Fighting the cause

Anti-austerity demonstration, Nottingham, 30.05.2015. Similar demos across the UK.

Harold Fry

'It must be the same all over England. People were buying milk, or filling their cars with petrol, or even posting letters. And what no one else knew was the appalling weight of the thing they were carrying inside. The superhuman effort it took sometimes to be normal, and a part of things that appeared both easy and everyday. The loneliness of that.'

- The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry, Rachel Joyce

Shark

When I was about half way through Will Self's latest novel Shark, back in November, I went down to Bristol to see him at one of those reading/signing/promotional evenings authors do. He talked about some of the ideas behind the novel and the process of writing it, and read a a passage from early on in the book. I say read, it was really performed, as he gave each character a unique voice and brought their words to life.

The evening completely changed the way I was reading the book in a wonderful way: I started to read all the characters in the accents and speech habits their author had given them and I began to notice details that I hadn't been picking up on before, such as the obscure historic pop-cultural references that litter one of the main character's speech.

I found I enjoyed Shark a little more than Umbrella, and I think this was partly a result of hearing the characters 'speak', and understanding how and why their author created them, and so relating to them in a way you are not always able to as a reader. I also enjoyed the variety in the lives of the characters in the novel, in particular Jeannie, later called Genie, a drug addict who's childhood is explored and whose 'Mumsie' turns out to be a regular at the Plantation Club, which Self readers will know well!

Going from Umbrella straight onto Shark also meant I was tuned into the stream-of-consciousness writing style from the off, and once you get used to it it becomes almost natural and stops getting in the way of your following the characters stories develop. Apparently the next novel will be the final part of a trilogy, so I'm looking forward to what that will bring!

Umbrella

If you've been dipping into this blog for some time, you might be wondering why this has been so long coming. Ever since I went to buy my copy of Umbrella by Will Self, on my 10 year anniversary of meeting him at a signing for Dorian, it has been sitting on bookshelf with all my other Will Selfs (the 'Will Self shelf'), nestled between Haruki Murakami and Stephen Fry, quietly waiting almost two years to be read.

You see, I was waiting for the right time to read Umbrella. A quiet period, with manageable time for uninterrupted reading and few plans, and perhaps following on from a light easy read to ready my mind. Only this never came. And then a few weeks ago, Shark was released and there I was with Umbrella unread on the shelf. So I picked it up one day and took it on a work trip to the north. I opened it at 6.40am, 3 minutes into a 2 hour train journey. Unfortunately, 5 minutes after that I was fast asleep, so it wasn't actually until the return journey that I started it properly.

Numerous reviews had warned about it being difficult to read. And it certainly is a challenge. You have to pay attention. There are no chapters, few paragraphs, and the time, place and point of view are all continually shifting, unexpectedly, sometimes in the middle of a sentence. But if you focus, it isn't that hard to follow (even if you sometimes might have to jump back and read a page again to work out how you got from a modern day London bus ride to the trenches of the First World War).

The story is far from being buried by the style. On the contrary, in many respects I found the style enhanced your understanding of how the separate narratives link and intertwine, developing as layers together around the central themes. The novel's free-flowing stream-of-consciousness binds the characters and their lives together in a powerful, almost emotional way which I cannot imagine a more conventional style achieving. 

The subject of the novel is a fascinating one, based upon the real life trials Dr Oliver Sacks carried out on patients with encephalitis lethargica in the 1960s, except here of course it is Dr Zachary Busner once more in the starring role. I think that if you are willing to put the effort in, this is a far more accessible novel than might be immediately apparent: an enormously rewarding and enjoyable challenge for anyone looking to engage in a different type of reading. 

Who will help worst-case-scenario me?

I was party to one of those slightly frustrating political discussions recently, the topic of which was based around what issues we care about in society, and how it influences our political stance.

Two young (early 20s), white males, recently out of uni and beginning their careers in law defended the view that they did not care about the impact of further welfare cuts and caps proposed at the latest Tory conference, and moreover that they didn't need to care, because it would never affect them.

The two in the group most vehemently opposed to this viewpoint, including myself, were older females (both in our 30s), who over the years have amassed experiences of unemployment, redundancy, low pay and health issues before reaching a similar situation to our friends above.

