fantastic pic of Daisy salivating over her juicy find.

Over at Maunsel House, Somerset, Sir Benjamin Slade’s peacock ravished a peacock-blue Lexus, causing £4,000 of damage in the process (The Telegraph reports). There is speculation the peacock involved is gay, because peahens are brown, not blue. However, it is also possible the peacock was just attempting to defend his territory from a (much larger) rival.

Testosterone-drenched birdbrains can react oddly: our canary Gregory Peck was set off by any electrical device being turned on – washing machine, kettle, etc. Canaries can be ear-splittingly loud for their size; sometimes we had to cover his cage in self-defence.

News roundup

After being such a clever tease all summer long Gordon Brown is now looking utterly foolish. He has cleverly contrived to lose the election that never was. He has helped the Tories revive and unite behind their leader – who just a couple of weeks ago was on the skids.

The Tories had a good conference, and the shadow cabinet members all made excellent speeches, with genuinely electorate pleasing policies being announced. David Cameron’s speech was good stuff, although I felt not the genius level wizardry the press were claiming.

So the Tories definitely deserved their bounce, but I do think Brown’s insane visit to Basra accelerated it wildly. A new New Labour Prime Minister who has promised new ways of doing things and vowing to do away with spin cannot afford to be seen spinning, of all issues, the Iraq war – the very war we were spun into so conspicuously by his predecessor. Tony may have gone, but New Labour doesn’t get a get-out-of-jail-free card with his departure. It is still their utterly misjudged war, and it is nauseating watching the Prime Minister using our soldiers sent to risk their lives as a backdrop for his blatant electioneering. What a twit.

For a career politician, to spin may be essential; to be seen spinning is bad; but to be caught spinning incompetently is catastrophic. Perhaps Gordon could ring Tony for lessons.

Question

Why do so many London pigeons have injured feet? Are our anti-pigeon defences too harsh and cruel to the poor beasties?

Pigeons are certainly clever enough to recognise the possibility of a free lunch. Sitting waiting for a train at High Street Kensington, I was quickly marked out by two hobbled-feet scavengers. I realised that they must have clocked I was carrying an M&S carrier bag containing sandwiches for my lunch.

Saw another pigeon cripple immediately afterwards at Vauxhall station. Obviously, London living must be dangerous. But why are they so careless of their feet?

millais

A sumptuously mounted exhibition at Tate Britain; will probably be mobbed by fans of chocolate boxy Victorian art. After a short period of artistic rebellion in the Pre-Rahaelite movement Millais became the archetypal artistic sellout, licensing his work Bubbles for use in the Pear’s Soap adverts.
Actually I quite like Bubbles, and don’t really blame the man for making a few quid in the Art Business, especially after his unpleasant early experiences with his critical patron Ruskin, a relentless back-seat driver and moralist who went a bit gaga in the end.

I don’t really rate Millais’ stuff at all, apart from Ophelia, Marianna and one or two other pieces. He was skilled in handling paint, capturing textures and facial expression but a bit hopeless at large-scale compositions, which are usually weird and awkward. The portraits are by far his best work.

Millais scandalously eloped with Mrs John Ruskin, whose marriage to the Victorian Sage was unconsummated allegedly due to Mr Ruskin’s distaste of feminine public hair. Instead of booking herself in for a brazilian Mrs Ruskin eloped with the far more personable Millais. Her second marriage was far more successful, and the pair had vast quantities of children, most of whom were roped in for modelling by their doting papa. Queen Victoria never forgave Millais the scandal, and despite painting every Victorian worthy and C-list celeb he never painted her. The monarchy’s loss. Maybe this explains our present monarch’s mania for being painted by Lucien Freud, et all.

