Gertsamtkunstwerk

Getting back into the swing

We went swimming on Friday, the first time in over a week, at least. It's a lot harder to motivate myself to go without Jimmy. Unfortunately our working schedules are such that we don't get much opportunity to do such stuff together. I do wish he had an ordinary job which gave him weekends and evenings off and we could properly do stuff together - although we'd then get in each other's way and on each other's nerves.

I can't say that I was highly motivated when I was in the water. I didn't exactly push myself. I think I did ten lengths which was a but pathetic. But not bad for someone who wasn't trying! I didn't really get that feeling of pounding heart or having pushed my muscles. again, I think that that's probably a good thing.

Afterwards we went to the Fujiyama Noodle Bar

Good food and excellent VFM. But I don't think we will go back because neither of us likes to sit in a restaurant where disco music is blaring out, particularly not the sort that sounds as though the needle has got stuck for the entire 45 minutes or so we were there, and especially not so early in the evening.

Today we decided was a cycling day. I popped out early afternoon to go to M&S at Clapham South. I was quite taken aback, although not surprised at how crowded the Common was. I can't say I care for Clapham Common. It's flat and boring, and is dominated by large groups of Baying Hoorays and Loud Antipodeans, the sort of men who wear Bermuda shorts, wrap around shades and flip-flops and give the impression they are doing it to prove how trendy they are. Plus there is so much broken glass on so many pathways - too moronic and selfish even to take their bottles away.

We set out to Tooting Common, which was nicer. It is possible to find spots with comparative tranquillity, although we always seem to head for the pond and then the café, which were heaving, especially with unsupervised brats and dogs. I did get a little bit of insight into myself. One child was beginning to irritate me like nobody's business. I did wonder when, rather than if, she would cycle into one or other of us. It was me, and it was a surprise attack, from behind, wrenching my right arm forward awkwardly.She said sorry, then her mother said, say sorry, so she said she had said sorry, so I thanked her for saying sorry, then her mother made a couple of guilt-stricken faces of sorry.

And I realised,it's not thoughtless behaviour I detest - it has taken me many years slowly to learn how to think through the consequences of my actions and their impact on other people. What I truly detest is people who behave thoughtlessly and then, when there action has a tangible effect on someone else (me) fail to recognise the significance of that. Whereas in this instant, something happened, and I got over it.

Again I don't think we over-exerted ourselves; in retrospect we spent too long sitting round and not enough time riding. Our excuse is that we have neglected it over the winter. But it's almost like we just cycle out to have a coffee and then cycle home again. That having been said, climbing up the incline that leads to the loco sheds I worked up a sweat and a state of breathlessness, and I didn't have to dismount once on the steep climb up to home. I was also sensible enough to have a shower immediately I got home, rather than sitting around procrastinating, which is my wont. It's also so much better to shower at home than at Brixton Rec because I can unhook the shower head and pound the water against my thighs.

I weighed myself. I am actually heavier than when I weighed myself in February, but I'm not too upset about that. I can still feel and see the difference in my body, and I have the next seven months or so to continue working on it.

Then was dinner. An M&S special, starting with mushroom crispbakes on a bed of wilted young spinach; smoked haddock with cheddar and mustard melt, served with baby new potatoes and asparagus, followed by lemon ricotta cheesecake, washed down with Chablis

Let's praise proper drinks

Beer gets ahead as tiny brewers find holy grail

I can't drink lager or other fizzy drinks in any sort of quantity. For example, in Berlin a couple of years back, I tried some German beers and while I liked the taste in my mouth, I couldn't deal with the fizziness. And that was proper quality controlled stuff without the ghastly chemicals that pollute many British lagers. Similarly I can't drink most fizzy drinks, with the exception of D&G's Ginger Beer and an occasional Orangina. So it stands to reason that I much prefer Real Ale to lager.

One thing that has been bugging me for a couple of years now is cider.

Cider got a bad reputation as being the drink of choice of, er, winos. I like cider a lot although I don't drink it too often, largely because I believe, rightly or wrongly, that it is impossible to follow it with anything else, so any drinking of cider must be followed only by more cider.

A few years ago I discovered that Sainsburys - for example - sell quite a range of organic cider from small producers generally in the West Country or East Anglia, also Normandy and Brittany.

Then the abomination that is Magners burst onto the market and became extremely popular. One of those classic examples of people being fooled that a lavish advertising campaign is the intellectual equivalent of objective critical recommendation. One day I sat in Wetherspoons and perused the card showing available products and their prices.

And I questioned the popularity of Magners. I did a comparison with the offered organic cider, Westons, I think, and discovered that Westons was larger in volume and more potent by percentage alcohol than Magners. And cheaper. Which is why, obviously people opt for the chemical crap over something half-decent (admittedly not quite the same as the obscure makes that taste particularly gorgeous in my back garden). And it seems that the people most likely to obey the siren call of advertisers are those who would otherwise claim to be obeisant to nobody. Jimmy was once reprimanded for buying an organic Polish cider rather than Magners because 'Magners is Irish and so are you'. As if Ireland has ever been renowned as maker of cider.

And my other major quibble is ice. Now, I fully accept that everyone is perfectly entitled to take their drink however they like it. Those who know me will attest to my general dislike of ice, and I fully acknowledge that my preference for an iceless gin-and-bitter lemon (assuming the bitter lemon is chilled, which in most badly run bars, it isn't) is an individual quirk and doesn't make that drink right, just right for me. Conversely, I am a bit odd in that I rather like a dry sherry with ice.