I was thinking afterwards about all the things that shape our political views, and in quite a timely way, this article appeared, which although focuses on UKIP has some interesting points about how gender influences the way we vote:

http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2014/oct/09/ukip-women-policies-voters-parties-family-friendly

If you are interested in more on UKIP's attitude to women, the Telegraph have published several good articles on the topic over the past couple of years - google UKIP sexism and the like.

But back to my discussion: there was an obvious gender divide there, but was that the root of our differences? Was my view shaped by my being a female? Although women, none of our experiences were uniquely female. But as females are we more empathetic? I thought a great deal about why I care about the issues I care about, and I realised that in some ways, I am just as selfish as my male friends. I care not only about issues that do, but also that might affect me. I vote for policies that may not best support me now, but will best provide support when I most need it, for the rock-bottom me. The worst-case scenario me.

The worst-case scenario me is me without work, with exacerbated mental health issues, a me who is perhaps a single mother to a child who will not be afforded the best opportunities as a result of its situation, perhaps even disabilities. In need of support from welfare and from public services. It sounds extreme. But it is not completely unlikely.

To firmly believe it can't happen to you is either foolish or arrogant, or both.

Comedy misogyny

There was quite a good programme on TV recently presented by Kirsty Wark called Blurred Lines, about how sexism and misogyny is alive and well and possibly having a bit of a resurgence though social media etc (see: Mary Beard; Caroline Criado-Perez etc etc).

 The programme featured a bit about misogyny in comedy (last year at the Edinburgh Fringe was apparently dubbed the 'year of the rape joke') and featured amongst other things an interview with a comedian called Brendon Burns. He apparently features a lot of sexist jokes in his act and made the point that (I'm paraphrasing but this is the gist) nothing and no one, no group of people, should be off limits in comedy, women aren't a 'holy cow' he said.

 I completely agree with this. I do honestly think absolutely anything has potential to be funny if approached the right way, and nothing should be off limits. Women, rape, the lot. (I've never actually heard a funny rape joke but i will keep a beady out). There should be no 'holy cow'. I have enjoyed hours of stand-up which explores, in an intelligent and original way, some of the areas of life which people are often afraid to talk about for fear of causing upset (see case in point: Stewart Lee and his hallucinatory tales of meeting Jesus...)

 So why did i find the clips of Burns' sexist stand up routine so distasteful? Having agreed with his defence of his work, I got confused and briefly thought I was going to have to reassess my whole life. But then I realised, it wasn't that I found it offensive (I am almost impossible to offend through normal channels of common decency -believe me i've done tests - probably why I can find anything funny), it's just that his particular approach to women was lazy, unoriginal, and perpetrated the kind of boring stereotypes we have been hearing about for decades. It just wasn't very funny. It was like hearing jokes about Welsh people and sheep - you might snigger the first time, but after the 8654756886th you'll probably just sigh deeply and contemplate gnawing your own arm off.

 Maybe I don't dislike sexist jokes. But I definitely don't like bad comedy!

Move?

I am pondering moving this blog to Wordpress.... I do love blogspot and I've been using it for years, but Mark and I have been running Butterflies & Bread over on Wordpress for a few months and I am enjoying that platform rather more than this at the moment. Apparently I can import all the content over so I will get investigating, watch this space!

Melrosiad - Some Hope

Back with a newly cleaned up Patrick Melrose this week. Having left behind his troubled 20s, Patrick and I are now pretty much the same age. I think we would get on.

"As far as I know she's driving a consignment of ten thousand syringes to Poland. People say it's marvellous of her, but I still think that charity begins at home. She could have saved herself the journey by bringing them round to my flat," said Patrick.

"I thought you'd put all that behind you," said Nicholas.

"Behind me, in front of me. It's hard to tell, here in the Grey Zone.

"That's a rather melodramatic way to talk at thirty,"

"Well, you see," sighed Patrick, "I've given up everything, but taken nothing up instead."

NW

NW by Zadie Smith

Melrosiad

Sneaky lunch-break trip to Waterstones = quality time with Patrick Melrose (now all grown up and drug-addicted)!

Ins Kino gehen

Woke up this morning wanting very much to spend the last day of 2013 at Cafe Kino on Stokes Croft in Bristol. So that is where we made our way, currently enjoying sweet potato chips and falafel, and a relatively sunny view out over the Boycott Tesco mural. Also, listening to Big Fox. Back to Notts tomorrow, and into the New Year.

