THANK GOD FOR THE INTERNET, IT HAS MADE IT POSSIBLE TO STAY IN TOUCH WITH OLD FRIENDS EVEN WHEN WE ARE THOUSANDS OF MILES APART.


READING:

The old saw that you can't tell a book by it's cover is undoubtedly true, but I find that I am often drawn to a book merely because the cover appeals to me, and with few exceptions I have not been disappointed. Miss Webster and Cherif by Patricia Duncker is a case in point, the cover was intriguing which is why I picked it up, and within I found a delightful tale which I really enjoyed reading.

Miss Webster is a retired schoolmarm, very much in the Miss Jean Brodie mould, living in a quintessentially English village where she has not endeared herself to her fellow villages with her peppery tongue and dogmatic views on life. Approaching seventy, she feels she has been unjustly pushed out of teaching when she still had much to offer. With nothing much to fill her time she is angry and depressed and eventually has a severe nervous breakdown.

The consultant who treats her suggests she travels to somewhere very different from England as part of her recovery process so she sets off for a trip to Morocco. It is indeed very different, she sees the desert meets various locals and is on the fringe of a terrorist incident. The trip has had the result the consultant hoped for and she returns to the UK with a new vigour.

One evening, shortly after her return, her doorbell rings, and there on her front step is a very beautiful young Arab with a large suitcase. He announces himself as Chérif, the son of the woman who was manager at the hotel in Morocco at which Miss Webster had stayed. From his bag he produces gifts sent to her by his mother; Chérif has arrived in England to take up a college place in Oxford, and as he is unable to find suitable accommodation Miss Webster takes him in as her lodger.

The growing relationship between the elderly spinster and Chérif is delicately portrayed. For some reason Chérif believes that Miss Webster’s unmarried state is a result of her having been an English lady detective like Miss Marple, and together with his misapprehensions about England and the language - he cannot understand why on a motorway there are signs referring to the hard shoulder – this brings about some amusing cultural clashes. He very quickly acquires an English girlfriend and they become a surrogate family for Miss Webster.

After 9/11 Miss Webster finds that Chérif is regarded with suspicion by the locals, and also has attracted the attention of the security services. Is he really who he claims to be? In finding answers to this question Miss Webster shows her courage and her loyalty to her new friends.

Events reach a crisis point which takes them all back to Morocco for a surprising but satisfying dénouement.

In Miss Webster Patricia Duncker has created a memorable character whose bloody-minded attitude to life and to those in authority, manages to overcome xenophobia and convention, providing a hint of steel in what is a delicately charming tale.

Rated: 4*

RANTING:

I've just come back to Britain from South Africa, a country I know and love, a country with real problems and where life is often fragile and transitory. We in the UK live in what is, by comparison, a very safe country - but there are those who don't think so. It seems that here in Britain we have to manufacture dangers where none exist and the latest and nuttiest "danger" to be addressed is that of Unprotected Text.

Some nutter has decided that people who walk along composing or reading text messages on their mobile phones sometimes bump into lamp posts because they are not paying attention to where they are going, and they might hurt themselves. My word that is SO dangerous. What should be done??? Pad the lamp posts. I kid you not, pad the bl**dy lamp posts to prevent idiots hurting themselves. Brick Lane, a well known East London street is the site chosen for a trial study of padded lamp posts. The padding is being sponsored by 118 118 (the company which provides one of the recently privatised directory inquiry services). This is completely mad. If people are stupid enough not to look where they are going that is their problem. Grow up you morons. In the real world there are real dangers.

RECIPE:

Anyone who knows South Africa and South Africans knows that the braai (barbeque) is part of the culinary culture. A couple of weekends ago I was in Hermanus and a friend produced this absolutely delicious salad to accompany the braaied meats. It would go equally well with grilled chops and provided you can get mangoes, which are stocked in asian greengrocers pretty well all year round, it could be made at any time, even in winter.

JENNIE B'S GREEN MANGO SALAD

6 mint leaves,shredded

1.5 tablespoons fresh lime juice

1.5 tablespoons fish sauce

1 tablespoon caster sugar

1 Thai red birdseye chilli, deseeded and finely chopped

3 green mangoes

2 tablespoons chopped dry roast peanuts

1 handful fresh coriander, roughly chopped

1 lettuce, shredded - or a generous amount of rocket

To make the dressing, combine the mint, fish sauce, lime juice, chilli and caster sugar in a jar and shake well.

Peel and stone the mangoes and cut the flesh into even 2cm chunks. Cover a serving platter with the lettuce or rocket and put the mango chunks on top.
Just before serving pour the dressing over the mango and scatter the peanuts and coriander over the top.

SANTA IS PREPARING HIMSELF FOR CHRISTMAS - AND SO AM I.




