ALL HAPPY FAMILIES RESEMBLE ONE ANOTHER, BUT EACH UNHAPPY FAMILY IS UNHAPPY IN ITS OWN WAY. Anna Karenina; Leo Tolstoy

READING:

“Families, can’t live with them, can’t live without them” as the apocryphal saying goes, and that could well be the subtitle for Charlotte Mendelson’s latest book When We Were Bad.

The Rubins are an Anglo-Jewish family living in north London. Claudia, the mother is a celebrity female Rabbi, her husband Norman is a quiet man who lets his wife take centre stage in everything. Their four children are Frances, an intelligent, nervous young woman unhappily married to a widower with two little girls; she has a baby called Max and fears she does not love him as she ought to. Leo her brother, a young barrister just beginning to make his way in the legal profession, is well educated, charming and dutiful; and the two younger siblings, Simeon and Emily, both of whom still live at home in their twenties, are spoilt, demanding and lazy.

Collectively they are seen by the community as the perfect family, and indeed they regard themselves as such.

The book begins on Leo’s wedding day. He is to marry Naomi, a suitable Jewish girl, and the planned ceremony and celebrations are elaborate and expensive. Just as the bride arrives at his side in the synagogue, he announces he cannot go through with it, and bolts, taking with him Helene, wife of the officiating Rabbi, with whom he has been having an affair. The ensuing scandal and chaos are just the start of the whole Rubin family going into meltdown over the following weeks.

The secret desires and ambitions of all members of the family rise to the surface to the horror of Claudia who has spent her whole adult life constructing an edifice that she thought would keep them all safe, but her iron grip on her children has begun to crumble and they are thinking and acting independently at last. Claudia tries to pull everything back together with an over the top Passover seder but it is too late, the family has changed forever. In his poem 'This be the verse' Philip Larkin wrote:

They fuck you up your mum and dad
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you up with faults they had
And add some extra, just for you

and Charlotte Mendelson has managed to sum up exactly how this has happened to the Rubin children in When We Were Bad. By turns kind to or angry with the various characters, her observations are so acute that they seemed so real to me that I kept thinking they must be based on people I know.

This is a very funny, sharp look at the life of a family where the balance between being nurtured and being stifled was out of kilter. I read the book in one sitting, sometimes laughing, sometimes cringing; I am the parent of adult children myself and some of the expectations and anxieties of the Rubin family seemed rather close to home.

Charlotte Mendelson has written two other novels, and I am really looking forward to reading them.

Rated 5*

RANTING:

You would have had to be living on Mars to avoid the press coverage of the Pope’s recent visit to the USA – he certainly eclipsed our PM Gordon Brown who was on an official visit there at the same time.

Normally I don’t give much thought to speeches by the Pope, however he made a major speech in Washington DC which really annoyed me.

Addressing the US Conference of Catholic Bishops, he expressed shame and sorrow for the crisis of child abuse within the Catholic priesthood in America over the past few years, and he berated the bishops for their handling of the whole ghastly mess; but then he went on to say that secular society was also culpable for it having happened.

What the hell is he talking about? How is secular society to blame for Catholic priests abusing Catholic children in their pastoral care?

On virtually all sexual matters the attitude of the Catholic church strikes me as misogynistic, paternalistic, antedeluvian and downright hypocritical, and this statement is yet another example of that attitude.

Child abuse is a CRIME, Bishops who have shielded abusers should be removed from their positions. A firm message should go out from the Vatican that any member of the church who abuses children will be handed over to the authorities immediately.

Do that Pope Benedict, and stop trying to blame American society in general.

RECIPE:

Last Saturday evening was the first night of Pesach or Passover, and a very dear Jewish friend of ours invited the DH and I to join with her family and friends for the Passover seder. Not being Jewish I was not very sure what happens on such an occasion, but I did know that it was a special meal, so we felt very honoured to have been asked. I also knew that when Christ celebrated the Last Supper, that was actually a Passover seder, and that no food containing yeast or any other leavening could be in the house, served or eaten for eight days.

