A moral conker dilemma

I have been struggling with a quandry and it is beginning to interfere with my enjoyment of conker season.

Is it morally wrong to collect conkers within a park which includes a children's playground? And how far geographically do you need to be from a school, when collecting the lovely smooth, mahogany covered jewels so as not to deny a child of it's outdoorsy fun and therefore personal development? Should one collect conkers where thou willst and teach the kiddies the importance of eagle eyed observation and getting-there-first?

Madame de Pompadour - Nancy Mitford spreads the aristocratic love

Madame de Pompadour is one of the most fascinating women in French history. A King's mistress with massive influence, which she maintained even after the physical element of her duties subsided. A woman of charm, beauty, artistic appreciation, imagination and intellect. A jumped up commoner, she was (like marmite) both hated and loved. An excellent introduction can be found here. I find I can despise Madame de Pompadour for spending the starving peasants' money on nothing, making important political decisions based on how charming a noble was but also appreciate the incredible longevity and influence in the snakepit of Versailles of a commoner. Therefore as far as I'm concerned anything about the Pompadour and her position is fascinating, and I cheerfully picked up Nancy Mitford's biography of her. Nancy's Mitford's biography is quite biased (although she does admit some of Madame de Pompadour's faults) and makes for a sympathetic read. I almost felt sorry for Madame Etoiles as she made her first haphazard forays in to the French court (It took her several months to learn how to walk, talk and curtsy - and this was a woman considered to be at the apex of Paris society) The biography is gossipy and touches on enough of the greater political and social economic issues of the day to appreciate the importance of Madame de Pompadour's actions, although it barely glances at her legacy (if any).

I found Mitford utterly condescending in insisting on quoting people and maxims of the time in French. Occasionally she translates but mostly expects her reader to follow the archaic French and in doing so she often completely undermines her points. I know that a hundred years ago or earlier every educated person spoke a second language but this is really unacceptable for a book written in the 50s designed for a wide and not purely academic audience. I was left wondering whether the author had assumed French speaking or a certain level of education/class were a pre-requisite for an interest for reading historical biographies about the French or if she was just lazy. Nancy Mitford's well known tendencies towards self aware snobbery would imply the former. She also brazenly assumes her audience are British frequently referring to the French equivalent of 'Our' Knighthoods or 'Our' House of Lords.

Mitford's plummy upper class style is apparent throughout the book, to begin with I was annoyed at her inability to avoid personal opinion and use colloquial phrases. She variously accuses historical figures of being 'a dear old bore', 'tiresome', 'dowdy' and 'simply delicious' . She describes the Queen's social abilities with the assertion that, 'Nothing is so frumpish as last year's gambling game', and 'we must beg leave to doubt' another noble's opinion of the Queen's personality. Her greatest adjective for a minister is his notable 'goodness'- whatever that might objectively be. However after a while, I found I quite enjoyed Mitford's tone and felt I was on a tour through an aristocrats world with an aristocrat. What she thought was important for posterity was probably not far off what her subject's peers thought.

I'm not sure Mitford's biography is the best that can be found to cover the fascinating subject of Madame de Pompadour nor the French court, but is certainly unique and if you can forgive the lack of translation and aristocratic tone an enjoyable read.

EDIT: Grammar, spelling, uselessness

It's conker season!

I love conkers. I love finding them. I love sifting through the fallen leaves to get at them. I love prying them out of any remnant casings. I love polishing them up. I love pocketing them. The first conkers are here. They may be small and a little soft but they are here. Hooray!