READING:

A few nights ago it was the December meeting of my Bookgroup, and we did something a little different from our normal custom of all reading a chosen book and then talking about it. The member of the group who was hosting the meeting had asked us all to bring a book that that had the word Christmas in the title or that featured Christmas in some way. Our choices were very varied and as extracts from the various books were read aloud we were either reduced to tearful nostalgia for our childhood Christmases, or weeping with laughter at some of the hilarious writing people had tracked down. and I list some of them here.

It was a very successful formula for the meeting and every one left in extremely up-beat mood.

The Twelve Days of Christmas [Correspondence], by John Julius Norwich.

This little book, beautifully illustrated by Quentin Blake, consists of twelve thank you letters from a young lady called Emily to her adoring swain, Edward, who sends her all the different birds, people, animals etc as featured in the Christmas song. Emily starts off enchanted by his first gift of a Partridge in a Pear Tree, but by the time she has received nine Ladies Dancing (who she describes as “hussies wearing little more than lipstick”) she has had enough, the gifts are wreaking havoc on her garden and her mother has collapsed and had to be carted off in an ambulance. When the final gift arrives, the entire percussion section of the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra, she resorts to the law and her solicitor writes Edward a very stern letter informing him that Emily has taken out an injunction against him.

The book is an amusing whimsy and would make a great stocking filler for a Mum, Gran, or Auntie.

****

The Little Match Girl by Hans Christian Anderson

Most of us could remember being read this as children, but I for one, had forgotten just how poignant it was. Children's stories today do not tend to end with the death of a child, obviously the Victorians didn't think that reading of such a fate would cause long term distress to the reader.

****

Christmas at Fontaines by William Kotzwinkle. This book all takes place within a big department store, with all the hustle, bustle and tension of the Christmas period. There the reader meets a variety of characters who are mysteriously transformed in nature by a magical presence. One of them is the young man who is the buyer for the toy department, he has had enough, enough of children, enough of their parents, and enough of toys. He fantasises about massacre and mayhem with exploding toys. The book will remind anyone who has worked in the retail trade about how tough the festive season can be, and remind the rest of us – the shoppers – to be more civil and less aggressive to shop workers when doing the Christmas shopping.

****

A Wayne in a Manger by Gervaise Phinn, had us all laughing so much we could hardly hear what was being read. Gervais Phinn is a retired Primary Schools Inspector from Yorkshire, and in this book he has collected together anecdotes from some of the many school nativity plays he has sat through over the years.
Did the shepherds pick their noses whilst watching their flocks?
Did the third king cry when he couldn't hold the gold?
Did the innkeeper really tell Joseph to 'push off'?
Did Mary tell Joseph “ I'm having a baby - oh and it's not yours.....”?

If you have children or have ever watched a children's nativity play you will laugh yourself silly; a perfect little book to give grandparents, parents and teachers.

RANTING:

Our parliamentary representatives have just been issued with comprehensive instructions on how to clear up a broken light bulb.

‘The cleaning operative, using protective gloves and wearing a mask, should collect the main fragments of the light bulb and carefully place them in a sturdy box.

All splinters should then be collected using stiff card or paper. The area should then be cleaned using a damp cloth. The splinters and the cloth should then be placed in the box.

Once the area is clear and clean, the box should be sealed and labelled with details of the item.

The box should then be taken to the waste removal area in the loading bay and passed to the waste disposal contractor in an appropriate manner.’

Apparently such guidance from the House of Commons Commission was necessary because in the past someone put their hand into a waste bag and cut their finger….Ah diddums, we can’t have that can we?

No doubt there is another set of comprehensive instructions on how to apply a Band Aid or Elastoplast to digits injured on shards of light bulb glass.

You will either find all this very funny, or bloody irritating (or both) – what kind of nation are we becoming where our MPs require written instructions for such a simple thing, don’t they have common sense in the House of Commons? It is absolutely ludicrous, and producing such instructions no doubt took time and money from some budget or other that we fund through our taxes. Don’t they have better things to do?

RECIPE:

I have become really fed up with Christmas shopping, the crowds, muzak being played at top volume in the stores, the tat on offer. Some years ago I decided that unless I knew exactly what to get as a gift for a particular individual I would only give books or something homemade. This year, having moved house a couple of months ago, I didn't think I'd be able to manage homemade Christmas cakes or Stollen, but then I came across a magazine article about flavoured alcohols and hey presto this year's production was solved. It is absolutely terrific (and I say that as a confirmed G&T drinker) so next year, get out some bottles and give it a go, your friends will not be sorry!

CHRISTMAS PUDDING VODKA

1 litre vodka
4 tablespoons dark brown sugar
1 cinnamon stick
2 cloves
Peel of one lemon and one orange
25g each of currants, raisins, dried figs(cut the figs into quarters)

Extra lemon and orange peel and cinnamon sticks for the final bottling.