There are lots of websites where you can learn all about this Jewish festival, suffice to say that for thousands of years Jews have celebrated the exodus from slavery in Egypt, and the seder is a way of remembering it. I was slightly concerned, when, having asked our hostess if there was anything I could bring for the meal, she asked me to make Potato Kugel and supplied me with some Matzo meal. I had never eaten or made it before, but Potato Kugel is a dish that every Jewish family in the world seems to have their own recipe for, and they consider their family's version to be the "best" and absolutely definative. What would my friend's other guests (who included Germans, Israelis, French and English Jews) make of my amateur attempt at a classic Ashkenazi dish? In the event I need not have worried, it was simplicity itself and turned out fine - everyone was very complimentary. (By the way you can buy Matzo meal in the Kosher section of most supermarkets, I checked afterwards.)

SHIKSA’S POTATO KUGEL

1kg potatoes
1 large onion
2 large eggs
2 Tablespoons plain flour (or matzo meal)
2 Tablespoons oil (corn, sunflower or vegetable)
Salt & pepper

Extra oil for cooking.

Pre-heat oven to 190°C

Peel the potatoes and the onion and grate them coarsely in a food processor. Place the grated potatoes and onion in a sieve or colander for a few minutes to drain off the excess liquid that will be produced.

Take handfuls of the grated potato and onion and squeeze out as much liquid as possible then place them in a large bowl.

Take a large shallow ovenproof dish and pour about 4 tablespoons of oil into it before placing it in the oven for the oil to get hot.

Mix the eggs, oil, and matzo meal/flour together. The consistency should be pourable but not too runny. Season the potato and onion mix well (potatoes need a fair bit of salt) and then add the egg mixture. Mix everything together with a wooden spoon.

Take the dish from the oven and carefully spoon the kugel mixture into it, pressing it gently but evenly into the corners and making the surface as level as possible.

Bake in the oven for 40minutes until the surface is golden brown and crispy.

Can be made in advance as it reheats really, really well.

60 YEARS OF MARRIAGE DESERVES CELEBRATING - I've been doing just that with family and friends who came from all over the UK, and from Canada, New Orleans, Milan and France, to join my parents for a three day extravaganza celebrating their anniversary.
The Queen even sent them a congratulatory card!
It was exhausting but wonderful.


READING:

As you may have noticed, most of the books I read are fiction – but every so often I read other things; Black Diamonds by Catherine Bailey is non-fiction, and is sub-titled ‘The Rise and Fall of an English Dynasty’. The story it tells is so engrossing, contains so many fascinating characters and is written in such a compelling way that I could not put it down. I had to keep reminding myself that it was not fiction; it was history that I was reading.

This is the story of one of England’s great aristocratic families, the Fitzwilliams of Yorkshire and their grand country mansion Wentworth; how they rose to prominence and how they declined; it is also a history of the coal mining which enriched them, the growth of the miners’ unions, and the changes in society which saw their fame and fortune fade.

Calling Wentworth House a grand country mansion doesn’t really do it justice. Wentworth was - and is - the largest privately owned house in Britain; it is absolutely enormous, an estate agent would probably have an orgasm trying to describe its 400 rooms and its five miles of corridor. Guests who stayed there were given little silver caskets of different coloured confetti so they could lay a trail in order to find their way back to their bedrooms after dinner.

Opening with the funeral of the 6^th Earl Fitzwilliam in 1902, and the succession of his grandson ‘Billy Fitzbilly’ the reader is immediately plunged into a bitter family row over the inheritance, mental illness, and the rumours that the new 7^th Earl was a ‘spurious child’, a changeling.

No novel is more extraordinary than this, for the next 70 years the family packs in illicit love affairs, chorus girls on the make, forbidden love, war heroes and violent death – including the tragic relationship they had with the Kennedy family.

Entwined with all this, is the story of the miners and their families who worked the Fitzwilliam mines for centuries, the dangers, squalor and poverty that was their lot. Finally it is the story of class war and a way of life gone for ever.

Catherine Bailey has done an impressive job in researching and writing Black Diamonds; I learned a great deal of early 20th century political history from the book, and have gained real understanding of the growth of the union movement in Britain.

Wentworth House still stands, no longer owned by the Fitzwilliam family it is shuttered up and closed to the public, but there is a public footpath which passes close to the magnificent main façade – I am determined, one day, to go to Yorkshire and see it.

Rated 5*

RANTING:

I’ll bet that you have at least one garment made from wool, most people do. Where did the wool come from? Why, from sheep of course. A sheep shearer removed the fleece from the sheep so that it could be processed into wool, the sheep was not harmed, and grew a new fleecy coat which could be sheared off a year later.