But cider with ice? How ridiculous. Hundreds of thousands of people are drinking cider with ice because the advertisers are telling them to. I went to a pub a few months ago and ordered a cider, nothing exciting, one of the long-established mass produced brands. It came with ice. It was actually a rip-off, in the sense that it was illegal. The advertised price was for a pint - I ordered a half and would have been charged half the price. However, it was a significantly short measure, because it was served in a crown-marked half pint glass. I rejected it, and the barstaff had to tip it. She was disgruntled. I pointed out that I had not asked for ice and she had not given me the option. I implied - without being direct - that the fault was entirely hers.

While Jimmy was pub manager - home now, finished yesterday lunchtime - he has had two presentations from Drinks Giant, Diageo. This has focused on presentation of the product, and has basically been, fill the glass with ice to fool the customer into thinking they are getting a long drink. Obviously, with a drink like, say gin-and-tonic, it is possible to serve it with lots of ice and still comply with Weights and Measures (or whatever the relevant legislation is). And certainly, I want to stress that Diageo did not come near suggesting short measures. However, if you have a glass almost full of ice, how can you tell, especially in a busy bar, whether you are being short-measured? Many a unscrupulous landlord will deliberately short-measure, many an inexperienced barstaff will not know it is necessary to wait until the optic is full until pouring a second measure. Jimmy did mention that his girlfriend won't drink most things with ice added. Diageo's reaction - she's wrong. My reaction, no, I'm not. It's me that paying. It's me that decides.

As I say, however an individual chooses to drink a drink is fine by me (as long as it's legal!) and I do accept that adverts can plant an idea that, once tried, seem right. But I don't see the point of drinking expensive chemical shit plus added ice to remove the taste when there are some really gorgeous natural and cheaper products available. Just don't get it. It's like when Fosters became the drink of choice for a generation, because it was advertised.

Restaurants

I used to write a lot about restaurants on mmofm. Going to restaurants is one of my favourite pastimes and one that I share with Jimmy. Our first proper date was at Still Luigi's at Gypsy Hill. We have not been back in years. The quality started to decline, and it was pretty obvious that Luigi's health was also in decline. It was only a couple of weeks ago we found out that Luigi died a couple of years back. The restaurant still exists, and, thus, must be doing something right, still, despite events.

Restaurant reviews are big on the internet, with various websites devoted to them. I tend to take them with a pinch of salt. So often do I read 'the waiters had an attitude problem' when my own experience has been directly contradictory, leaving me to wonder whether the attitude problem was in fact that of the customer. Even when there is criticism - or praise - of the food, it always leaves me wondering whether the standards of the customer are appropriate.

Reviews tend to focus on Central London restaurants more than suburban ones. Someone once told me that a mutual friend was 'a foodie because he goes to all the 'name' restaurants' (TV chefs and so on). I actually don't see that as a definition of a 'foodie', because it might be because the friend really appreciates the quality of food which is served there, or it might be because he is swayed by the brand name. I like being the sort of non-foodie who sniffs out good restaurants that lack fame. But also one who can see the limitations and weaknesses, and still return because of the strengths.

In the past few months, my restauranting, at least with Jimmy, has been limited, mainly to very local restaurants. Since he has been in the pub, and until a couple of weeks ago, we have only been to tried and trusted places lying between home and his pub

• the incomparable Bombay (Inn? Brasserie?) just round the corner. It may not be the best Indian in London, but it is good - very good - with the obvious added bonus of being just round the corner. It's rare we go there and don't see someone we know. Kim, the owner-manager cares passionately about his business and his customers. We like very much our regular waiter, although shamefully we don't know his name
• Da Franco's on Streatham High Road, a good quality inexpensive Italian personally owned, managed and overseen by the omnipresent Franco, ably assisted by Paolo. A splendid menu of regular items, especially their fish selection, supplemented by a varied and tempting 'specials' list. Jimmy doesn't rate their ice cream, but I can always find something satisfying on the pudding list
• Thai (Garden?) almost opposite Da Franco, a reasonably good Thai. I like it more than Jimmy does, and, I think, it is Streatham's only Thai. I think it rests on its laurels a bit,and I wouldn't choose it for a special night out, but it's good for a change
• Little Italy, in The High, on Streatham High Road. It's been there a long time and is absolutely reliable. The menu remains resolutely unchanged after several years, even the 'specials'. I think other residents of the Streatham area are fonder of it than we are, but it's safe bet especially at awkward mid-afternoon times when almost everywhere is shut
• The legendary Mrs Wong, on The Dip (near St Leonard's Junction). People travel from miles to Mrs Wong. For years we didn't go there, favouring the more refined atmosphere of Hung's on Sunnyhill Road, but Hung's underwent radical change, and to put it bluntly, horribilised. Mrs Wong isn't licensed - it's Bring Your Own. The tables are close together, and it's not an environment in which you would linger long - and they don't encourage you to. But it's brilliant for a quick meal - on the way home, pre-cinema or whatever, and always delivers value for money. There is a reason why it has been going so long, gets full so quickly, and has such a widespread reputation. Nothing fancy

In Central London, I have, in the past six months or so, been to Pasta Brown on Bow Street, Cafe Boulevard on Wellington Street, Loch Fyne on Catherine Street, Marsala Zone on Floral Street, Giovanni's on Goodwin's Court and Porter's on Henrietta Street all in Covent Garden, and the Cinnamon Club near work. I wouldn't hesitate to return to any of them.