Sterilize a large glass container by washing well and then drying in a hot oven.

Combine all ingredients and put into the container. Seal and leave in a dark cool place for 2 weeks, turning the container occasionally.

Filter the liquid* and decant it into sterilized gift bottles.

Add a fresh piece of orange or lemon peel and a cinnamon stick to each bottle. Cap the bottles.

3 month drink by date.

Serve very cold.
Delicious over ice, or with tonic water and a slice of orange.

* Don't waste what you've filtered out. Remove the peel, cloves and cinnamon stick from the filtered residue and stir the boozy fruit through some vanilla ice cream - yum!

DON'T COME TOO CLOSE, I'm absolutely streaming with cold and I wouldn't want you to get it. Honest to goodness, if they can put a man on the moon and invent the iPod shuffle you'd think some bright spark would have got the common cold under control by now.


READING:

How to waste an hour and a half looking something up.

Like many other people I love almanacs, encyclopaedias and other reference books of that ilk. Yesterday I came across a classical reference in a novel I’m reading. Now I did do Latin until I was about 12, and have read (many moons ago) the Greek myths, but this was not a name that was familiar to me – Pylades – do you know who he/she is? Anyway, when I was having a mug of coffee at my desk, I thought I’d just look him/her up in my copy of Brewer’s Dictionary of Phrase and Fable. Big mistake, nearly two hours later I was still browsing through Brewer’s. First I found Pylades, turns out he was bosom friend of Orestes, so they hung out together like David and Jonathan; while I was at it, I thought I’d look up Eagle stones, which lead me to Aetites and then on the next page I spotted St Agatha –the patron saint of volcanoes, and who is depicted in paintings holding a platter with her severed breasts on it. This reminded me of a little Italian village we once visited, called St Agata Due Golfi which is just south of Vesuvius. My DH and I once had a fabulous dinner there at a restaurant called Don Alfonso 1890, which has 3 Michelin stars, and the bill nearly broke the bank.

Then I thought I would quickly look to see what Brewer said about Dick Whittington, because on Highgate Hill (which is nearby), he and his cat heard Bow Bells tell him to turn again – but there was nothing I didn’t already know. Then I started opening the book randomly, and discovered all sorts of fascinating titbits – the name of the Man Who Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo (Joseph Hobson Jagger); the smallest pig in a litter of piglets will reputedly follow its owner anywhere, and is known as a Tantony Pig, and a Wapentake is a subdivision of a county similar to the Hundreds or Ridings. Anyway, when the phone rang I suddenly realised how much time had passed and how totally absorbed I had become, what was I thinking of…and on a Monday morning too.

Every home should have a copy of Brewer’s Dictionary; it is an essential household requirement for settling arguments, solving crossword clues and general time wasting.

RANTING:

Time for another rant at the ludicrous use of Health & Safety legislation in this country.

Those of you who have or have had children may know of a famous fictional character called Postman Pat. A cheery chappie, he delivers the mail by driving his little red post van around country lanes, accompanied by his black and white cat Jess. There was a TV series, books, tapes and other toys based on Postman Pat, he is loved by thousands of British children.

For the last six years, a mechanised, coin-operated Postman Pat Post van ride has stood in a shopping precinct in Market Harborough. You know the kind of thing. Your 3 year old sits in the little rocket, car, train or whatever, you pop some coins in the slot, and the machine rocks gently back and forth. It is a welcome distraction when shopping with a young child.

Now the owners of St Mary’s Place Shopping Precinct have said it must go. A spokesman for St Mary's Place said it was targeting "material outside shop boundaries with health and safety implications." Not because the ride itself is considered dangerous – rides already have to comply with stringent H&S guidelines regarding manufacture and maintenance. No, they think it might be a H&S risk for pedestrians. The fact that this particular ride has stood in the same position outside a particular shop for the past six years without one single person walking into it or tripping over it, (in fact there has never been any man, woman or child involved in any sort of incident with the ride) would seem to contradict their views.

So why this sudden anxiety? Well, one of two reasons I suspect. Either the local council’s Health & Safety gaulieters have decided to justify their jobs by scratching around for something to have a go at, and have been all over the owners of St Mary’s Place like a rash OR the owners of St Mary’s Place want some more money from the shop owner who owns the ride, and this is part of a softening up process to get it. Or maybe it’s a bit of both. Whichever it is, Health & Safety is again being cited as the reason. Soon we’ll be fined if we don’t tie our shoelaces to their satisfaction.

Welcome to the house of fun.