Mankind has been shearing sheep for thousands of years, in Europe, north and south America, Asia, India, Australia….everywhere that there are sheep to be shorn.

For many years, Kent County Show here in England, has had a demonstration of sheep shearing, and it has always been a popular event at the Show. This year however it has been banned – animal rights activists have demanded the ban. One of them is quoted as saying “Sheep have rights too. I thought it was cruel, so complained.”

What a completely loony attitude.
The thing that makes me really annoyed however, is that Kent County Show has knuckled under to their demands and scrapped the demonstration.

Millions of us now live in big cities with very limited knowledge of farming or country life – we’ve all heard the jokes about kids who thought spaghetti grew on trees, or that peas were manufactured and came in plastic bags automatically. Jamie Oliver – all power to his elbow – has tried to teach school children about where food comes from, what different vegetables are and how chickens should be farmed. People ought to know where the wool they wear comes from too, and how it is obtained. A demonstration of sheep shearing at a county agricultural show seems a small but appropriate way of doing just that.

Perhaps if some of these animal rights activists had actually lived on a farm, or had seen sheep being sheared when they were children they wouldn’t adopt such stupid and extreme views and then try to force them on the rest of us.

RECIPE:

Last weekend there was a big lunch party to celebrate my Aged Parents' Diamond Wedding Anniversary and the chef made Croquembouche as the dessert. Croquembouche means 'crunch in the mouth', and is a big cone of choux pastry profiteroles, filled with cream or creme patisserie, which have been dipped in caramelised sugar and then piled up into a big cone studded with fresh fruit or flowers and with a topping of spun sugar . This dessert is often served at French weddings, christenings and other family celebrations.

Assembling a Croquembouche is quite a palaver, and making spun sugar is definitely not part of my culinary repertoire, but the profiteroles are a doddle to make. Although they have become a bit of a food cliche, they are always popular, particularly with men and children - so here is my recipe for them.

CHOUX PASTRY ~~~ PROFITEROLES

Pre-heat oven to 200°C – it is really essential you do this as the oven must be up to temperature before you put the pastries in to bake or they will just go soggy.

Line two baking sheets with non-stick paper.

350ml water
150g butter
200g flour
4 large eggs

Beat the eggs together in a jug and set aside.
Sieve the flour into a bowl and set aside.
Put the water and butter into a sauce pan and heat gently until the butter has dissolved, then bring to the boil.

Tip all the flour into the boiling butter/water whilst still on the heat and beat vigorously with a wooden spoon until everything is well combined and forms a ball coming away from the sides of the pan.

Remove from the heat and allow to cool for five minutes.

Then beat the egg mixture into the dough bit by bit, using an electric hand mixer. Make sure each addition of egg is well incorporated before adding more. The pastry should be able to hold its shape, but not too runny.

Using two spoons which have been dipped in water, spoon balls of the pastry on to the prepared baking trays, they should be 5 cms apart to allow for expansion in the oven. Any pointy bits of dough can be pressed down with a dampened finger.

Bake in the centre of the pre-heated oven for 20 minutes. DO NOT OPEN THE OVEN DOOR DURING THIS TIME. Then switch the oven off but leave the profiteroles in the oven for a further 10 minutes until golden brown and crisp.

Remove from oven and cool on a wire rack.

They can be filled with Crème Patisserie or whipped cream, and served with chocolate sauce; or they can be filled with a savoury mixture of seafood in a white sauce, or cream cheese and herbs.

They freeze well unfilled.

THE RULE IS, JAM YESTERDAY AND JAM TOMORROW - BUT NEVER JAM TODAY.
Lewis Carroll - Through The Looking Glass

READING:

Twilight by William Gay is the first Southern Gothic novel I’ve ever read, and to tell the truth I didn’t even know such a genre existed in American literature but now that I do I am keen to read more, so any and all recommendations for authors/titles would be gratefully received.

Set in Tennessee, Twilight tells the story of Corrie and Kenneth Tyler, whose dead father had been the local bootlegger.

Corrie thinks that the local undertaker Fenton Breece has cheated them over the lead lining they’d ordered for their father’s coffin, and she gets Kenneth to help her dig up the grave and open the coffin so she can check.

What they discover shocks them both, and they start digging up other recent graves and find that not only are many others being cheated by Fenton Breece, but also that many of the bodies have been desecrated with obscene mutilations.