The Weimar Republic Coffee Awards 2013

I sort of love the idea that the (actual) Weimar Republic might have had Coffee Awards, but I sort of also suspect they probably didn't. Which is a shame, but they were probably busy being more concerned about other things.

But let us not stop more important things getting in the way of this, the inaugural Weimar Republic Coffee Awards 2013. I have spent the past year conducting a completely unfair, unbalanced and not in any way thorough survey of the coffee available throughout our fine nation. And now the results are in.

To test coffee appropriately, my rules state you should order a flat white and an espresso. This will give you the best picture of both the quality and flavour of the coffee itself, how it works in a more complex (slightly) beverage, with milk, and also the coffee making skills of the establishment in question.

In practice, drinking a flat white and an espresso everywhere you go isn't practicable, particularly if you want to test more than one establishment's coffee in the same day and don't enjoy caffeine hallucinations. But still, I tried my best. Here are my favourites:

Flat White, Berwick Street, Soho, London


Possibly one of the first British cafes to bring the flat white to the UK? And how glad I was of this. When I first left the UK for Australia in 2008, I had never heard of the flat white. I was very much a tea drinker. And then I discovered the joyful flat white. Why couldn't English people make coffee like this? Why did we put up with those milky, bathtub sized travesties, with several inches of flavourless froth sat on top? When I came home, in 2011, I was overjoyed to see flat whites in English coffee shops. So, thank you, Flat White in Soho, and your fine flat whites.

The Bean, Stoney Street, Beeston, Nottinghamshire

My local. And fortunately so. We buy all our own coffee beans here and they grind them for us too! And they do a grand flat white.

Wired, Pelham Street, Nottingham

A new one in Nottingham. Excellent, and good food too.

Hot Numbers, Gwydir Street, Cambridge

Very fine coffee. These people are into coffee so much that I just felt like a person with a hot drink in comparison. I sampled two different espressos and several flat whites (on separate visits I must point out!).

Boston Tea Party, Park Street/Cheltenham Road/Gloucester Road, Bristol

There's a few of these around Bristol and the west, but those 3 are my favourites. Glorious rich, creamy flat whites. This one was made in the newest Gloucester Road branch, which I'm a bit in love with at the moment because it has opened up less than 5 minutes walk from my parents' house. Thanks, Boston Tea!



Well, the above are all fine contenders in the Coffee of the Year stakes. But none of them have won this coveted prize. "Who has won?" I hear you shout. Well let me tell you that the winner is *drumroll*........

..... Society Cafe, Kingsmead Square, Bath

One of the greatest espressos I have tasted, possible ever. And a fine flat white, and a wonderful establishment filled with lovely furniture and books and magazines. I wrote on the chalkboard in their toilets, to thank them. I'll thank them again. Thank you, Society Cafe. And well done!

Christmas is coming...

The tree is up! To make up for last year, when we left it so late we ended up tree-less, we were ready this year on December the first! The Pretty Dandy flea market also happened the same weekend, so we went along and stocked up on all the lovely handmade decorations, including the ceramic 'love' heart and the little fabric Christmas tree you can see in the picture.

I'm enjoying the soothing glow of the lights right now after a pretty crazy day at work. All our IT systems went down just as I was frantically trying to meet a deadline, so that was a bit of a pain; all has been sorted now though and I feel back on track. To top it all off, the heating at the office was also suffering an engineering fault, meaning that when I arrived this morning the thermometers were showing 13.8 degrees! We all sat there painfully cold, bundled up in whatever we could find until the engineers came to sort it and it slowly returned to comfortable conditions this afternoon.

After all that, I wanted comfort food for dinner, so I turned to one of my favourites: smoked haddock topped with grated cheddar and breadcrumbs, with creamy garlic mash (and for ultimate joy I used 3 cloves!). Creamy, smokey, heartwarming joy on a plate.

Catching up

Wow, the last time I posted anything in this place there was snow on the ground. Well things couldn't be more different now and the weather is warm and sunny. I love this time of year, when the days are long long long, and early nights mean you rarely see the sky darken completely. I am so energised by the summer.

I am climbing/bouldering 2 or 3 times a week, and really working hard at yoga over the past few months too. I am enjoying learning to better control body and mind. It seems to help me maintain a general sense of positivity. If I can break through the anxiety that sometimes envelopes me, I am an optimistic little sausage at heart, a sunny pie! I am exploring meditation techniques lately too, and am getting the hang of controlling my thoughts a little better. Allllllll good.