RECIPE:

How to satisfy a craving for something sweet to eat when there isn't a biscuit in the house, you havn't been to the shops yet and the fruit bowl only contains two rather elderly cooking apples...throw together this little number, it takes no time at all, and hey presto, sweet craving satisfied.

DUTCH APPLE CAKE

170g self-raising flour
1 large egg
1 teaspoon baking powder
85g caster sugar
6 tablespoons milk
28g melted butter (do this in the microwave)

For the topping

28g melted butter
85g caster sugar
1 level teaspoon cinnamon
500g cooking apples

Pre-heat oven to 200°C

Line rectangular baking tin (28 cms x 18cms) with baking paper.
Sift flour, baking powder together into a bowl, add the sugar and stir in.
In a jug mix the egg, milk and melted butter together.
Mix the sugar and cinnamon for the topping together in a small bowl.
Peel and core and quarter the apples, and cut into slices.
Pour the egg mixture into the flour and using a wooden spoon mix well to form a stiff batter.
Spoon the batter into the prepared tin and spread it evenly – it will seem a very thin layer.
Brush the batter with the melted butter for the topping and then arrange the apple slices neatly over the surface in overlapping rows.
Finally, sprinkle the mixed sugar and cinnamon evenly all over the apple slices.

Bake for approximately 30mins until risen and golden.

Cool, and then cut into squares.

FEELING SHATTERED HAVING STAYED UP TOO LATE watching the results of the US Mid-term election results - Woo Hoo, Americans have woken up and given Bush a bloody nose at long last...and that foul man Rumsfeld has gone! Hooray! Mind you, he patronised everybody to the bitter end, in his valedictory speech he said that the war in Iraq was too complex for most people to understand - so he understands it but we don't eh?

READING:

I bought The Thirteenth Tale because I had read in the press that it had sold barely 600 copies in the UK but over 70,000 in the USA, and I was curious about it.
From the very first chapter I was totally engrossed in this beautifully written book. The author Diane Setterfield, whose debut novel this is, has written a mesmerizing gothic mystery which explores themes of love, loss, and obsession. The book is structured like novels from an earlier time, with a clear beginning middle and end; and yet...the story loops round on itself, twists and turns and comes back to where it began whilst simultaneously carrying the reader forward towards the end. In brief, it is the story of a famous but reclusive writer, Vida Winter, who contacts the writer of the book, a young woman by the name of Margaret Lea, daughter of an antiquarian bookseller, and invites her to visit and start writing Miss Winter's official biography. Miss Winter tells her story of the twins Adeline and Emmeline to Margaret in an episodic fashion and Margaret is not always sure if she is being told the truth about Miss Winter's life, or just more of her fiction.
Diane Setterfield pays homage to previous great writers with subtle references to Bronte's Jane Eyre, Collins' The Woman in White, Du Maurier's Rebecca, and James' Turn of the Screw all of which have echoes in this book.
Above all for me, the author articulates what it means to be an avid reader in words that exactly mirror my own experience and feelings:" I have always been a reader; I have read at every stage of my life and there has never been a time when reading was not my greatest joy. And yet I cannot pretend that the reading I have done in my adult years matches in its impact on my soul the reading I did as a child. I still believe in stories. I still forget myself when I am in the middle of a good book. Yet it is not the same. Books are for me, it must be said, the most important thing; what I cannot forget is that there was a time when they were at once more banal and more essential than that. When I was a child books were everything. And so there is in me, always, a nostalgic yearning for the lost pleasure of books."
With this book, Diane Setterfield has given me back some of that childhood lost pleasure.

RANTING:

"Pussy Cat, Pussy Cat where have you been?

I've been up to London to look at the Queen.
Pussy Cat, Pussy Cat what did you there?
I frightened a little mouse under her chair."

Well pussy cat, you can’t do that again, you probably wouldn’t be allowed into Buck House, and you are certainly not allowed into the Houses of Parliament. Not if those twits at the Health & Safety Executive have anything to do with it.

Some years ago, MPs began to notice that the House of Commons seemed to be infested with mice. Mice are often a problem in old buildings. The thing about mice is, despite what the huggy-bunny brigade may think, they are not sweet little Beatrix Potter creatures - they are incontinent, disease-carrying vermin. They usually contaminate foodstuffs with urine, droppings, and hair. One mouse can excrete up to 100 fecal pellets per day, as well as deposit hundreds of small droplets of urine during its travels.