Porter's is probably the one that is all round the most satisfactory, and Giovanni's is the craziest (they post the chef's mood in the window, management have a Tito Beltran obsession, and they have dishes designed by Angela Gheorghiu and Roberto Alagna - I'm not sure whether or not Angela's contains garlic...). Cinnamon Club is the swankiest. I think they all offer value for money, and I have no grounds for complaint about any. I have also eaten in Wagamama, Ponti's and Pizza Express, none of which are anything special but deliver what they set out to do, and no doubt will be visited again.

Upper Norwood is a mecca for restaurant fans. We have eaten in A Torre, a family-run Portuguese restaurant. It has a delightful sense of chaos, and is astonishingly cheap for delicious food (and they have a garden out the back, we discovered, soon after the smoking ban came in!). Mediterranea - well, I can only quote DiscoStu on the Virtual Norwood site

This place is awesome, the food is amazing.........and reasonably priced. the service is fantastic with friendly waiters/waitresses who are genuinely passionate about the food. It all adds up to a great dining experience.

And today, our old favourite, Los Toreros. To be honest, it doesn't stand comparison to La Rueda on Clapham High Street,and I can kind of see where the negative comments are coming from. But I like the fact that the staff don't keep bothering you, that it's so massive you never feel you're sitting on your neighbour's lap, and while the food isn't amazing, it's all satisfactory. Going mid-Sunday afternoon, at this time of year, is bound to find any restaurant quiet, but it was about a quarter to a third full.

I think probably of the lot, I would most recommend Mediterranea for the way its passion is evident in every aspect. I have especial fondness for our local Indian, for Da Franco's, and for A Torre for proving that a little bit of the laid back charm of Southern Europe is possible on a side street of an unglamorous - but for its splendid selection of restaurants - junction where five London Boroughs meet

Weather moan weather

I'm joining in the meme.

I waited so long for the heat to arrive and now it's here I wish it would just piss off. Or piss down.

I feel really shit. I was supposed to be out tonight. Just couldn't face it. Even though I'm missing my favourite baritone in my favourite opera. I even told Gerald weeks ago I'd be there. I'm sure he'll survive...!

There have been two claps of thunder. Dry impotent useless claps of thunder. I wander into the garden occasionally and gaze hopefully at the sky, hoping that it will chuck it down.

I am supposedly watching Germany v Italy but it's annoying the hell out of me. It's not about those intense annoying Budweiser ads (you know, if I was a Budweiser drinker, which I'm not because it's chemical piss, I would have ceased to be one now. Not necessarily out of principle but because of the association with those adverts that make me homicidal). It's not the it, it's the me.

I am feeling drained and lethargic. Prime cause, ongoing fybromyalgia/CFS whatever. Secondary cause - is it the tablets from the drug trial? Dunno. Is it the heat? Yeah, probably. Is it that I had alcohol over the weekend? Without a doubt. But something that has been bubbling at the back of my mind for weeks, and has suddenly coalesced into something so obvious. I always feel shit when I eat bread and bread-products.

I wonder, if I cut out the bread, will I feel any better? Or, when the rains come, as come they must, will I not care no more?

Fish revisited

About eighteen months ago I reported on Tesco's capricious misuse of the word "Vegetarian".

Today, that entry has been linked from a forum which is discussing the same issue

A poster there writes about the moronic and dishonest response she got from Tesco, who said

I do apologise that you where shocked to find fish in a vegetarian product and I apologise for the upset caused.

There is a vegetarian called a Pesco-vegetarians which means they eat fish, dairy and eggs..."Therefore, as the content of fish is suitable for some forms of vegetarianism, for example Pesco Vegetarianism, Semi-Vegetarianism and Macrobiotic Vegetarianism, we will continue to show our Vegetarian symbol on products which contain fish, so long as there are no animal by-products."

Based on this I would warn you to exercise extreme caution in regard to anything that the lying bunch of tosspots at Tesco say regarding what is in their food.

Shopping city

The thing about my office block is that, because it holds 3500 people it is capable of sustaining viable commerce. They have not yet introduced lunchtime bazaars selling cheap pseudo-ethnic jewellery, nor has the promised cash machine been installed. Despite popular demand, Friday trampolining is not yet a feature. Nor, unlike a previous workplace, Tuesday Shiatsu.

But, we do have a FastTicket machine for train tickets. And a restaurant and two cafés. Between them, and the vending machines, these catering outlets sell just about everything you can possibly want in a catering sort-of-way. Hot dinners healthy and non-healthy, soups, salads, yoghurts, cream cakes, chocolate cakes, lardy-Merkin-muffins, water fruit juices, sugar-and-fizz drinks, milk, yoghurt drinks, teas, fruit infusions, hot chocolate,coffee with or without syrup shots, chocolate bars traditional and modern organic, fruit, crisps, nuts, chewing gum, polo mints, even, on specific occasions, alcohol. I have heard it say we even have a gym (dread word...) in the basement. But one thing they do not sell is sweeties.

