Friday, 26 November 2010

132. 'Enigma' by Robert Harris

I've decided that when I can't think of anything more enlivening, this blog will revert to its bibliophilic roots. So today we have Enigma by Robert Harris, which is a book I can read again and again without tiring of it.

It's a fictionalized account of the code breakers of Bletchley Park, focussing on a young Mathematician called Tom Jericho. There's a stupid sub-plot about a failed love affair and sedition in the ranks, but chiefly it's about a few clever blokes sitting in a freezing hut, trying to work out where the hell a load of evil U-boats might be lurking. It's also wonderfully detailed about the privations of the time: the ghastly food, the cold, the lack of decent light, the increasingly threadbare clothes and smelly bodies, etc.

Robert Harris' first novel, Fatherland, might get its own blog post one of these days, but for me Enigma is a good choice for those times when I haven't got the mental energy for something new or difficult, but I'm not quite bad enough for something really silly. It's a good story, but it's written well too.

The movie of the book isn't bad, but the book is better. How often this is true.

Happy Weekend.

Thursday, 25 November 2010

131. An Electric Kettle

For years Herself and I have had stovetop kettles. A Dualit one at home (natch) and a natty French job at the beach. They are solid workhorses of the kitchen, slow, dependable, practically indestructible.

Which is all very well. But sometimes you just want a quick cup of tea. Or some boiling water to put pasta in, or you forget that the recipe needs stock and everything else is ready... know what I mean?

Electric kettles are (mainly) pretty ugly. They're temperamental too. But they're FAST.

When I suggested to Herself the other day and not for the first time, that now I have attained my majority and become a tea drinker like my Irish forefathers, maybe it was time for an electric kettle, Reader, it was not a pretty scene. Words were exchanged.

I left it after that. Choose your battles, I say.

But she came home from John Lewis (see previous blog post) yesterday with a small, rather pretty, electric kettle. She's a sweetheart, isn't she?

Now I can have a quick cup of tea. I boiled two kettles yesterday for pasta and the food was on the table before the old kettle would have had time to gird its loins. I will miss the old kettle - and I'm fully aware that I have sacrificed aesthetic pleasure for callow convenience - but even in this house full of beautiful things, sometimes you just need a bloomin' electric kettle!

Tuesday, 23 November 2010

130. Cagney & Lacey



I was sent to bed at half-past eight until my parents realized that I'd have to come home early from the pub to meet their deadline. That early bedtime was directly responsible for any claim I might make to being well-read, but it was completely rubbish for TV watching. I should add that I did not have a TV in my room. The thought!

There were lots of programmes my brother and I were desperate to watch, but the only one that I bothered sneaking out for was Cagney & Lacey. Like the scent of bacon wafting up the stairs, the strains of the Cagney & Lacey theme tune were harbingers of a more exciting life happening elsewhere. My success in actually watching the programme depended on a number of factors, including:

Before 1985, if the au pair was out, we might be able to sneak into her room and watch on her tiny TV. This was relatively risk-free, but not without its stresses.

Post 1985, the only thing that mattered was where the TV was in relation to the door. (In some houses this position would be fixed for many years. But if my mother gets bored she moves furniture. She's so funny.) Sometimes the positioning was propitious and I could either stand silently at the door, or, best of all, sit on the stairs. This only worked until either parent needed to leave the room, obviously, but sometimes I'd get a good twenty minutes in before having to race back up the stairs.

I wanted to be Christine, of course, for all her problems, but you always knew where you were with Mary-Beth. And she could be feisty when she wanted to be!

Even now, when I hear that theme tune I am transported back to being ten years old and sneaking around in my pyjamas. It doesn't matter that I could watch re-runs of C & L through the night without censure - some part of me will always be on the lam.

Wednesday, 17 November 2010

129. 'The Dish'

Oh boy oh boy oh boy do I LOVE 'The Dish'!

I first saw it at the Angelika Cinema in New York City. (So cosmopolitano!) Loved it.