We had a little jaunt to Hunstanton on the north Norfolk coast last month, blessed with lovely weather by the fates. Sand and sun, maybe some sea although it was quite far away most of the time. We also visited the Queen at Sandringham, which is a lovely lovely house.







The gardens at Sandringham are so idyllic!







Old Father Time lives in the Sandringham gardens!

Springtime...snow

Well I can honestly say I wasn't expecting this:


That was the view on the University of Nottingham campus earlier this afternoon. We are under quite an unexpected amount of snow at the moment! Strange to think that this time last year, I was sitting in the garden in 25 degrees on my week off, with the magnolia in full blossom, drinking dandelion and burdock tea and watching the bees start to come out. I really hope the weather gets a bit nicer for next week and the Easter long weekend, as we are hoping to take a trip to Bristol. Then in two weeks time we are off to Paris!

Anyway, we did have two nice snowdays this weekend. I managed to persuade Mark to drive me to the library on Saturday afternoon (yes I know it's only round the corner but the pavement was iiiccceey!), I needed to return The Blue Flower and I managed to get my hands on two books I have been after for ages! Underground Time by Delphine de Vigan and Monkey Grip by Helen Garner.

I was actually planning to buy Underground Time (or rather, Les Heures souterraines) while we are in Paris but once I saw it I thought, nah, I'll read it now! I'll get another of her books in Paris.

Saturday evening was time to try out a new tart recipe, which was SO GOOD.


Lay puff pastry into the tart tin and crumble in some big chunks of stilton. Cover with some chopped walnuts. Layer with thinly sliced pear and bake the tarts for 30 minutes or thereabouts, on 180 degrees or thereabouts. The added bonus of this recipe is that the making process involves one of the GREATEST SINGLE PLEASURES OF HUMAN EXISTANCE: crumbling blue cheese with your hands and then licking your fingers. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

The Blue Flower by Penelope Fitzgerald

When I was about 17 I went a bit in love with Novalis during German A Level. How could you not be? HOW!

The Blue Flower by Penelope Fitzgerald
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I found this by chance, while randomly searching through books in my local library, and was excited to see it was a historical fiction about 18th Century German romantic poet and philosopher Novalis (Georg Phillip Friedrich Freiherr von Hardenberg to his parents). Really, who doesn't love Novalis?

The novel is primarily concerned with Novalis/Hardenberg's relationship with Sophie von Kühn, whom he met when he was 22 and with whom he fell obsessively in love.

Sophie was 12. Awkward.

Fitzgerald tells the story through a series of short, snap-shot-like chapters in roughly chronological order. It begins with Hardenberg as a student, visiting his family for the summer, and ends in the midst of Sophie's illness, from which she would ultimately die a few months later, aged 15. The novel flows wonderfully and the prose is almost rich in its poise and simplicity.

I guess my enjoyment of the novel was enhanced by my interest in the real life story and historical figures. Fitzgerald does not pass judgment on the appropriateness (or otherwise) of Hardenberg's relationship with Sophie, but rather explores the influence it had on his life, beliefs and writing. I can understand why some may therefore be disappointed by the lack of drama in the novel, but even still, I can't see how this delicate retelling of a real life story of doomed love would fail to inspire at least some emotion.

This is also the first time I have read Penelope Fitzgerald and I will certainly look out for her other work now.

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Coincidentally, if you have a Kindle, Novalis's unfinished novel Heinrich von Ofterdingen (containing the symbolic Blue Flower) is available as a free ebook in both German and English translation!

View all my reviews

A super-speedy sort-of pizza

An ABSURDLY busy week at work this week, but on the whole not a bad one. I can't wait for the weekend to relax and breathe though. Only one day left.

When I'm busy and late home from work, dinner is usually just whatever can be thrown together in the quickest time. So thank the powers of food-production for that ready-rolled puff pastry you can buy in the supermarket. I love to just chuck stuff on it, shove it in the oven, and devour the resulting feast.

Just shove it on a tray and score round with a knife about in inch in from the edge. Brush some milk over it and bake for 15 mins or so, so it puffs a bit. While this is happening, chop up whatever you want on top. Get the pastry out and squash down the middle (within the lines you have scored) with a fork. Chuck toppings on. Bake again for 20-30 mins (depending on what you've put on top, some things need a bit longer). Favourite toppings include courgette, tomatoes, aubergines, peppers, feta cheese, halloumi, spinach, mushrooms...pretty much anything goes!