Corrie is determined to get compensation for their father’s burial, and when Kenneth finds a cache of incriminating photographs in Breece’s car they decide to blackmail him into paying them a large sum of money.

Breece is not so easily squeezed however, and he enlists the services of a local villain to get the photos back and silence the siblings. Sutter is a vile creature, completely amoral and psychopathic, he has murdered, tortured and terrorised men women children and animals indiscriminately in the past.

He starts hunting them down and eventually the story evolves into a chase, with Sutter relentlessly pursuing Kenneth through a dangerous area of wilderness called the Harrikin

Although primarily the story of a man-hunt, this is also a bildungsroman, as Kenneth grows from teenager to man in the course of the chase, each incident changing him in emotional maturity.

There are moments of horribly black humour, and moments of terror in the book. William Gay captures the Tennessee landscape and makes it vivid with extraordinary, unforgettable characters – including a dog with pierced ears.

Necrophilia, death and revenge, what more could you want in a gothic novel?

Rated 4.5*

RANTING:

I am frigging fed up with fornicating foxes.*

In the past week our sleep has been broken in the early hours of the morning no less than three nights running, by the screaming and whimpering of a pair of foxes who have chosen the little green in front of our house for their own personal sex pad. Two minutes away is the vast space around Alexandra Palace where they could hump to their hearts content and not bother anyone.

I don't know whether you've ever heard a fox scream, but it is a horrible noise and sounds exactly like a woman being attacked by Jack the Ripper. Every time they start up I wake up with a start, my two terriers go absolutely ballistic and I lie in bed fuming, and wishing I had a shotgun. I am not good when I have not had enough sleep, I can turn very, very nasty.

*This could be a new tongue twister don't you think?

RECIPE:

Some like it hot, as the saying goes, and my DS is one of them. He has always been partial to chilli sauces and so when I found this recipe I decided to use him as my guinea pig. I've now made two batches, and the jars vanished from my store cupboard as various friends sampled it. It is dead easy to make and has many many uses besides the obvious one of serving as a condiment with grilled meats and fish. Mixed half and half with decent quality mayonnaise, it makes the most fabulous dressing for cold chicken - a more interesting and spicier variation on the famous Coronation Chicken. Fantastic spread on toast, covered with sliced cheese and browned under the grill. You can spread it on white fish fillets and then bake them in the oven for 10-15 minutes for a quick supper....the list is almost endless.

Oh yes, in case you're wondering, my guinea pig pronounced it fantastic!

CHILLI & CORIANDER JAM

Makes approx 1.5 litres (5 jars)

176 kJ (41 calories) per tablespoon

2kg large ripe tomatoes, cored
160ml olive oil
10 cloves garlic, peeled
1 tablespoon grated fresh ginger
10 small fresh red Thai chillies (remove stems)
2 tablespoons cumin seeds
2 tablespoons black mustard seeds
180ml red wine vinegar
60ml fish sauce (Nam Pla)
335g soft light brown sugar
1 tablespoon ground turmeric
1 cup chopped coriander, leaves, stems and roots

Rub the tomatoes with olive oil and place in a roasting pan. Bake in the oven for approx 30 minutes until soft but NOT coloured.

Blend the garlic, ginger, chillies and seeds together in a food processor until well combined into a coarse paste.

Transfer the mixture into a large heavy-bottomed pan, add the vinegar, tomatoes, fish sauce, sugar and turmeric and simmer, uncovered for about 2 hours until thick.

Blend in batches until combined but still textured.

Return to the heat for five minutes and when really hot, stir in the coriander.

Spoon into hot, sterilised jars and seal whilst still hot.

Keep in a cool dry place for up to 6 months.
Refrigerate after opening.

SMILE FIRST THING IN THE MORNING. GET IT OVER WITH.
W.C. Fields
Sometimes I can empathise with that quote.



READING:

When I was out in South Africa last month at least six different people asked me if I’d read
Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert and when I said no I hadn’t, the usual response was something like “well you MUST, you really must read it.” They had all loved the book.

Being an obedient sort I have now done so.

Elizabeth Gilbert is a successful New York writer and journalist, who (aged 34) goes through a painful, soul destroying divorce, followed by an intense rebound romance which ends badly. Feeling emotionally battered she decides to take a year off and go travelling to find balance in her life. Eat Pray Love is a memoir of that year of travel.