Softminty adventures in yogurt cake land

I have been of the opinion of late that the ringbearer has been getting one too many cakes his way. Therefore I decided to concoct one of my favourite cakes, which includes yoghurt and strawberries. Somehow the ringbearer's puppy dog eyes did manage to persuade me to add malteasers instead of strawberries. But I was not completely manipulated! I have long pondered how to include mints into cakes. After all mints take up a large section of the sweetie shelves, shouldn't they be included in my experiments? Here was the ideal opportunity.Stage 1. Baking the chocolate cake base
Pretty boring really, except I added some malteasers just for fun
Stage 2. Playing with gelatine.
I love playing with gelatine (not much for vegetarian baking I'm afraid). Covering the sheets in water makes for a nice mystery when it comes to fishing around for the squishy gelatine. Subsequently squeazing the gunk before heating it in a pan is also very pleasant sensation. Nice and oozy.Stage 3. Making the yoghurty mix
Yoghurt, lime juice, whipped cream, sugar and gelatine. Yummy! This was then slopped onto the cake baseStage 4. Addition of the sweeties
I refused to go all malteasers, so most of the cake was still strawberry filled. A section was mixed with malteaser, a section was homogeneously malteaser and another section included lovely softmints.
Stage 5. Refrigeration and a discovery!
The yoghurt mix set quite nicely around the strawberries and malteasers. But fascinatingly the softmints melted (liquified)! My chemistry senses were twitching! Softmints become quickly chewy in the mouth and dissolve. Which might happen due to a change in pH rather than (as I thought) heat and agitation. Had my yoghurty mix been acidic enough to liquefy the softmints? Or had the presence of gelatine caused some sort of diffusion? Or had the softmints just givenup any semblance of solidity the moment they were exposed to the cold. Cowards!

The liquid softmints meant that the minty flavour had travelled further than expected within the cake and was not limited to pockets of mintyness. This was odd but not unpleasant and went quite well with strawberries. The malteasers also worked really very well. The ringbearer noted that the cake was the only one he had eaten that left a minty fresh aftertaste. Although he refused further comment as he was clearly bitter about the 'healthiness' of the strawberries. I therefore think that it would be easier to add mint cordial to the yoghurty mix rather than softmints to achieve the same taste sensation. The malteasers might be a permanent addition to the normal fruity goodness.

Any suggestions about the magic melting effect of cold yoghurt and gelatine on softmints are welcome.

Fantastic Mr Fox - where 'Roald Dahl' is too obscure

'Based on the book by the author of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory'. What a ridiculous mouthful for a tagline! Is it just me or does it also cheerfully imply that audiences only know the Roald Dahl *films*? Worrying, very worrying. The Return of the King - based on the book by the author of 'The Two Towers'
Edit: grammar baby!

Being MISERly about the programme brings many problems

This Saturday I went to see the matinee performance of Molière's Miser performed at the Royal Exchange in Manchester. The tale of a miserly father trying to make money from marrying off his two children with somewhat predictable twists, misunderstandings and revelations. I'm very fond of the Royal Exchange. The theatre's futuristic pod squats brilliantly beneath the Victorian building's domes and columns, like a Dr Who Villain in it's non-contemporary lair. The pod itself is a glass multi-levelled piece of beauty that encloses a stage surrounded 360 degrees by seats that reach up to the ceiling. It is always fascinating to see how the players adapt and utilise the space to accommodate an audience that surrounds them. Personally I love seeing plays there, it's like looking down into a goldfish bowl at some very dramatic postulating fish.

Until I walked in to the matinee I knew nothing of Molière or his play 'The Miser'. What I did know within 3 minutes was that the production design was bold and brilliant. The cast all wearing a strange punk-17th century cross, with the miser's household covered in splashed white paint and dust. The stage itself was also white, filled with dripping pipes, occasional bare metal furniture and plastic sheeting that managed to be both modern and period at the same time. A brilliant touch was the gold barely hidden beneath the floorboards and visible only to those audience members willing to tilt their head and squint.