Millais
Tate Britain
26 September 2007 – 13 January 2008

Movie roundup

Was seduced into seeing The Walker with Woody Harrelson by the superlative reviews. I’d agree Woody was excellent in his role as the gay black sheep of an aristocratic Southern family, and the supporting cast were pretty good too. However, this was supposed to be a thriller and instead was fairly soporific and plotless. It sees itself as some sort of updated Liaisons Dangereuses set in Washington and takes itself far too seriously.

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix was far more enjoyable. I loved the design – especially the room with the faily tree wallpaper in Sirius Black’s house. Very creepy and atmospheric.

Atonement

I researched the Balham tube WWII bomb blast, and found this. Definitely not as beautiful as Atonement’s take on the incident. The movie pursues a ‘beautiful’ agenda – the sequences with Keira Knightley’s emerald green evening dress push wardrobe excellence to new levels – a welcome and for this novel appropriate emphasis on artifice in historical drama adaptations. It fails only in so far as the novel itself is frankly unfilmable.

[Edit 23/10/09] Wow! This is a pretty sensational find. Londonist has been researching Pathe's archives and has come across this originally unbroadcast material showing a bus in a huge crater in Balham High Street. I suspect this is the incident which flooded the tube tunnels at Balham Station and inspired Ian McEwan.

London Transport museum also has a photo of the bomb crater with the bus.

Nigella returns

I did manage to get back to Nigella's new Nigella Express at the weekend - cooking for the houseguests on Saturday after our visit to the BM.

I did the scallops with chorizo, chickpeas with cumin and sherry, and the nectarine and blueberry galette for pudding. The scallops and the galette were both absolutely sensational and definitely ones to do again and again.

I bought beautiful scallops from the excellent Moxons on Clapham Southside. I got dismissive and surly service at Moens, usually so good, but the lady at Sainsbury's Clapham High Street's deli counter was a sweetheart. The recipe could not be easier, and is really so scrumptious - I knew it would be good but it surpassed expectations. Likewise the galette; I'm going to make it again this weekend.

Terracotta Warriors

Such is the hoopla I was surprised to find out the terracotta warriors have visited London before, in 1980, when they were exhibited at Selfridges.

The troop at the British Museum look quite magnificent, and are accompanied by horses, court officials, musicians and acrobats, so collectively there are far more than some critics have implied. One can get quite close to them and examine their individual characteristics, which is good, and the museum has restricted the flow of people in, which is even better. There wasn’t the scrummage usual at these exhibition – even timed ticket ones. The exhibition is helpfully informative, although tactfully omits mention of Qin Shi Huang’s book-burning and scholar massacring activities. Ironically, the exhibition is housed in the British Museum’s celebrated historic Reading Room. How Qin Shi Huang would have laughed.

The First Emperor: China's Terracotta Army
13 September 2007 - 6 April 2008
British Museum

The Bacchae

I studied this play at university – twice, I think, once in Trauma and Film 1 and once in Classical Life and Thought 2 . I’ve never seen it on stage until last night, at the Lyric Theatre, Hammersmith.

I booked partly because I’ve always wanted to see a production, and partly because Alan Cumming was playing Dionysus. I hardly read anything about it before going, and as it happened was feeling distinctly under par yesterday so was dreading a worthy Greek revival: however this production was electrifying, and deliciously far from ‘worthy’. Almost 2 hours without interval but one hardly notices: this is a great fresh translation by David Greig and a wonderful production by John Tiffany for the National Theatre of Scotland.

Cumming is superb in the role of the rejected god come back to wreak revenge on his mother’s earthly family. Seductive, camp, and comic, but quite excessive in his cruel revenge. But I suppose all Greek gods were dangerous – mythology is full of their violent acts visited randomly on friend and foe alike. As the god Cumming makes a series of fabulous, jaw-dropping entrances throughout – lowered by his ankles to the stage at the start (mooning the audience); though a blast of wall-to-wall fire in the middle (I was in row M and felt the heat); and, finally, – disembodied voice amplified – behind a massive bank of blinding lights at the end. His scenes with the uptight Pentheus are very witty and loaded with horrific irony, which Cumming takes to the max.