So, your intrepid blogger ventured to the Evil Empire that sits in the next building. Some people boycott the Evil Empire, but my plan is more cunning. I go in there specifically to buy the items that are loss leaders, mainly sandwiches, milk, Duchy Originals Organic biscuits, that sort of thing. Guiltily, I chose something that - sweeties - that wouldn't be a loss leader. The total came to £3.76, I tendered a tenner. The check-out woman apologised for not having any fivers, and having to give me maggies instead. Pleasantly, I said, it wasn't a problem, it all gets spent just as quickly. She counted out my change "That's seven pounds and twenty four..."

As I walked away from the shop, I thought "No, it's not."

When you hear that the Evil Empire has gone into liquidation, you'll know whom to credit...

Liquorice

I never realised just how amazing Liquorice is.

I've always thought of it as a very special sort of sweet. A colourful sweet with a playful Bertie Bassett character. I like the layered levels of liquorice allsorts

, and I like taking them apart and eating them stratum by stratum.  I like taking the yellow or pink sugary bit off of the liquorice centre and eating them piecemeal.  (Don't ask how I eat Custard Creams)

You can make Liquorice ice-cream

But I never knew what an amazing medicine it is, too.

Liquorice was known and grown in the region of Mesopotamia... Natural liquorice root was found in the  Tomb of King Tut.  Early Greek physicians like Theophratus and Hippocrates used natural liquorice to heal wounds and sore throats and it is an extremely important herb in Chinese and Homeopathic medicines. Manuscripts dating from 360AD, of Buddhist origin, talk of natural liquorice helping eye ailments, skin diseases, coughs and loss of hair. In the Middle Ages it became very popular as a sweet medicine and general pick-me-up. Its other past uses have included a beautifying agent, an aphrodisiac and elixir of life.

Amongst other things, it is  a powerful anti-inflammatory and soothing herb useful for peptic ulcers, gastritis, indigestion, dry irritating coughs, pharyngitis and laryngitis. It even cures Chronic Fatigue (so why didn't my homeopathic rheumatologist proscribe me Liquorice Allsorts?), and it improves memory in men over fifty-five.

But be warned, it is possible to overdose on Pontefract Cakes, with frightening consequences...

Crown and Sceptre Food Poisoning

Whatever you do, don't ever eat at Wetherspoon's Crown and Sceptre pub on the borders of Brixton and Streatham (A23/A205).

We have been dissatisfied for a while. Portions getting smaller, chips getting crappier. A couple of weeks ago Jimmy sent back the Fish Pie because it was still frozen in the middle.

Tonight, he ordered a beefburger, I ordered a veggie burger. His beefburger was still pink in the middle. Which would be fine if it really were beef, but even their menu states that you can have a 'beef'burger for an extra pound.

The menu says the burgers come with salad. Practically a breach of the Trades Description Ac, as the so-called salad was inserted into the bun (which, for both of us was coloured black). The burgers were served on cold plates. I had to beg for cutlery. In consequence, the food was stone-cold by the time I came to eat it. And the portion of chips was insulting. Frankly, we could have got better VFM at McDs over the road. And that is saying something...

Being a fool, I then ordered a chocolate chip cheesecake.

It came.

On a hot plate.

I touched it. The pudding was cold. I sent it back, demanding a refund.

Never ever ask for a replacement. The kitchen staff will, generally, spit on it. Instead, they'll stick it in the fridge, and serve it to the next unsuspecting customer tomorrow. Having been touched by my hands, no doubt at least averagely dirty. An I probably put my hands in my hair, letting whatever's in there fall onto the cheesecake. And Jimmy has a cold which he may well have breathed over the cheesecake.

This was only after I had requested a spoon with which to eat my pudding. Sorry, fork isn't good enough.

If a place can get simple things wrong like serving hot food on cold plates, and cold food on hot plates, I really do not have any confidence in their basic food hygiene standards. I am never going to eat there again. I would seriously advise anybody else never to eat there.

Meanwhile, they have a magazine circulating where Tim Sanctimonious Martin, their CEO boasts of improving the menus in their groundbreaking no-smoking pubs.

Well, Martin, let me say this. the Crown and Sceptre was an early success for Wetherspoons. If this is the standards tolerated there, I can only assume that Food Poisoning is Company Policy at Wetherspoons

But I am never going to eat there again. You have neglected the core customer base, about whom you clearly don't give a shit. Too much preaching, not enough attention to detail.

Sorry, but there are more pubs than churches round here. And even more restaurants. I've been going in there 14 years.

Never, ever again.

Total shit, total disdain for the customers. Utter neglect for Food Hygiene. And they allow drug-dealing and -taking. Get a grip, the place has gone to the dogs.

Not taking me with it.

Bye bye and good riddance to Crown and Sceptre, Streatham Hill/Brixton Hill/Streatham Place. South Circular.

Fucking con merchants.

So up their arses with their no-smoking, they feel happy poisoning people with their so-called 'food'.

Can't even do their chips right...

I know the power of Google...