Gibert starts her year of travel in Italy, Rome to be precise, where she learns to speak Italian and eats, eats everything and anything, from risotto ai fungi and Tiamisu to newborn lamb’s intestines.

After several months in Italy she moves on - to India. There she intends to spend six weeks at the Ashram of “her” guru, a famous Indian woman to whose teachings she had been introduced back in New York some months before; she hopes to find spiritual solace whilst meditating at the Ashram. It turns out that six weeks of trying to meditate is not enough for her, and she ends up staying at the Ashram for all the time she is in India.

Eventually it is time to move on again, and she sets off for the exotic island of Bali to try and locate an elderly Balinese medicine man she had met four years previously. Whilst in Bali she makes friends, observes Balinese life, and falls in love with a Brazilian man some years her senior and her own life takes a whole new turn.

Elizabeth Gilbert has a frank, informal writing style - almost chatty ; she is self deprecating and often very funny indeed. I particularly enjoyed the first part of the book when she is in Italy, but the middle section where she is in the Ashram dragged on and on, and I began to find her emotionally adolescent and self absorbed. To be honest, the whole Ashram thing annoyed me, as I saw it as being run as a commercial business for like-minded nu-age westerners who perceived the east as being the only place to find spiritual truths, and yet Gibert didn’t seem to see that at all.

The time she spent in Bali was fascinating about Balinese life, but again I found myself becoming impatient as she seemed incredibly naïve – when suffering from as serious urinary tract infection one of her local friends, a woman who runs a health restaurant, gives her a vile concoction to drink and hey presto, she is completely cured within two hours – oh yeah? If that were really possible, every mega pharmaceutical company would be beating a path to Bali to register and market the potion.

After finishing it I did wonder whether this was a very carefully calculated account of a year which was always intended to be the basis of a commercially successful book, rather than a true spiritual and emotional journey.

Having said all that,I did find it an entertaining read - it was not slushy at all, which is what I’d expected when I picked it up, and very different from my usual reading material. Which can only be a good thing!

Rated: 3.5*

RANTING:

Last night I had to take my DH to the A&E department of our local hospital - he had managed to slice his right ear in half (don't ask). Anyway, being Easter Sunday at 11pm the place was moderately busy as you would expect.

DH was seen very quickly, the injury was worse than

either of us had realised, and after being cleaned etc, we were shown to a cubicle to await the surgical registrar. We had taken work/books to read, and the time went by. People came and went in the adjoining cubicle.

At one in the morning a very articulate 11 year old and his dad were there. Being a child, he had jumped right up the queue (and thats fine with me), a doctor arrived to see him almost

immediately. As all were speaking very loudly I couldn't help overhearing everything.
The boy was suffering from Ringworm, which he said he had had for some two months. He had been taken to his GP who had prescribed various anti-fungal creams and tablets; these

had not had much success so he had seen the GP again who had changed the medication - some three weeks prior. He listed all the medications he had been given, some of which he was still using.

The A&E doctor asked why they were there in the early hours - and the father said that the boy was going abroad on Tuesday for a week's holiday and they wanted the ringworm to be sorted out there and then! This father was an articulate middle class man who proceeded to throw a wobbly when it was very politely pointed out to him that ringworm was neither an Accident nor an Emergency and that he should take his son back to the GP and get an appointment with a consultant Dermatologist.

They stormed out, the father raging about the inequities of the NHS and how it was failing them. But the reality was that they were abusing the system. Hospital A&E departments are not for general ailments, they should not be used as an open-all-hours doctors surgery. The whole episode took 20-30 minutes of a busy doctor's time, time that could have been spent on others who needed her care there and then (and I do not include my DH among them - he was seen and sutured by a terrific registrar, who hailed from Ghana, about an hour later).

Imagine the scene I overheard being repeated once or twice a night at every A&E department up and down the land, and then you realise why the waiting times in casualty departments are often very long.

RECIPE:

My DD and I have sometimes grabbed a quick lunch at Ottolenghi, the chic eatery where rich and fashionable Notting Hillbillies get their organic rocket salad and other delicious things. Some weeks ago I was idly surfing through the on-line UK newspapers and discovered in The Guardian that Yotam Ottolenghi (who is chef/patron of the aforementioned establishment) writes a recipe column for them. This was the recipe that caught my eye. I made it, and all I can say is that the man is a culinary genius - it is super-special, double-dipped divine. When you read the recipe it sounds quite fiddly, but is actually not difficult and the result is worth it. My guests were knocked out by it...be warned, if you come to dinner here anytime in the next few months this is what you will be getting as a starter!

