Saturday, December 23, 2006

ho, ho, ho...

It, as I'm sure you don't need me to tell you, is that time of year again. The time when that sadly rather common specimen; the unreconstructed male, moves into the kitchen. Don't get me wrong, I am all in favour of men in the kitchen, after all, you may have realised by now that I am of that gender, and I like cooking. I am also full of admiration for anyone who can be bothered to tackle the bloated and unpleasant meal that is supposedly the 'traditional' Christmas Dinner. A person who can make the pasty hormonal carcase of one of Mr Matthews' finest into something vaguely edible deserves some sort of an award.

The question that goes through my mind more or less every year, is; why bother? If you want to spend all day in the kitchen there are plenty of more interesting and challenging things to cook. What prompted this bah-humbug message was; whilst standing waiting for the lift at Sainsbury this morning, I overheard a conversation between a trio of men. I would have to describe them as artisans, and in their 50's. At the risk of sounding snobbish, I would have said they would be more likely to be found in the public bar than the lounge (this distinction probably means absolutely nothing to an overseas reader, and indeed, given the democratisation of pub culture, means very little anymore).

You notice how carefully I skate around the class thing, after all in Tone's Britain we're all middle class now, whatever we might have been. Anyhow, back to the plot, as we waited for the lift, which seemed to be stuck on the first floor, these three gents were discussing their Christmas dinner. Which, it would appear, in an entirely heterosexual way, they were planning to have together.
'When are you going to do all this?' one of the gents asked of another.
'I'll start cooking first thing tomorrow,' came the reply.
My mind boggled, what enterprise was so enormous (or so tough) that they had to start boiling the sprouts fully twenty-four hours before the rest of the nation. I peeked at their carrier bags hoping for a clue, but, other than being quite compact and normal in appearance, clues there were none.

I have friends for whom the Christmas Dinner is an annual marathon, and is prepared for in much the same way. This fine, as long as you are enjoying yourself, it does have some of the same masochistic elements, with the additional satisfaction of knowing that at the end of the race there should be some half decent scoff. But what do you do that is so very different? I hear the multitudes cry. The short answer is that I usually cook something, commonly with the AP, and it will have been something bought on the market shortly before hand; often game. I see the Christmas Dinner as an opportunity to experiment, not necessarily to show off. As for pudding, I have a seven or eight year old Christmas Pudding in the cupboard (a bought one), which is available for Christmas parties and Bar Mitzvahs, should anyone have an interest. I think it highly unlikely that I'll ever eat it, but it's there alongside a can of smoked oysters in case of the collapse of civilisation or a nuclear war.

This year, weather, car mechanics and acts of god permitting, the Nottingham correspondent and I are planning to make a brief foray into the Deep North, applying the admirable principle of offending both sides of the family equally. I have no idea what food will occur, although I have a pineapple and a bag of pistachio kernels just in case.

Seasonal best wishes to one and all.

Thursday, December 21, 2006

more berlin spray art

During my recent trip to Berlin, the Nottingham Correspondant and I spent a pleasant day off wandering around the myriad Christmas markets, sipping an occasional Gluhwein and nibbling on the odd sausage.

On our way we passed and recorded some quality spray-on images, some of whom I present here:














Berlin granny and Paparatzo achieve a form of immortality:


Monday, December 11, 2006

Hello to Berlin

Ah well, that's the Bury St Edmunds panto over for me. I know that for most people Panto is still a potential horror, but for a designer it's pretty much all over and done with before the end of term. Aladdin was pretty funky this year, hopefully the last time that the Theatre Royal will need to use the Big Top, but many lessons were learned from last year.

All in all, it was quite civilised, the seven production days leading up to opening night were quite painless if prolonged. We had minor difficulties with our Abanazer, who developed an unhealthy obsession with hand held pyrotechnics, and after a few days internet shopping ended up so loaded with explosives that he was a potential risk to shipping. There were a number of small misfires, and a lot of dark muttering about taking toys away, but he seems to have got himself under control at last, you wouldn't want to pat him on the back though. This is definitely the first time I've heard the excuse 'I'm sorry I missed that cue, I'd run out of petrol, and had to refuel'.

Tomorrow I'm off to Berlin, to do a repeat of the show I did in July, theoretically this should be very straightforward, but, as this is a company that developes its productions through improvisation and rehearsal, we have moved on a lot since then. Oh well, I guess I'll have to improvise, the staff are superb and there are lots of them, so as long as I can remember what I'm supposed to be doing it should be ok.

Saturday, December 02, 2006

ooh duckie

I've been travelling up to Bury St Edmunds most days this week, as the panto trundles into its final week (we open next thursday). It seems to be going quite well, they've learned from their experiences last year, and this time we have a temporary road giving access to the tent.

When I arrive in BSE, pretty much the first thing I encounter is a 24 hour Tesco, this is dead handy, both for fuelling up, and for picking up food and so forth on my way home. The carpark is rather curiously bisected by a small river, mostly filled with plastic bags and shopping trolleys. However, when I paused on the little bridge, and stared at the water, as I am given to doing, I noticed a couple of Mallards swimming upstream. There was something slightly wrong about the picture, and after a moment or two I realised that the hen was accompanied by a large brood of very small chicks.

I know that ducks aren't that clever, but December in BSE, which can be quite frosty, isn't a good time to raise a brood. I'm afraid the poor things won't last more than a few nights once it really begins to get cold. I hesitate to stick my hand up and say 'global warming' but I can't think of a more probable reason.