In 2002 some Lib Dem MPs asked if a couple of cats could be brought in to sort out the problem. They seem to have been blanked by those who organise the housekeeping of the HoC/HoL although a few old fashioned mousetraps were put down. Recently the mouse situation has become much, much worse. To the extent that they are often seen running about – one even crossed the floor of the Chamber during a debate. The Houses of Parliament have several cafeterias/restaurants/bars all serving food to a greater or lesser extent. In addition, many MPs work through the lunch hour, taking sandwiches and rolls to eat at their desks. Obviously there are crumbs, and their waste paper baskets have the remanents of anything they haven’t consumed. All in all the whole Palace of Westminster is vermin heaven. Why would they bother with traps baited with manky bits of bread and cheese saturated with poison, when there are much better gourmet pickings to be had? Anne McIntosh, a Conservative who represents the Vale of York in Parliament, told the Daily Telegraph that she requested a cat after seeing a mouse in the Commons Tea Room.

I should point out, that if this were a commercial catering outlet anywhere else in the country they would be shut down before you could say gnat’s crochet, and quite rightly too. But because this is the HoC it just carries on as if nothing had happened, despite umpteen complaints.

To be fair, Pest Exterminators have been brought in, but they have concluded that because of the age, complexity and layout of the HoC, it is not a situation they could control.

So a cat or two (or even three or four) would seem to be a Good Idea. After all, what do cats do? They catch mice, indeed you could say that that is their raison d’etre. They are clean animals, they do not run about dribbling urine for a start. They are low cost, work anti-social hours, do not require employment contracts, and will not add to global warming or the balance of payments. But those good old Health & Safety gauleiters who seem to have disproportionate power these days said NO (nix, niet, nein, non).

Anne McIntosh was told that a cat would not be permitted as “it might get near food” – so mice can wee and poo all over the tea rooms, that’s ok, but a cat is potentially unhealthy.

Who are the nutters who make these decisions? I despair.

RECIPE:

This week I had intended to have a pot roast for Sunday lunch, but when I got to the butcher's he had no brisket left. So I opted for a shoulder of lamb instead, and asked him to bone it out for me. I have boned a shoulder myself in the past, but it took forever to do and was quite fiddly, a butcher can do it in two shakes of a lamb's tail! Shoulder is cheaper than leg of lamb, but much fattier, and a stuffing soaks some of that up, and makes the meat go further. This is a stuffing I used to make years ago - so it was time to revive it. It has a sort of north African influence, with the apricots and cumin, and is really delicious and different with lamb. Do be sure to season well with salt and pepper though, or the balance of flavours won't be as good.

SHOULDER OF LAMB WITH GREEN PEPPER, APRICOT & PINENUT STUFFING

One large boned shoulder of lamb

4 slices of good quality brown bread, crusts removed
½ medium sized onion, finely chopped
½ green pepper, cored, seeded and finely chopped
1 tablespoon sunflower oil.
2 tablespoons pine nuts
8 dried apricots, finely chopped
¾ teaspoon ground cumin
Salt and pepper
1 large egg

½ wineglass medium sherry mixed with ½ glass water

1 ball of string

Tear the bread into pieces and whiz into crumbs in a food processor. Tip into a bowl.
Brown the pine nuts in a dry frying pan, stirring constantly, it only takes a few moments. Add to the breadcrumbs.
Add the oil to the frying pan and gently sauté the chopped onion and green pepper for 3 or 4 minutes until translucent and soft. Add to the breadcrumbs, along with the chopped apricot, ground cumin, salt and pepper. Mix all together with a wooden spoon.
Lightly beat the egg with a fork and add it to the mixture, stirring well to bind it all together.
Lay the boned shoulder of lamb on the work surface “skin” side down. Carefully remove any excess fat you can see. Season the surface of the meat with salt and pepper, then spread the stuffing over it evenly, making sure it is in all the pockets in the meat, and that you do not spread it right to the edges.
Roll up the meat carefully, pressing the stuffing in if it bulges out. Cut several pieces of string long enough to go round the rolled lamb, then tie the lamb firmly with string in 3 or 4 places around the roll to hold it together whilst cooking. This is not as difficult as it sounds, but if you haven’t done it before, you may find it easier with someone to help you.

At this point you can set the lamb aside until you are ready to roast it; it can be prepared the day before, and kept overnight in the fridge.

Pre-heat the oven to 180°C.

Place the lamb, joined side down, in a roasting tin (one of those old-fashioned ones with a lid is idea, but you can just cover the tin with cooking foil), and pour the sherry and water over the lamb.
Cover the roasting tin and cook in the oven for 1½ hours.
Remove the cover and return to the oven for a further ½ hour. Remove lamb from the roasting tin strain off any excess fat, and use the juices to make gravy.

Let the lamb rest for 5-10 minutes out of the oven before serving.

MY CANDLE BURNS at both ends; It will not last the night; But, ah, my foes, and, oh, my friends - it gives a lovely light.