OTTOLENGHI'S CARAMELISED GARLIC TART

Serves 4-6

30g unsalted butter, melted
375g puff pastry
½ butternut squash (250g), peeled, seeded and cut into 2cm wedges
3 tbsp olive oil
Salt and black pepper
2 heads garlic, cloves peeled (this is a lot of garlic but trust me on this, it is not an over garlicky tasting dish)
1 tbsp balsamic vinegar
1½ tbsp caster sugar
1 tsp chopped rosemary
1 tsp chopped thyme, plus a few whole sprigs to finish
130g rich, creamy goats' cheese, rind removed
2 eggs
100ml double cream
100ml crème fraîche

Preheat the oven to 180C/350F/gas mark 4. Brush a 22cm round cake tin with melted butter. Roll out the pastry to a square 3-4mm thick, then cut out a circle to cover the base of the tin and come about 3cm up its sides. Brush with more butter, line with greaseproof paper and fill with baking beans. Put into the fridge for 20 minutes, bake for 20 minutes, remove the beans and bake for 15 minutes more, or until the pastry is golden. Remove and set aside.

Spread the squash over an oven tray, sprinkle with a tablespoon of oil and a pinch of salt, and roast for 30 minutes, until cooked through. Meanwhile, put the garlic in a small pan and cover with water. Bring to a simmer, blanch for three minutes and drain. Return cloves to the dry pan and add two tablespoons of oil. Fry for two minutes, add the vinegar and 180ml water, simmer for 10 minutes, add the sugar, chopped herbs and half a teaspoon of salt, and simmer for another 10 minutes, until most of the liquid has evaporated and the cloves are coated in dark, caramelly syrup.

Arrange the squash in the tart case, dot with pieces of goats' cheese and scatter the garlic and its syrup all over. Whisk eggs, creams, half a teaspoon of salt and some black pepper, and pour over the tart, plugging the gaps but letting the filling peek over the surface. Lay a few thyme sprigs on top.

Reduce the oven to 170C/325F/ gas mark 3 and bake the tart for 35-45 minutes, until it sets and the top goes golden-brown.

Eat warm or at room temperature with a crisp salad - sit back and wait for the compliments!

HERE'S A LITTLE PROVERB YOU SURELY OUGHT TO KNOW;
HORSES SWEAT AND MEN PERSPIRE, BUT LADIES ONLY GLOW.


READING:

On World Book Day which was last week, Boy A by Jonathan Trigell was voted as THE Book to Talk About from a list of 10 contenders (to see the other books listed, click HERE) and I think it a worthy winner.

Boy A has chosen the name Jack Burridge for himself, his real name is never divulged, because Boy A is one of two lads who murdered another child when they were ten years old. Boy B was found dead by hanging whilst still in a Young Offenders Institution.

Now aged 24, Jack has been given a new identity and is tentatively beginning a life out in the real world. Jack has a job, and his minder/mentor who introduces himself to people as Jack’s Uncle Terry, has found him lodgings with a local woman. No-one knows his true background.

Boy A lives a very fragile life, terrified of relationships, never forgetting what he is guilty of having done. He is always aware that the tabloid press are relentless in their attempts to find him. When, because he and a workmate happen to be first on the scene of a terrible car smash, he saves the life of a little girl, he is hailed as a hero which he finds very frightening, as the local press send a photographer round to take their picture. He is also worried about having too much to drink in case he gives himself away, and when some of his workmates befriend him he has problems as they dabble with recreational drugs which are all off limits to him. Eventually he embarks on his first romantic relationship, which is also means a sexual relationship, something he has never had before. As events unfold the reader gets a real sense of foreboding, Jack is too vulnerable, his anonymity cannot be sustained indefinitely.

The story is very obviously based on the notorious case of the two boys who murdered James Bulger in Liverpool 15 years ago. Since then it has been revealed that at least one of those boys has been released on license, and needless to say there have been all sorts of stories in the tabloid press and circulating on the internet as to where they might be, and how they have “got away with murder” as they are no longer incarcerated. As a youth court magistrate for many years, I have visited Feltham YOI several times, and this book conveys the ghastly atmosphere, the bullying, and the deep unhappiness that permeate the place. It punishes youths, no doubt of that, but I doubt that it rehabilitates many.