Cumming’s foil Tony Curran makes Pentheus’s journey from repressed macho moralist to cringingly awful drag artiste compelling.

Paola Dionisiotti as his mother Agave and Ewan Hooper as grandfather Cadmus are excellent too. They really evoke the horror and poignancy of the tragedy. I was rather dreading Pentheus’s head coming on stage at this point and this one is a pretty close portrait of Tony Curran. The denouement is all the more grisly for Agave and Cadmus being absolutely smothered in blood and gore.

The chorus of Bacchae are played by black women in magnificent red feathered dresses and big disco diva hair. Their words are sung, in mostly Gospel/R&B stylee and they are pretty fabulous – I really looked forward to their next turn. It could easily have been a disastrous choice to use Black actresses in this way; given the theme of the play it could have been interpreted as racist. However, they almost emphasize this possibility – one chorus member mimics a hip-hop artist at one point; another gives the reported words of Agave a broad West Indian accent. The final effect is of flirting with taboos; going too far – which is where Dionysus lives.

poison mushrooms

My mother’s horrific childhood led her to equate food with love; no-one she loved could ever eat enough. The only reason I didn’t balloon in weight as a child was because in self-defense I became a very fussy eater: every mealtime was a battlefield. Consequently if I found something – anything – I liked it would be mine immediately and always and until I reacted against it (as eventually I always did).

Once at some Polish community event I tasted pickled mushrooms and really really liked them. I was encouraged to eat way too many and was afterwards violently ill. Projectile pickled mushrooms everywhere. Just the thought of pickled mushrooms makes me shudder even today.

Which brings me to Nigella Lawson’s new book, Nigella Express. I tried her raw mushroom linguine last night (by coincidence she also did it on her tv show). It’s a very nice dish, and as fast as promised. I tucked in heartily at first until I started feeling a bit odd about it – very slowly the thought emerged that this was reminding me of something . . . . yaaargh! The dreaded pickled mushrooms!

It’s curious the connection between mind and stomach. My body remembered the mushroom issue before I consciously did, but once my mind made the connection my stomach immediately went into upheaval mode.

Sorry Nigella; not the best review for the book. Hope to cook more this weekend. Meanwhile, it’s baked potato for dinner tonight.

calling earth . . . calling earth . . . .

bzzzst . . . . fizz . . . . . *crackle* . . . .

transmissions resume . . .

Sorry. Been busy.

live blogging from Kingston

Back from lunch now. Got as far as the first major puddle before giving up on trying to reach Kingston. Couldn't bear the idea of a service station sandwich for lunch, so settled in at Cafe Rouge for a nice poulet facie avec saute potatoes and spring greens, washed down by mineral water and cappucino.

Meanwhile, back in Clapham, our ridiculous 18th-century drains managed to keep the flood at bay. My neighbour Septimus cleared a few leaves out of the back one and it was fine after that but the front is very slow despite all efforts to clear it and the water level rose to the top of the front door step. Yikes!!!! - get contents insurance fast!!!! - a couple more inches and my little nest would be inundated.

Hoping the rain will keep off for a while - I'm sourcing portable water pumps, sandbags, etc even as I blog.

live blogging from Kingston

Rain much eased, but still falling. Water level has fallen on the London Road. Our basement is full of yucky oily brown water. Most cars seem to have been evacuated.

More importantly - what a day to come to work in old leaky shoes and have to go to buy lunch!!!

live blogging from Kingston

- rain easing off a bit.

- Emergency services' sirens iall around!

live blogging from Kingston

An apocalypse of water! The deluge is here!

- and the fire alarm has just gone off. Everyone is ignoring it.

- a pallet has just floated down London Road and into our carpark. Stuck going down to the Underground car park.

- people are photographing the Niagra down the steps into the underground carpark.

- our colleague L has just taken off her shoes and gone downstairs to rescue her car - before the carpark is completely underwater!!!