Edna Saint Vincent Millay

READING:

Motherless Brooklyn by Jonathan Lethem is a surreal detective story set, you guessed it, in Brooklyn New York. Lionel Essrog is one of four adolescent orphans from St Vincent’s Home for Boys who are taken on by a local fixer/tough called Frank Minna who intends the lads to become “Minna Men”, his sidekicks in the fly-by-night detective-agency-cum-limosine-service he has started. Lionel is known as the Human Freakshow as he suffers from Tourette's Syndrome
and is continually shouting out nonsense and swearwords, compulsively counting things, touching things and twitching or “ticcing” as it is properly called. Because of his condition Lionel’s innate intelligence is discounted by everyone, until one terrible day when Frank Minna is murdered and Lionel is compelled to really become a detective, and to try to find his way through shady undergrowth of Brooklyn’s gangster land and the web of threats and favours that surrounded Minna.

Jonathan Lethem had written Sci- Fi before he wrote this novel, and has obviously been influenced by Philip K. Dick’s writing. What gives the book its USP is the character of Lionel and his daily, even hourly, battle with the behaviours caused by his condition. He is isolated from forming any real relationships by his Tourette’s Syndrome, which is brilliantly described and which I found incredibly moving. I wasn’t sure quite what the author wanted this book to be. As a detective story it is satisfactory but fairly mundane, so was Lethem primarily trying to write a book about someone with Tourette’s?

Tourette’s is a condition which is life-long and there is virtually no treatment for it. People who suffer from it are often shunned in society. I well remember my very first day as a magistrate, 20 years ago. I had to sit in court at Horseferry Road in London. One of the very largest and busiest magistrate’s courts in England. As you might imagine I was nervous, and slightly stunned by the sheer volume of clients who passed before the bench. A case of criminal damage was called on, and into the dock came a man of about 30, f-ing and blinding and throwing his arms around, he paid little attention to the chairman of the bench telling him to be quiet. The chairman was an elderly chap in his late sixties, and he became very red in the face as the man kept shouting “fuckfuckfuckfuckcuntfuck” etc, and he threatened to have the man sent down for contempt of court. I suddenly realized that the man had Tourette’s (although back then I knew it as Gilles de la Tourette’s Syndrome) so I gathered my courage and managed to whisper to the chairman that I would like us to retire. When we did, I explained what I knew of the syndrome – which was not that much – but persuaded my fellows that the Probation service should be asked to get the man an appointment with a neurologist at Guy's hospital, and find him a place in a hostel (he was living on the streets) and that that would be a far more positive outcome than just locking him up. Sadly, I expect he appeared in other courts at other times poor chap, but at least on that one occasion I felt I had achieved something worthwhile, not a feeling I have had very often in my little corner of our creaky justice system.

RANTING:
Are we going nuts as a society? Maybe it’s just me going nuts, but I am getting really irritated with the ridiculous warning labels on packets of food or household goods, I think it is creeping into this country following the US model. Check out this website about idiotic warning signs in the USA

Today I was making my usual weekly dash round Waitrose when I came across the most blatant example of an illogical, crazy warning I have seen .

A promotion was going on in the fruit & veg section. A Waitrose employee was standing at a little table offering customers free samples of a line of produce – you know the kind of thing, a whole lot of little plastic dishes with a tiny taster in each, and a waste bin beside the table for the used dishes. There was an artistically arranged pile of packets of the goods for customers to purchase once they had been seduced by the tasting. Prominently displayed on the table was a large laminated sign reading ‘May Contain Traces of Nuts’ – and what you may ask, was the product being promoted? Why it was Nuts, packets of Waitrose’s own label nuts. Cashews, almonds, brazils, macadamias, pistachios, and some packets of mixed nuts. There was nothing else in the packets, just nuts.

‘May Contain Traces of Nuts’ – I should bloody well hope they did – they WERE nuts and I went nuts. I rushed up to the employee and asked them (very politely) why they had that stupid warning sign up and I was told ‘we have to have it by law* in case someone who is allergic to nuts eats something without realizing it has nuts in it.’ - ‘but’ I said, ‘these ARE packets of nuts, the samples you are handing out are nuts, why would anyone with a nut allergy even consider taking a sample? You don’t need this warning label’ Anyway, there was no point discussing it with her, she was merely following company policy.

I drove home thinking about how stupid our society is becoming – having to be warned about the obvious all the time, why are we letting this happen? Where will it all end?

* It is not true that you have to label for inadvertent traces of nuts, I have just looked up the UK’s food labeling regulations to be sure. Having said that, I can see that it might be sensible to put such a label on a packet of food containing a mixture of ingredients where there is a chance of the food having some nutty component. I just think companies are taking it to excess without looking at logic because they are scared witless of being sued.