Prom 11

Last night we went to the Albert Hall, pausing en route for a delightful meal at Hugo's. I have just one criticism - if I order a Real Organic Lemonade I don't really expect to find it including ice-cubes made - presumably - from tap water. Otherwise, really good quality food - I had crayfish and ginger wrapped in smoked salmon served on an enticing bed of diced-tiny beetroot-and-red-pepper and strips of cucumber; followed by halloumi and roasted veg with couscous, perhaps a little overmuch enormous mushrooms; finished with the most scrumilicious Blueberry Creme Brulee. A good 8/10 overall. The house red is very nice. If you want to combine with a trip to the Albert Hall booking is a must.

The music was

Mendelssohn
Overture - The Hebrides ('Fingal's Cave') (10 mins)
Bruch
Violin Concerto No.1 in G minor (25 mins)
interval
Vaughan Williams
A Sea Symphony* (65 mins)

Leila Josefowicz (violin)

Janice Watson (soprano)*
Dwayne Croft (baritone)*

Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Choir*
Chester Festival Chorus*

Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra
Gerard Schwarz conductor

The piece that lingers in my mind is Fingal's Cave, beautiful music. It was beautifully played but it didn't really fill the Albert Hall.

Next was Bruch's fabulous violin concerto. Again, technically excellent playing of a beautiful piece of music, but not one that moved me to rapture. Leila Josefowicz produced a beautiful sound.

The second half, Vaughan Williams Sea Symphony was merely mediocre. I have a much better performance on CD. It was magnificent to see such a large choir who made such a beautiful sound, the Ladies in particular, especially the sopranos. I found my attention wavering during much of the performance despite my close studying of Whitman's poems. Janice Watson made a very nice sound; Dwayne Croft I can take or leave. An adequate serviceable sound, but, ultimately, generic.

And I suppose 'generic' would sum up the overall performance from the orchestra. 6/10 or 3 stars, possibly, but no more. My summary of the V-W was 'Wagnerian in its ambitions but not in its intensity'. And Jimmy got very hot, wearing good trousers and a long-sleeved shirt, despite me telling him he was overdressed.

Tonight, The Dream of Gerontius with Mr Halle's Band and Choir. The last time I heard them perform this was May 1984. My insightful review at the time: "In places the music was really powerful." I am very much looking forward to hearing the much-raved about Alice Coote, whom I have never heard live.

Dream yoghurt

I think I have just found the yoghurt of my dreams - Rachel's Organic Bio-Live Wicked Wholemilk yoghurt with a choice of flavours: toffee with fudge pieces, maple syrup, apple and butterscotch, and golden honey.

I don't like all that low fat shit the supermarkets keep plugging, but I do know that bio-live is good, because of the friendly bacteria.

Yo! to Rachel

Organic milk contains two-thirds more Omega-3 fatty acids than non-organic.

We ♥ Omega-3

We also love cholesterol. there was an article in the New Statesman a couple of weeks ago, by Margaret Cook, a cardiac specilaist:

A high blood cholesterol is an ominous finding, and in many information sources on the internet you will find advice (usually Bupa-sponsored) about how to lower it through dietary changes and medication...

...Vast sums of money were spent on trials designed to show that adjusting diets to lower blood cholesterol would lower the risk of heart attacks. Alas, the research did not come up with the expected results. Cholesterol levels did not drop as expected; heart-attack rates were not reduced...

...The market for statin (cholesterol-lowering) drugs is flourishing on misinformation. There is ample evidence that they may lower death rates from heart attacks in some people, but cause damage in other systems, and possibly deaths from other causes. Recognised dangers are memory loss and mental confusion, increased risk of breast cancer in young women, liver disease and heart muscle damage by interfering with the all-important enzyme CQ10...

...Cholesterol has a role in enhancing immune function, and a raised level seems to be beneficial in the elderly. Clinical trials on drugs must have a narrow focus to germinate results, an approach which works conveniently for companies sponsoring their own statins...

...It is time for cholesterol to be rehabilitated as a chemical vital to functioning - one that we adjust too radically at our peril.

Full article

It could be a new put-down as diet-obsessed thin people with limited brain-capacity "Ah yes, but you're too thin to be intelligent." I think the wording needs to be snappier. (Not that I have a blanket prejudice against thin people, some can't help it, it's genetic, or their metabolisms or something.It's just those that brag about their faddish diets and how much weight they've lost and are too stupid to know how stupid they are.)

A matter of regret?

I have a sneaking feeling that I might have an allergy to beer. I think it might do weird things to my legs.

I floated this idea yesterday; Caz said 'would it be the sort of allergy that makes your legs buckle under after 28 pints?' No, I said, my joints felt really stiff and achy after just one pint on Monday lunchtime. Not too good after two pints on Friday (although that was clouded by the half bottle of wine and three Irish coffees), and not good at all after three pints on Thursday.

Last night I had copious quantities of wine - about three glasses before half six, and three or four after half nine. I felt decidedly squiffy, but my limbs are not achey.

If it is a beer allergy, it would be nice to have foundd a root cause. But if that means foregoing beer for the rest of my life, not nice.

Hmm, I seem to have imbibed like a fish over the past week...

Bagels

I'm haunted by a bagel.

I've been a sucker for bagels for many years. Mostly, smoked salmon and cream cheese. I've had smoked salmon and cream cheese bagels in very many places.

About ten years ago, I met up with someone who thought it was meaningful to go shopping in Fortnum and Masons and Harrods. Him, "Look at that wonderful selection of fresh cheese". Me: "There's more variety in Tescos in Brixton."