The performance combined some excellent bouts of choreographed chasing and comedic action, that suited the quick fire dialogue. The mime background of the movement director Julian Chagrin being very evident and an excellent addition to the play. Derek Griffiths[1] naturally excelled as Harpagan the Miser and was well supported by the younger cast. Other performances I enjoyed were Helen Atkinson Wood providing an excellent robust Frosine and Simon Gregor as a physically hilarious La Fleche. I laughed continuously and I even enjoyed when Harpagon interacted with the audience; a situation that normally makes me squirm. I found some fault with the actresses, who upon being given hooped dresses to wear all seemed to believe that their character's mannerisms should include unnecessarily grasping their skirts and swinging them about, but I was mostly entranced by their quick banter and comedic timing. Unfortunately the quality of the acting seemed undermined by the performances of Jaques and Signor Anselme. Jacques failed to sparkle or even keep up with his part of any interaction, providing a plodding delivery that seemed to be out of pace with everyone else, perhaps indicating an unfamiliarity with the role or the line's delivery. Signor Anselme was really quite awful, providing some of the most stilted line delivery I have ever seen and quite damaging my enjoyment of the last scenes.

This led me to be suspicious that the two actors might be understudies. However, I had not purchased a programme leaving me with no idea as to what the actors should look like. This led to some frantic internet searching and desperate face recognition but I struggled to draw conclusions. I just about confirmed that Signor Anselme was not played by the well known cast actor (Tim Barlow - him with the long coat in Hot Fuzz), but Jaques's portrayl remains something of a mystery. I therefore feel a little uncomfortable criticizing performances that might have been last minute additions. So I will still recommend the play as a very enjoyable few hour's entertainment. Sumptuous to look at, inventive, funny and somehow making 17th century dash-about, twisty comedy accessible and new.

Plus a note to myself: Buy the programme.

[1]He was the voice of SuperTed! Not that I could tell

Beer Wars!

Heineken has gone to court to stop a local Swiss group from distributing a spoof brand called Keineken (No Heineken). Heineken are apparently 'not amused'. Well I am very amused. Anything that sticks up two fingers to the giant breweries tends to be a good thing. We need variety in our beer and local bereweries deserve as much advertising as possible. Who next? Stella Nilpoi? Snarling yak label?

The Room - all glory to Tommy Wiseau!

I have now seen The Room in all its jaw-dropping brilliance three times and I feel I must recommend it here. I cannot begin to describe just how bad this film is. You just couldn't make a film this bad if you tried and this is integral to its genius. Seriously, at any given nanosecond you are torn into a thousand atoms trying to establish if *anything* is correct with the scene you are watching. There is not a section of the movie-making process that is correct. From the editing, directing, acting, writing, lighting, set, music, cuts, plot, costumes everything is gloriously, wonderfully wrong. It is little wonder that it is a cult film.

The first time I saw The Room, I spent the entire film with my jaw open struggling desperately to work out what was going on [1]. As the glorious travesty unfurled I found that every time I managed to just about establish what the intended plot was, I was struck lightening like by yet another stand-alone piece of continuity/lighting/acting/directing error. I laughed only when I could, for there was not space to breathe and assess the next moment of filmic confusion and arrogance.

The Room requires at least 2 watchings for it is almost impossible to form a heckle whilst digesting the next onslaught of stunning failure. Of course some bits are more painful that others. Why are footballs only thrown 3ft? Why must we have so many sex scenes that last the length of the soft-rock soundtrack? Why is Johnny humping his girlfriend's hip? Why does everyone keep turning up and walking in and out again? What happened to the drugs/drug money? Who was the psychologist? Where the hell was Johnny from? What about the cancer? And the baby? Spoon! Johnny is Christ getting a blow job? What is wrong with Denny? What happened to the very specific pizza? Why doesn't Denny use a chair? Why are they wearing tuxes? The questions, like The Room 's panning shots across San Francisco will never end. Nor should they. Watch this film, it's good for your soul.

Brickyard jimmy says it all better than I ever could.

[1] In fact a friend, during his first viewing was forced to split one character into two to try and aid his comprehension of what-was-going-on.