The author has skilfully managed to cover the complex attitudes society has towards children who kill; how they are seen as more monstrous than adult killers, and how many feel they should be punished incredibly harshly for the rest of their lives. On the whole the public seem uninterested in WHY these children would kill, as they are considered to be almost sub-human.

“She could remember at the time of the trial, everyone she knew was horrified, imagining what it would be like if their child had been murdered in such a way. No one had stopped to think about what it would be like if their child was the murderer. That was why the boys had to be evil, they had to be alien: other, demons”

The book will certainly give readers food for thought, and it would be a fantastic book club choice as it raises several very debatable points of view.

Rated 5*

RANTING:

If I stub my toe, do I immediately look round to see who I can sue? Well no I don’t, but some people would. Scrolling through the BBC news website today I read an item which made me so mad I could spit.

Mr and Mrs Boardman are a couple in their eighties who live in Lincolnshire. Mrs Boardman has heart problems, and recently they had to call an ambulance for her. When it arrived at their house and she had been seen, one of the ambulance men returned to the vehicle to collect a stretcher and fell in their driveway. He has now instructed a lawyer and is seeking damages from the Boardmans for personal injury. The East Midlands Ambulance Service who employ the ambulance technician say that he is doing this on his own behalf and it is nothing to do with them.

The Boardmans were shaken and distressed when they received the letter from this man’s solicitor, and I’m not surprised. It would distress me too. They say they would now be scared to summon the emergency services even if they need them. Accidents happen, you can’t always blame someone else, and it is just plain greedy to try and exhort money from frail elderly people because you fell over whilst doing your job.

What kind of crazy society have we become?

RECIPE:

Supermarket shelves are stacked high with crisps, nuts, cheesy wotsits and other snacks for serving with drinks, but they are so expensive and greasy that I am on a bit of a campaign to find other appetisers. I can eat houmous 'til the cows come home, and am partial to taramasalata and bits of pitta bread too but after a while it is good to ring the changes. This is ever so easy and very moreish, veggie friends like it, and I kid myself that it is healthy too!

CANNELLINI BEAN MASH WITH CUMIN

Serves 4-6

2x 400g tins cannellini beans, drained and rinsed
5 tablespoons olive oil
4 large cloves garlic, peeled and finely chopped
1 teaspoon cumin (I use half ground cumin, and half cumin seeds)
3 tablespoons lemon juice
Salt & pepper
2 tablespoons (approx) finely chopped fresh coriander.

Heat the olive oil in a large frying pan, add the cumin and chopped garlic and cook for a few minutes stirring well – do not let the garlic brown.

Add the beans and mix all together well. Cook gently for 5 minutes, stirring all the time. Remove from heat. Either mash the beans with a fork, adding the lemon juice and extra oil if it is too solid and dry, or whiz in a blender, so that it forms a rough puree. It should not be too smooth so do not over blend. Stir the chopped coriander into the bean mash. Season well to taste with salt and pepper.

Serve with warm grilled bruschetta or toasted pita bread.

This is also delicious spread in sandwiches with sliced tomato and cucumber.

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.

"THIS CAPE IS A MOST STATELY THING, AND THE FAIREST CAPE WE SAW IN ALL THE WHOLE CIRCUMFERENCE OF THE EARTH" Sir Francis Drake, 1596 AD

READING:

Allegra Goodman’s book Intuition is set firmly in the world of biological science, and explores the relationships, ambitions, and ethical standards of a group of biologists working in a research institute at Harvard in Cambridge Massachusetts. The Philpott Institute, which relies on public grants for its funding, is headed by Marion Mendelssohn, a pure scientist, and Sandy Glass an ebullient and charismatic oncologist. Under them is a team of Post Docs (scientists who have done their PhDs and are no longer students), researchers and technicians. Various trials are ongoing in the search for cancer cures. Cliff, a young, good-looking, and very ambitious Post Doc, seems to have discovered that the cancerous tumours in mice can be reduced by injecting them with R-7 virus.

