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Rumours and Chances - Freya North

Chances is set in a gift shop and embraces tree surgery; Rumours is set in an estate agency.

Freya North is absolutely brilliant at this, finding an occupation for her protagonists, researching that role meticulously, and portraying that occupation plausibly. This puts her in a different class from many other authors rightly or wrongly labelled as 'chick-lit'. For them, the job is either a convenient location to set a romance, a passing irritation, or of no consequence. Cat was the pinnacle, a woman journalist following the Tour de France; other occupations have included clown and jewellery designer. Brilliant to find a writer almost exactly my own age writing about something other than domesticity.

Rumours and Chances are later works, and I'm sorry but they are just not of the same brilliance. Chances was okay, but Rumours really began to get on my nerves. I started making a mental list of Marian Keyes's strengths based on the reading of Freya North. I know it's unfair, and I loved Freya's books long before I discovered Marian. 

I felt in both cases her heart wasn't in the jobs. Too simple to portray a gift shop owner or an estate agent. I didn't feel I'd learnt anything, in contrast to her splendidly researched earlier works. But what annoyed me most were the characters.

Marian Keyes' characters are like my friends. They have personality flaws, some of them can be quite horrible, or insensitive, or thick, or self-centred. I don't dislike them as a result. Nor do I love them because of the faults. I accept them faults as they (I hope) accept mine (cue obligatory claim to have none). It's simply what makes us human, and Marian captures perfectly.

Freya, on the other hand, divides people into good people and bad people. Good people have no flaws, and only make mistakes that are later justified as being understandable in context. Bad people have no redeeming virtues.

The only exception are the people who originally appear as bad but are later shown to be misunderstood and become good people, motivated only by noble intentions, and are entirely selfless. I'd like a portrayal where the reader can see that they're decent and can also see that the heroine can't see it. Or see the heroine dithering between "Well, he's very charming and good company" and "He's got a hot temper, we have no interests in common and he keeps changing arrangements at the last minute".

The other thing is that she seems increasingly to use types. Halfway through Rumours, I was bored stupid by the old lady in the up-for-sale house. Posh, out of touch, but magically(!) in touch with a small child and always bloody pontificating. Think Maggie Smith-type role but entirely two dimensional. I found her unbelievable, not least the occasional hints into her vulnerabilities and self-doubt. Also, in Chances, the heroine manages to establish immediate rapport with her boyfriend's small son, who appears to have no emotional problem at all with another woman arriving to replace his dear dead mother. It just didn't seem realistic.

I was very disappointed to read both these books, but especially Rumours. And I'm sad to be writing this, because so many of her previous books were so compelling, entertaining and informative. The previous one before these was Secrets, which has planted Saltburn by the Sea in my mind and heart, and made me want to go there, or somehow recapture the magic of that book. 

See The Mystery of Mercy Close - Marian Keyes

Wild Thyme Chipping Norton

When I booked a weekend away in the Cotswolds, I had Gloucestershire on my mind. Only after booking a Gloucestershire Inn did I realise its postal town was Chipping Norton, Oxfordshire. I apologise to the majority of blameless citizens of Chipping Norton, but it does have certain connotations.

It wasn't difficult from the internet to determine which is the most highly thought of restaurant in the area, so I booked a table with pleasurable anticipation, yet tinged with some anxiety. (outside photo taken from restaurant's own website - I believe this to be fair use for the purpose of review)

It is very difficult to find anything to criticise about Wild Thyme. The biggest downside is it is so very small, and understandably, they've tried to maximise the number of people who can fit in. We were at a table between the service station and the kitchen. On the one side the manager was confirming reservations for the next few days, on the other side, a constant procession of waiting staff knocking on the door of the small kitchen (to ensure no one was in the way when they opened it).

That aside, no criticism. Good service, appropriately attentive  - they responded in a timely manner to our requests without trying to rush us or to interrupt our conversation to parrot a robotic "Everything alright, you guys?". I'm sure I was the youngest customer, and JImmy may have been the second  youngest, and possibly the only man not in red or yellow trousers. I would expect such a clientele to be quite conservative, but the menu certainly wasn't. Modern British, in the best way. A starting point of fairly classic dishes and using seasonal local ingredients (or those with provenance) to take them beyond 'staid' into 'refreshing' without reaching 'quirky' or 'frankly bizarre'. Portions generous enough to satisfy Jimmy, not so huge as to daunt me or leave no room for pudding.

  I started with Tian of dressed Cornish white crab meat, asparagus, poached quails egg, pink grapefruit hollandaise. 

Generous portion for a starter, and attractively presented, with each element given its space to shine, but not driven by the elements alone. This was the same with the taste, some distinctive flavours rolling over the tastebuds and yet blending into a coherent whole.

This was followed swiftly - minor niggle, possibly a tad too swiftly - by Sauté Cornish monkfish tails, brown shrimp, lemon, capers, ratatouille, braised haricot blanc, pesto.

What I said about the starter can also be said here. Choose good quality fresh ingredients, blend them intelligently, and prepare them perfectly. Chef either has a good palette, or, at least, one in tune with me. I had been unsure about both ratatouille and haricot blanc but neither was overdone and they acted as good base, without overwhelming the monkfish. The dominant taste was salty; I don't mean that negatively. I really don't like food with lots of salt added artificially/unnecessarily, I'm quite averse to it, and this was about the natural saltiness of the monkfish and shrimps starring in a way I found most attractive.

I nipped to the loo and searched the corridor and loo walls for photos of celebrity clientele. Assuming they have taste - and perhaps that is too big an assumption - I suppose Cameron, Clarkson and Brooks will have dined here on occasion. To my relief, there were no ghastly reminders of their existence!

We finished with poached pear. Such a risk. I'm sure we all remember poached pears from childhood which resembled nothing more than a once-decent piece of fruit boiled to within an inch of existing. This was the antithesis of school dinner pears, surely a signature dish, an elite pudding, and something I won't forget for a long time. It was on the menu as Vanilla poached pear, ginger ice cream, rice pudding, Nick's raspberry jam and peanut brittle. I was surprised at how well the ingredients combined, whilst (again) maintaining a clear separation. Vanilla poached pear would be to die for, I can conjure up a memory of the taste two months later. The rice pudding and jam added subtle waves of flavour. Outstanding! I may be misremembering but I'm pretty certain the ice cream was injected into the pear!

We finished dinner somewhat earlier than I had expected. We had had little time to linger between courses. But, also, the need to drive constrained our drinking, so perhaps speeded us up. Our drive back to our lodgings was spectacular, as an orange ball of fire slowly sunk into the Evenlode Valley, illuminating local landmarks, ranging from Bliss Mill, to Churchill church, to the nursing home at Kingham.

I wanted to stop the car, but being extremely squiffy (though well within the legal limit) I assumed that Jimmy, the driver, also well within the limit would also be squiffy and not wanting to stop. Actually, he wanted to get back to our digs, park the car, and have a drink!