RECIPE:

After that nutty rant, I thought I would include a recipe that definitely contains nuts. This is a cauliflower salad - well I call it a salad - that has variations across Spain and Italy. I like this Italian version, and presume it came from the town of Rimini. You can make it all year round as it is just as good in winter as in summer. The other good thing about it is that you can prep everything several hours ahead, and just assemble it at the last minute, so it is really good as a starter when you have guests.

CAVALFIORI A RIMINATI

Serves 4 as a starter, or 2 as a main course.

1 medium cauliflower, leaves discarded, broken into small florets.

Generous pinch of saffron

75ml olive oil

1 large red onion, thinly sliced

50g pine nuts

50g raisins

Extra-virgin olive oil to dress

Small handful chopped fresh mint

Small handful chopped flat leaf parsley

Heat a saucepan filled with a generous amount of salted water, add the saffron and when it comes to the boil, pop in the cauliflower.

Cook for just 2-3 minutes, so that the cauliflower picks up a little colour from the saffron but stays very much al dente.

Drain well, and spread on a tray to cool quickly.

Meanwhile, put the oil in a frying pan over a high heat. When it is just starting to show wisps of smoke, add the onion. Fry briskly for 5-6 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the slices start to look crispy and caramelised. Add the pine nuts and raisins. Stir and cook for a couple of minutes (the raisins will swell and the pine nuts should colour a little). Tip into a sieve and drain off the excess oil, then transfer into a large bowl.

To serve, toss the cauliflower with the onions, raisins and pine nuts and season to taste. Drizzle generously with the extra-virgin olive oil and scatter with the chopped herbs.

The salad is also good when topped with shavings of a salty sheep milk cheese such as Pecorino.

URBAN JUNGLE, not quite, but Urban Woodland for sure, that's our garden at the moment. Although we live in central London, and have a garden that is only marginally bigger than a postage stamp, we seem to have quite a lot of wild life; lots of birds of course - including jays, coal tits, a robin and two wrens, a fox which likes to drink from the pond and used to raid the outside dustbin until I fox-proofed it. Frogs, slugs, snails,spiders, bees, wasps, mozzies, a rat or two (uggh) and some mice (not in the house I hasten to add) we have them all. Now we have a resident hedgehog, he appears at night and makes a bee-line for the dog bowls if they have left any scraps in them. I want him/her to take up a permenant home under the shed and eat all the slugs which destroy my hostas.

READING:

From the quotes on the backcover of 'Some Hope' by Edward St Aubyn I thought I was on to a really amazing writer - silly me. To compare St Aubyn's writing to Waugh or Graham Greene is to do them no favours.
The book is subtitled "A trilogy" but if it were published as three novels each would be a very incomplete novella.
This is the story of a young Englishman called Patrick Melrose from the age of five up to his early thirties. Part 1 deals with his early childhood in Provence where he is raped by his father. Part 2 deals with his twenties, where having inherited money, he is a confirmed heroin and crack addict, with the odd dose of speed thrown in for good measure, all washed down with vast quantities of alcohol. The 3rd part deals with his slow recovery from addiction and his opening up about the childhood abuse he suffered. Frankly I thought all the characters were loathsome. There is nothing entertaining about reading about the gory details of having a heroin fix in a lavatory, and when the author goes on and on describing it over and over again I got irritated, then bored, and almost wanted him to OD so the book could end. I really can't imagine recommending this to anyone. It left me with a feeling of absolute pointlessness. I should follow Dorothy Parker's advice "This is not a novel to be tossed aside lightly. It should be thrown with great force."

St Aubyn has written a follow-on book, "Mother's Milk" which continues Patrick Melrose's life, and this has been short-listed for this year's Booker Prize - I can't imagine what the judges were thinking. After reading 'Some Hope', I would rather be poked in the eye with a sharp stick than read the sequel.

RANTING:

Health and Safety? Health and stupidity is more like it. Yet again a city council has issued an extraordinary edict in the name of Health & Safety – Doormats are Dangerous, yes, you heard it right the first time, doormats are dangerous. Bristol Council has contacted all their council tenants to say that doormats are a danger because someone might trip on one (how many cases of tripping on doormats do you think they have had to deal with?) and also they are a potential fire hazard. Well of course, we all know how easily doormats spontaneously combust. Tenants have been told that their doormats must be removed by 18^th September, or they will be “disposed of” by the council.

Whew, that’s a really dangerous situation narrowly averted.

I know that being sarky is just plain silly, but what else can one to do – this is Britain in the 21^st Century for god’s sake, and one of our big cities, with many problems to deal with - under-resourced schools, deteriorating hospital buildings, poor public transport, lack of childcare facilities to mention but a few – is busy banning doormats. What is it with this epidemic of Health & Safety nonsense, I can see there is going to be an endless stream of stupidity to rant about, so you can look forward to this kind of nonsense being a regular feature on my blog. I feel so annoyed and depressed I will have to go and have a large G&T.