We had a snack lunch in Harrods. Oh the horror! I ordered a cup of tea and was surprised that it came with lemon. Not that I'm averse to lemon tea but there was nothing that suggested that would be the default option. And a smoked salmon and cream cheese bagel. Which was disappointing. And, really rather costly.

A couple of days later, I arrived early for a work appointment so selected a cafe to kill some time. Coffee and a smoked salmon and cream cheese bagel. Better service, better product, and half the price.

I have spent much of my life in search of the perfect smoked salmon and cream cheese bagel. Finally I found it. Very early this year. I looked at it and my eyes got bigger and bigger.

A typical bagel is perhaps five inches in diameter; this was about 12 inches. A typical bagel is a little chewy, this was closer to crispy. The filling was somehow, better than any cream cheese and salmon bagel filling I have ever tasted.

Three months have passed and I still have memories of that bagel. I want another one. It cost forty shekels, and came with an excellent cup of latte.

For the rest of my life, whenever anyone mentions Dead Sea, I will remember the 12 inch smoked salmon and cream cheese bagel I ate on the shores of the Dead Sea.

School meals

It's dinner money day

Oneof the things that irritated me most about being a councillor and school governor, and a schools auditor in neighbouring boroughs was the school dinners. The menus were generally unappetising even on the menu sheets. I couldn't really understand the rationale behind them; I felt that there was a lot of junk on there, which seemed an expensive way to fill kids up. I think there was a thinking that if you gave children healthy food they wouldn't eat it. Obviously, we all know that healthy food is a turn off to most children and to a lot of adults. I also know it's more diffcult in secondary schools when pupils demand choice.

But some of the schools with which I am familiar had/have two thirds of children entitled to free meals. I have no idea how many came to school without breakfast, but teachers informed me it was a significant number.

However, there has to be an element of habit-forming. Many kids arrive at school unable to use cutlery or to sit up at table. Put food in front of a hungry child, and, eventually, it will eat. One school I visited had a rule that forbid playtime snacks unless they were fruit.

Next stop, persuading the caterers at Valhalla* that there veggie menu is not acceptable. Quorn twice and pasta bake/lasagne is not variety, not appetising, and definitely not what I want. Mind you, when I had a look the vegetable tempura looked very nice indeed. Yet I never used the restaurant at Nibelheim**.

* Our new office building
** Our old office building

Saturday Culture, continued

After we had been to Closer, we went to Clapham's finest Tapas restaurant, La Rueda. Jimmy reckons he has never been there. I am sure we have been there together, he says it was the other one. Perhpas I went there with an ex-boyfriend, or perhaps with my brother and his then girlfriend, now wife. Whatever. It's a damned fine restaurant, although I find the shrine in worship of Sevriano Ballesteros to be slightly scary.

I proceeded onto the Royal Festival Hall for the last episode of the London Philharmonic's Beethoven Cycle under Kurt Masur.

On the menu were the Eighth and Ninth Symphonies. The Eighth is one of his lesser symphonies, possibly the afternoon off of a genius. But it;s all relative isn't it? I am comparing it to the Fifth, sixth and seventh that preceded it, which are truly great and innovative works of art, and th eNinth which followed, which is sui generis, and I currently feel, is the greatest piece of music ever written.

The Eighth was highly enjoyable, a polished and flawless performance. Haydnesque, I would say. The young chap next to me was a tad confused and asked "Right, so, erm, that was the Eighth?" I agreed and explianed the Cycle concept. "But that's really just the warm-up?" I hesitated for a moment and firmly nodded with an emphatic yes.

There are not that many pieces to which Beethoven's Eighth could be considered a mere prelude.

But after the interval was Beethoven's Ninth. It is obligatory to mention the soloists - Christine Brewer, Carolin Masur, Thomas Studebaker and Alaistair Miles - but I do not feel it is especially a 'soloists'' piece. The four singers are essential as an ansemble. A poor, or even mediocre bass could mar a performance, and a superb soprano is required for a glorious soar at the climax.

But of course, we always forget, Beethoven's Ninth consists of four movements - well, I reckon five, but Beethoven said four - whose word do you accept. Possibly movements 1-3 are the most underrated symphonic movements ever. Utter utter genius, but much of the audience is waiting in tenterhooks with baited breath for the arrival of the soloists to herald the start of the undisputable greatest symphonic movement, ever.

Kurt Masur conducted the first three movements at a spanking space. Herbie+, I thought, thinking about the favourite interpretation that I have in my collection. Well, to be honest, I didn't think much at all. I just wallowed, utterly absorbed, in sumptuous music performed better than I have ever heard it performed before, live, recorded, or broadcast.

And the soloists arrived and the fourth movement begun. Utterly beautiful, utterly all-embracing, goose-bump causing. I suspect already that this will be one of my performance highlights of 2005. Alastair Miles gave a performance at least equal to the great José van Dam as i have on CD. Christine Brewer, one of the most talked about sopranos of the moment was utterly gorgeous. And the lesser parts acquitted themselves well.

I have just attempted to play my CD and have realised to my horror that it is totally worn out. I thought CDs were supposed to last for ever, allowed to be smeared with Marmite and stamped into the ground. Admittedly I have had this CD fourteen years and have played it so many times. But, i am just waiting until Amazon's server gets its arse into gear before I order a replacement

Chateauneuf de Liebfraumilch

I like wine, me. I'm not an oenologist, which is a shame because I like that word. I often like words with diphthongs.