Winnie ille Pu

One of my favourite surprises I got for Christmas was this copy of Winnie the Pooh in Latin, from Mark's mum.


My 2 years of secondary school latin have not really equipped me to understand very much of it, but I can't stop reading it for its endless joyfulness! The joy of Winnie the Pooh is enhanced by the Latin language, I'm sure. Such as in this scene, where Piglet (Porcellus) dreams of the Heffalump (Heffalumpus...of course):


Some parts, however, do not need translating...

A little brown stew and some healthy living

Happy New Year!

It seems ages ago now, but New Year's Eve passed in a cheerful and relaxing way in our house. We cooked up a lovely stew from mushroom and pearl barley (thanks to Nigel Slater's Kitchen Diaries vol.2!), eaten with a little crusty roll I baked in a hurry (and therefore wasn't perfect, but hey!), and a bottle of the perennial favourite wine of our household, Chateauneuf-du-Pape.


I baked a quick apple cake, which went from nought to oven in less than 15 minutes thanks to the wonders of the Magimix, and Mark delved into the Nigellissima book and came out with 'Tiramisini' - a sort of rudimentary tiramisu and utterly delicious.

We watched On Her Majesty's Secret Service and then Jools Holland, and danced along to perennial favourite band of our household, Dexy's Midnight Runners.

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Back at work, I was scoffing my leftover mushroom stew with some colleagues, who had salads from our little office cafe. One commented that it had been some time since she had seen a salad and I had to agree. And all of a sudden I was craving fresh, simple food.


I came home that night and tossed quinoa, spinach, beetroot and grated carrot in a bowl with a bit of lemon juice, honey, olive oil and grated manchego. We ate it with great big tuna steaks, just slightly seared so they were deep red and rich in the middle. A healthier start to 2013.

Auld Lang Syne

Beauty from Ashes...

Mark and I spent Friday in one of my favourite places to be - Stokes Croft in Bristol - drinking coffee and red wine and eating cake at Boston Tea Party and the Canteen.


I popped into the Amnesty Bookshop on the way down and picked up some Cees Nooteboom for 75p, so spent the afternoon flitting between that and The Fire Gospel by Michel Faber. When I finished The Fire Gospel I drank some more wine, contemplated what was in 2012, and what may be in 2013.

Auld Lang Syne

2012 was an odd year of ups and downs. I passed my Legal Practice Course with a mega-Distinction, despite spending most of January thinking I'd failed the interviewing module. Mark finished writing his book, despite it nearly giving him a nervous breakdown (it is now under review pending publication). We redecorated our living room, did a lot of gardening, and both developed a deep love for Benedict Cumberbatch (Parade's End...Parade's End! Oh my!).

The major flaw in the year was my 3 months of unemployment. It was a truly demoralising, soul-crushing experience, not to mention financially a bit horrifying as having not been resident in the UK for long enough in the last few years, I was not entitled to the pittance that is jobseekers' allowance. Gutted. I spent the whole time avoiding meeting people I already knew, in case they asked how the jobseeking was going. I also spent the whole time avoiding meeting any new people, in case they asked me what I did and I would have to admit to having no job, at which point I am pretty sure any last remaining threads of optimism and self-esteem would have snivelled out through my ear and promptly left the country.

Of course, being offered my job was a highlight of the year - not only was it the perfect job for me but in my dream law firm as well! Life definitely got a lot better, and the last few months have been fun, with trips to Cambridge, Oxford, London and even a day at the Thermae Spa in Bath for my mummy's 60th birthday a few weeks ago! I'm looking forward to more of this in 2013!

Hogmanay

I don't really do anything on New Year's Eve anymore. After 3 fun-filled NYEs in Sydney, out and about in the balmy night air with fireworks and friends and full-service public transport running all night, I don't really want to spend a night being overcharged for everything in an otherwise regular venue, before waiting for hours in the freezing cold to pay £6758688676 for a taxi home. I'll be at home in Nottingham, with a nice bottle of wine and, hopefully, some good food. I'll probably be in bed at five past midnight. So...Happy New Year and I'll see you on the other side!