RECIPE:

The season has changed, and I am back in the mood for the sort of food I would not make during the summer. I love a good casserole, and this recipe is great, it is comforting and homely yet smart enough to serve to guests at a dinner party. The cook/housemaid of a school friend in the Cape used to make this and I thought it delicious and eventually got the recipe from her and have made it regularly ever since - for 35 years !

DAUBE DE BOEUF

700g stewing or braising steak cut into cubes

2 Tablespoons olive oil

3 onions, roughly chopped

3 cloves of garlic, finely chopped

200g smoked bacon lardons, or streaky bacon cut into small pieces

300g carrots, scraped and sliced thickly

Long sliver of orange rind (use a potato peeler to remove the rind from the orange in one piece)

2 teaspoons thyme

2 teaspoons oregano

2 bay leaves

200ml red wine

100g stoned black olives

150ml carton sour cream (optional)

Pre-heat oven to 150°C.

Sauté the beef in the olive oil in a large pan and transfer to a large casserole dish.

Fry the onions in remaining oil until golden but not brown, then add them to the beef together with the lardons, garlic, carrots, herbs and orange rind.

Bring the wine to the boil in a small saucepan and when boiling set alight to it. Let flames subside and then pour over the meat.

Cover the casserole tightly and place on a low shelf in the pre-heated oven for 3-3½ hours. Add the olive and cook for a further half hour

You can add a 150ml carton of sour cream just before serving if you wish. Just put it on top of the daube as it will mingle with the juices as you serve out the meat.

Rice, noodles or plain boiled potatoes go well with this dish.

"Lazin' on a sunny afternoon....in the summer time..."
thats what I've been doing today; whenever I hear this song by the Kinks the years roll away and I am a teenager again.

READING:
Sometimes I can't make up my mind what to read next. I have a monster pile of books TBR* but somehow don't fancy any of them. It's a bit like being hungry, going into a restaurant and there isn't a thing you want to eat on the menu. Fortunately for me a few websites have sprung up which help focus the book reader's mind, these are just two that I have used Bookslut and Meet the Author . Bookslut is rather US-centric and Meet the Author has a preponderence of light reading but both provide me with another way of making my mind up.

RANT:
London's Burning, London's Burning....well it will be if and when the latest daft decree from those wonderful folk at the Health and Safety Executive is implemented, as it is being in Devon. Apparently it is far too dangerous for firemen to slide down the poles which take them from their quarters down to the engines, "they might suffer ankle injuries". So now they are to run down flights of stairs instead!! MUCH safer don't you think? Of course, this new system will add up to a minute or more to getting a fire-fighting team assembled, but what the hell, the fire can wait, time is not of the essence here, safety is the priority. Has anybody suggested to the HSE that fighting fires is very dangerous and speaking from a Health & Safety perspective should be banned completely. My advice to you dear reader is to hide the matches from the kids, and never, never pour petrol on a braai (BBQ) to get it going, lets be careful out there.

BTW just in case anyone thinks that this is a photo of me sliding down a firemens pole, it isn't, its Briget Jones.



RECIPE:

Lazin' on a sunny afternoon came to an abrupt end a few hours ago when my dear friend J arrived with a humungous bag of plums from the tree on her allotment . Nearly 6 kilos....wow. I decided I'd better tackle them asap, but only had enough sugar in the house to deal with 1½ kgs. So today's recipe is for easy-peasy, foolproof plum jam.

PLUM JAM

1½ kgs (3 lbs)plums, washed, stoned and cut into quarters
1½ kgs (3 lbs) sugar,
Juice of one large lemon,
1 cinnamon stick, broken in half
250ml (½ pint) water

Before you begin, put one or two saucers in the fridge to chill, get your jam jars, wash them in hot soapy water, rinse, dry and leave them in a very low oven to keep hot.

Put all the ingredients into a large jam pan (the pan must be large as the mixture boils up and you don't want it to boil over). Stir over a gentle heat until the sugar is dissolved. Then turn the heat up and let it boil until it darkens and thickens. After about 15 minutes turn the heat down or off, take a teaspoon of the mixture, put it onto one of the chilled saucers and put back in the fridge for five minutes. Then test whether it has reached setting point by pushing the jam on the saucer with your finger. If it wrinkles up it is ready, if it is still liquid it needs to boil for a few more minutes. Then test again. You will eventually reach setting point! There maybe a whitish foam on top of the jam. Disperse this by taking a very small knob of butter - the size of a fingernail - and stirring it lightly through the foam. Fish out the cinnamon stick with a fork.
Fill the hot jam jars with the jam. Seal with waxed discs whilst hot, allow to cool before putting lids on the jars.
This quantity made 6½ jars of jam. Store in a cool dark place.