I know what I like, and when I'm not sure, I can take a reasonably good guess by pricing alone. Trip to Oddbins today. Ten bottles of wine, came to just over £70. I would have liked ten bottles to come to £150, but one has to draw a line.

I love the sound of the cork being pulled - pop! I love the glug glug as the first few drops enter the glass. I love to smell the cork, smell the wine, let the first sip tumble over my lips. I know by the smell when it's going to taste tart. When it tastes tart it does something to the nerves in my mouth that feels like I have a steel rod in my jaw.

I generally avoid anything that says Chardonnay on the label. Not because I dislike the Chardonnay grape. Far from it - Chablis is Chardonnay. What I try to avoid is mass-produced bottom-of-the-barrel troisieme cru vin de table distilled from grapes grown in a soil unsuitable for the chardonnay grape being passed off as potable. I'm probably missing out on some good wine there, but I would rather miss the good than piss good money on the piss-poor.

Is there anybody who can honestly say that they like Chateauneuf de Pape and Liebfraumilch?

Weekend TV

While we were out at the curry house I managed to record two programmes simultaneously on Sky+. Ooh, it's so exciting. One of the programmes I recorded was that night's Prom. It carried on recording after the finish, eventually giving up the ghost after about four and a half hours. I think it must have read the finish time as the finish time of the evening's second, after midnight, broadcast.

I then watched it on Saturday afternoon. I'm not sure what I think of this instant reaction that BBC4 has been running, where you can contact the programme by email or text. Friday night seemed to be just a show of national testosterone as various males - Charlie Hazlewood - metaphorically allowed their tongues to hang out at Anna Netrebko. Not surprisingly - she is a bit of a babe. And I did really like her dress. She's in Rigoletto next year, with Paolo Gavanelli, who is totally fab in the DVD of this production, and Piotr Beczala, about whom I know nothing. The other cast includes Dmitri Hvorostovsky and Rolando Villaz�n. Yum, yum...

I really enjoyed the first half - a nice mix of songs, but I found it very difficult to sit through Shostakovitch's Fifth. I'm trying, honestly, I'm trying, but...

My Lord and Master then watched Crystal Palace lose at Portsmouth. With just one point, they are firmly anchored t the bottom of the Premiership. Of course, he claims it's early yet - last season they looked like being relegated until an amazing late run.

And United are still indifferent. Indeed when Bolton went ahead in injury time I shut my ears to Final Score and deleted my text messages, so it took me half an hour to find out that David Bellion had equalised - although it was originally credited to Smith. It was good to see van Nistelrooy back, even though he looked like a duck out of water (well, makes a change from a horse, then!)

We then settled down for the Last Night of the Proms. We ate dressed crab from the fishmongers, followed by a gorgeous Rick Stein Baked Haddock with mussels and spinach, and roast potatoes. Unintentional entertainment came from Alan Titchmarsh's patronisingly stupid comments. I know Charlie Hazlewood isn't everybody's cup of tea, but his knowledge and enthusiasm is astounding. Titchmarsh assumes that the viewers are all thickos. Perhaps the dolt who put Titmarsh in the presenter's chair thinks the viewers are thickos. It always fascinates me why they put the first half on BBC2 and the second half on BBC1. That having been said, I didn't think the first half was that great a programme. Although Thomas Allen was magnificent in Vaughan Williams' songs.

The second half - accompanied by strawberry cheesecake and fresh strawberries - was to be expected. Half of me really hates it, the other half of me thinks it's all a good laugh. I do wish arseholes like Titmarsh would cut the crap about 'it's not jingoistic, it's not xenophobia, it's just rollicking good patriotism'. Just shut the fuck up Titmarsh. Please allow your viewers to make their own judgements. It's none of them, IMO. It's certainly not patriotism, which, as well as being the last refuge of the scoundrel, is a bit more than waving a flag and having a jolly good sing-song to some old familiars. I found it fun looking at all the different flags on display - as well as the Union flag (did Arsemuch call it the Union Jack - ignorant fucker), and English, Welsh and Scottish flags and the Royal Standard, I also spotted Irish, Manx, French, German, US, Australian, New Zealand, South African, Canadian, Norwegian, and Brazilian. There may have been more.

I did like Thomas Allen's little list (re-written by Kit Hesketh-Harvey) - violinists in wet t-shirts, pianists who retire just because they've got their bus pass and teenagers who can download, email and text without getting out of bed.

On Sunday, whilst eating stilton and broccoli soup, we watched the latest episode of Adam Nicholson's Atlantic Britain, which is a little gem of a TV series. This week it was mysticism in the West of Ireland. Oh did we giggle at these idiots climbing Croagh Patrick in bare feet!

We then watched - salmon en croute for me, moussaka for him, followed by a luscious sherry trifle from Tesco's Finest range - Mystic River. It took a while to get going, and it left me feeling rather uncomfortable and disturbed. I would highly recommend it if you want something a bit more than mental chewing gum. It's the second film we have watched recently starring Sean Penn, the previous being 21 Grams. 21 Grams is a very confusing film, and again, very intelligent and thought provoking. I have to say for years I have dismissed Sean Penn as the former Mr Madge with a reputation for disagreeing with photographers, but if these two films are any indication, he is becoming one of my favourite actors. Mystic River also had excellent performances from Tim Robbins, Kevin Bacon and Laurence Fishburne.