Sandy Glass is jubilant and pushes for fast-track publication of the results as this will bring kudos to the Institute and secure further, much needed, funding. Marion is more cautious and feels it is too early to go public, but Sandy prevails. Robin, a senior Post Doc who is both colleague and ex-girlfriend of Cliff’s, is dubious about some of his results. She takes her concerns to Marion and Sandy but they do not take her seriously. Eventually, not able to cope with the pressure of having to work with Cliff on his project, and unable to continue her own line of research, she quits the Institute, and conveys her niggling doubts about the R-7 virus results to ORIS, the Office for Research Integrity in Science. She has lit the touch paper to a real brush-fire. The politics of scientific research on both a micro and macro level come under the spotlight of media attention, with unforeseen consequences for those at the Philpott and for Robin herself.

One is never quite sure of Robin or of Cliff. Were Robin’s motives in going to ORIS driven by unacknowledged jealousy of Cliff’s apparent success? Was Cliff so sure that he was on the right track with his research that he massaged the data to give favourable results? What IS truth in scientific terms?

What I really liked about the book was the sense that the researchers at the institute constituted a family, with Marion as mother and Sandy as father. They might squabble and bicker amongst themselves, but when faced with outside criticism they immediately presented a defensive united front.

Outside the genre of Sci-Fi – which may have many for all I know - it is rather surprising that there haven’t been many novels featuring science and scientists. Off hand I can only think of Frankenstein by Mary Shelley, and Arrowsmith by Sinclair Lewis, and more recently The Andromeda Strain and Prey by Michael Crichton. As we move into the 21^st Century, I predict that there will be many more books set in the fascinating world of scientific research.

A word of warning for any anti-vivisectionists reading this post – this book will have you baying for blood (so to speak) as the descriptions of the mice used in the experiments and what is done to them is fairly graphic.

Rated 4.5*

REUNIONS & REMINISING :

No ranting right now, I have been having the most wonderful time catching up with old friends. Going back to the school you left 40 years previously and sitting in the dining hall with the same people you sat with all those years ago certainly unlocks the memory vaults. Sights, sounds and smells came rushing back to mind.

Over the past four days we have had a full programme of cocktail parties, a church service, a lunch with speeches, a fantastic dinner which lasted until 2am, and finally, on a glorious hot day, a fabulous lunch on the terrace of one of South Africa's premier wine farms which is home to one of our classmates. As might be expected, there has been much laughter, a few tears, endless chatter, and an atmosphere of genuine affection for one another.

RECIPE:

Before I left for South Africa we had friends round for dinner, and as the starter and main course were influenced by Thai and Indian cooking, I thought I should keep up the fusion food theme with the pudding, and I wanted something I could prepare in advance. This hit the spot, and everyone raved about it. A simple twist on an old faithful.

I'm afraid my photo seems to have vanished, I will try to get it back when I get home.

COCONUT CRÈME CARAMEL
Serves 8

1 cup granulated or caster sugar
⅓ cup water
1 can (400ml) coconut milk

½ cup cream
6 large eggs
½ teaspoon vanilla
Pinch of ground cardamom (optional)
½ cup dark brown sugar – firmly packed

Toasted coconut and finely grated lime zest to garnish

Pre-heat the oven to 160°C

Set out 8 oven-proof ramekins.

Combine the granulated sugar and water in a small non-stick saucepan, heat gently, stirring all the time until the sugar is dissolved. Increase the heat and bring up to the boil. Boil without stirring until the syrup turns an even golden brown colour. It takes 5-8 mins, and you must watch it carefully as once it starts to colour it can overcook very quickly.

Remove pan from the heat and quickly pour some of the caramel in to the base of each ramekin, swirling it round to cover the base completely. Place them in a large baking tin with space between each and put to one side to set.

Whisk the eggs together in a large bowl, add the coconut milk, cream, vanilla, brown sugar and cardamom (if using). Beat together until well combined.
Carefully pour this mixture into each ramekin. Pour boiling water into the baking tin so that it reaches halfway up the side of each ramekin. Set the baking tin in the centre of the pre-heated oven and bake for 30 minutes or so, until the custards are just set. Remove from the baking tin and set to cool on a wire rack. When cool cover each ramekin with clingfilm and put in the fridge for 4-5 hours or overnight.

When ready to serve, run a knife round the side of each ramekin and carefully turn out onto serving plate. Sprinkle with grated lime zest and toasted coconut.
Delicious on it’s own or with a tropical fruit salad.