Then The Artist bought us a copy of the soundtrack. Loved it.

Then I bought the film on DVD. Loved it.

Then the other day Herself was out being important and having a life, and me and the Hound were on the sofa feeling a bit sorry for ourselves, with our heads between our paws. But we found 'The Dish', on cable, so we sat and watched with some chocolate and soon our ears pricked up and we were feeling much better.

You see, The Dish is one of those movies that suggests the essential quirky goodness of the world. It sits somewhere between Cynical and Pollyanna (though more on the Pollyanna end, if truth be known) and thus has something in common with Yours Truly. This admission will not be a surprise to Regular Readers.

Sam Neill, a vast Dish in the middle of a sheep field, a town of Aussie eccentrics, and a wonderful 60s soundtrack. Beat that with a stick. It's funny, it's moving, it's about LIFE, and it's got a couple of world class jokes in it, too.

Have I mentioned that I love it?

The Dish. Watch it and tell me I'm wrong.

Tuesday, 16 November 2010

128. An All Natural Winter

Regular readers will know that in addition to being a (sort of) writer and dog parent, I am also a keen doer of highly scientific experiments. And this winter of 2010/2011 will see a dramatic addition to my scientific studies.

You see, I'm having an All Natural Winter. I am not allowed to buy anything other than wool, cotton or leather, to keep me warm this winter. I am allowed to wear items already in my wardrobe (to do otherwise would be wasteful) but there must be no man-made additions.

Why?

Good question.

The first reason is to do with static, smell and self-esteem.

The second reason is to do with Bruce Parry.

Man-made fabrics make my hair stand on end and can create so much static that it's painful taking them off. Man-made fabrics seem to become very smelly very quickly. Man-made fabrics are either too clingy or too stiff and for some reason they are always incredibly SHORT.

Bruce Parry went to live with some Eskimos. He took Gore-Tex this and that, goose-down filled whatevers, and ended up freezing his butt off, so they lent him some reindeer skin outerwear and he was just as snuggy as could be, and he could move freely.

Hence, my all natural winter. I have become obsessed with tweed and thick fisherman-type jumpers. I probably look even stranger than normal. BUT - so far, I have been warm as toast.

However, I can't decide if I want this winter to be as cold as last winter, so that I can really test my theory, or not. Probably not, although a few days of snow is always fun.

I will update you with the results of the experiment. Wish me luck.

Tuesday, 9 November 2010

127. 'Wonder Boys' by Michael Chabon

Very unusually, I like the film and the book, even though I read the book first. The film is really just a condensed version of the book (which you would think most films of books should be, but are not) so the film is all plot and the book is all tangential passages and what people are thinking. Perfect.

I like reading about writers. (Is that like dancing about architecture?) And the great thing about the protagonist of Wonder Boys is that he's two steps away from abject failure, so there is a certain amount of schadenfreude going on. But Wonder Boys the book is worth reading if you're interested in writing or writers - it's essentially a treatise on the kind of mental illness suffered (arguably) by most people who attempt to put pen to paper for a living. And from my experience, Michael Chabon's got it just about right.

If you can't be bothered to read the book - watch the film. It's quite engaging.

Monday, 1 November 2010

126. The End

I finished the first draft of my first novel last week. I wrote 'The End' at the end because it seemed important to my tiny mind that I mark the occasion in some way, then I hummed and haaaaed about a full stop for a good ten minutes. Displacement activity, I suppose.

Anyway, whatever happens next I never have to write my first novel again. Which is a huge relief, because I think writing a novel is one of those things you can't be sure you can do until you've done it. If you see what I mean. I am a little bit impressed with myself, I have to say, as I am not always good at finishing things. But I finished my MA, and now I've finished my book, so maybe I am finally becoming a grown-up?

I have lots of work still to do before I can see if anybody in the wider world might like to read it, but for now I am enjoying the sensation of having created something whole.

The End.