Jimmy then watched The Van, which I had taped for him a few weeks ago. I didn�t - it got just two stars in the Radio Times, and I don't watch 2 star films. It is said to be the least of Roddy Doyle's three filums. Although his watching of the film took until eight o'clock, the start time of a programme I really wanted to watch, I was unperturbed, because I had it recording in Sky+. Then, when he went to bed (and dreamed about vans), I could do a live rewind on the programme I wanted to watch, whilst also having it recorded to the hard drive. I thoroughly enjoyed Domingo - A Musical Life. I'm not divulging what my dreams were last night...

Okay, how many different categories does this post fit into...

The Yob Culture

Robbie, one of our local licencees, was saying to Jimmy the other day that here proposals to prevent pubs from selling cheap booze. I have to say that I'm sceptical, but, reportedly, it has been tried in Aberdeen.

I'm sceptical because it goes against sacred free-market principles. Besides, the pubs it would target would be the likes of Wetherspoons.

However, I have an alternative proposal. In my view, people who appreciate proper drinks are unlikely to maraud through the streets. So, in the interest of public order, I propose the following.

A pint of lager to cost no less than �5. All kiddy-pops - Breezers, WKD, Smirnoff Ice etc - to cost no less than �5. Shots of vodka, JD, Rum to cost no less than �3 per 25ml.

A pint of Real Ale, or a shot of gin, whisky/whiskey, or a bottle/glass of proper wine (ie not Liebfraumilch, not Generic New World Rubbish, not Generic Chardonnay) to adhere to market prices.

I know, I know there are flaws in this, but it would start to differentiate between those who drink to get drunk, and those who actually appreciate what they're drinking...!

How to fuck up a good business

Over the years we have been to Brixton's Satay Bar frequently. I have also been with friends and even colleagues. For various reasons it's been a few months. But we went back last Friday. Our farewell appearance.

We walked in, and I checked that the kitchen was open. The waitress practically sneered at me for such a question. I noted, but did not process, the signs saying "Friday and Saturday DJ Open til 2am". Jimmy checked it was Happy hour - no, not for fifteen minutes. He tried to persuade her that it was Happy Hour - but she said no, it's the till. Which is rubbish, because the order is kept on paper until you ask for the bill at the end. At ten to five she told us to hurry up with our order; the kitchen's closing. Then she condescended to take our cocktail order.

We used to sing the praises of Satay Bar cocktails. Admittedly, it doesn't help when the glasses are hot out of the washer. even so, unlike former times, we had no sense of there being any alcohol in the jug. and the fruit juice tasted cheap and processed.

I ordered my favourite dish, Udang Jahe. When it came, it looked unrecognisable. Just a few prawns shrimps on a bed of boiled lettuce. Jimmy's chicken had a faint taste of fish, which wasn't what he ordered.

And then, to crown it all, the 'DJ' decided to do a sound check. Into the previously quiet space came the most godawful noise. I sweetly asked the barstaff if they stocked earplugs. Again they sneered at me. Three separate couples came in between ten past and twenty past five and asked about food. Kitchen re-opens six. We left very quickly, rather than is our habit to order another jug, or a champagne cocktail. As we left, they condescended to open the French windows - about time too because the internal temperature must have been 27 or 28 degrees.

Later that evening I threw up. Mainly rice. The next day I had the squits so bad I took a precautionary packet of Immodium to The Proms - Immodium I bought for Cuba and never used; that I took to Egypt and never used. Jimmy had the squits on Saturday night which turned to a never-before-experienced painful bloated constipation that left him with energy to do little but recline on the sofa for all of Sunday.

Not only are we never going back to the Satay Bar, I would strongly recommend that no one else does, either.

Speedblogging

I must get back to this blogging.

Great weekend, thanks for all your kindness. Two lovely meals, one at Sarastro and another at our favourite Chinese, Chuen Cheng Ku, plus a fair amount of drinking, lots of sleeping, and a film Something's Gotta Give. We' seem to be participating in a mini-Jack Nicholson Festival this year, having seen As Good as It Gets on the TV and About Schmidt on Sky Box Office. During the film , my phonenever seemed to stop vibating with text messages so I was surprised, angry and relieved to read that Manchester United won a last-gasp 4-3 after being 3-0 up.

I haven't really being following the news, partly because my back and shoulders seem slightly strained so I'm trying to ease off home computer use, and partly because the internet connection at work was farked, but am I right in saying that Senator John Kerry McFadden has won in the Bush? Psssst, don't tell anyone, but were I to change my name on marriage I would be called Gerry McFadden....good reason not to change my name....

And it seems that my political masters have set up a new agency named after a modern form of Calypso. Oops!

Incidentally, I believe that the deaths of the Morecambe  cocklers to be desperately sad. I do have strong opinions, although, of course, no easy solutions, but this is not the place to air those opinions.

EU bans Thai chicken

EU bans all Thai poultry imports

I've been struggling all evening to find the wording for the witty remark. Instead I'll play it straight.

I would wager any amount of money that this will significantly affect the sales of chicken curry, Thai style from the supermarket ready meals counters. There will be people who will only read half the panic.

Doesn't affect me, I'm more a yellow vegetable girl.

Yum Yum!