PARLIAMENT - IT'S OSSUM!

PARLIAMENT - “IT’S OSSUM!”

I was recently invited by a friend to attend a little talk in one of the committee rooms in the House of Commons at Westminster.

                                           Did you bring a  copy of the notes? I forgot mine...

The room looked exactly the same as the one where The Murdochs were recently quizzed.  There were three fixed-position television cameras that I could see in the room (which, incidentally, was much smaller than I had imagined) which is why they didn’t pan when a cream pie was pushed in Murdock, Sr’s face!

After passing through a  security check where they take your pic and issue a pass,

                                                        The image is worse than my psaaport!

 

there’s a short walk which takes you into the extraordinary Great Hall. This alone is worth the visit. It has a terrific history which is told in a semi-graphic form as you enter. Booklets are available to take away including the indispensable “Parliament And You” visitor guide and map. As well as that you’ll need “This Week’s Business” which tells you what’s being discussed such as “Oral Questions” , Select Committees and so forth.

 

There'll be more chimes in 53 minutes....

After the talk that I was attending, I re-visited the little souvenir kiosk on the way out. It is manned in a desultory manner, and features all manner of grotesque and twee “gifts” that, in my view, are best avoided and not to waste one’s money on, unless you really MUST have a bottle of “Mr. Speaker’s Scotch”.

It’s free to go in, and if you see the light on at the top of the clock tower that houses Big Ben (even late at night) you can go in to see and hear your MP discussing matters such as Defence, Northern Ireland Affairs, or even – if you are especially fortunate, Tourism in Yorkshire!  All being discussed that week.

                                                      Suprise me - what's in the bag?

Passing back into the Great Hall on my way out , I heard an American lady gushing that it was “ossum!”. 

 

                                 It's great!

Quite so.

ELF 'N' SAYF-T

Here’s a fundamental difference between council workers in this country and those in Italy.

I'm specifically talking about their attire.

My picture here shows three snappily dressed guys from - believe-it-or-not - the Municipal Council of Sanremo who heard  that morning that €15,000 had been allocated to make improvements to the pavement in Piazza Colombo. So, off they went to measure up.

    How many people does it take to use a steel measure?

They arrived in a little Fiat 500, took out their steel rule, and measured up the stoned area to be dealt with.

The main thing that struck me was how drab our guys are with the obligatory hi-viz jackets! 

                                          Lads! I think it's time for a brew-up, besides I can't remember why we're all 'ere....

After they had measured up and phoned in (presumably) the preliminary details they ducked into the nearby ice cream parlour where they bought three luminously coloured cornetti.  Those bright colours appeared to be the only things they had in common with their British compatriots.

-

Back to the Italian Cultural Institute, this time for a business discussion at the behest of the Cultural Affairs Attaché (r) for lunch in their cafeteria with the luscious Laurette (l). 

Thinks, I've got a great idea for dessert girls....

  Great fun!  I was running late for this tryst, so picked up one of Boris’ bikes at Victoria and peddled to Belgrave Square. This was only the second time I’d used one of these things, and found it a little under-powered. No greater test for anyone’s nerve than approaching Hyde Park Corner at lunch time, I can tell you!

                                Living dangerously without bicycle clips or a skid-lid...

-

Next time, I hope to tell you about my visit to Parliament and one of their Committee Rooms...

ITALIAN COOKERY CLASSES - OR THE LEANING TOWER OF PIZZA

ITALIAN COOKERY CLASSES – OR, THE LEANING TOWER OF PIZZA..

Last Monday and Tuesday to The Italian Cultural Institute (ICI) where renowned “Lady Chef” Rita Monastero was holding court with a dozen or so of us ignorant Londoners in the basement kitchen of this beautiful Belgravia Square building.

A bit constrained for space, we were assisted by the very able team of cooks and staff  - a visiting group from Enna in Sicily who are in residence at the ICI where, each day during the month of September, they are serving up delicious specialities at lunch and dinner. Head man Antonio will select a special wine for you too!

   

                 Antonio declares my pizza to be the best he has ever seen! (Either that, or some other declaration in Italian that I couldn't understand...)

Lady Chef Rita is a pure delight and packed with personality and enthusiasm for her students. To be more accurate, she taught us baking, rather than cooking (on this occasion).   Back home in Rome, she gives lessons in a wide range of dishes*.

 We learned the basics of dough, and how to prepare pizza, foccaccia bread with tomatoes and those hard little biscuits with almonds in that you dip in sweet wine or (for me anyway) espresso.

Make sure your dental work is in order before biting into these beauties!

                            Mama mia! You mean you actually cut all those cherry tomatoes by hand for the foccaccia?

My own personal experiences were - very much to my surprise – enormously successful! This is in no small part due to Rita’s great passion for what she does. I was even put in charge on day two (for new two additional students) on how to prepare the dough!

Students ranged from a couple of Sloane Rangers to a guy who was importing food from Italy and wanted to understand how his products could work with his range.

                                    Even Sloanies need to know how to cut olives for their pizzas!

Each three hour session passed in a flash and was marked by good humour and eagerness with all concerned.

A big thanks also to Anna Mondavio, Cultural Affairs Attaché and the marvellous staff all weaving around each other in the tiny kitchen which - incidentally, boasted one of the largest collections of the sharpest knives I've ever seen anywhere outsise of an Iraqi torture chamber -who did the baking and serving up for us!

 You need to be specific about which knife you require!

                                 Gimme the dough, Rita!

Saluté!

*You can read more about Rita Monastero here:

http://xoomer.virgilio.it/cookingwithrita/

TAKING A BIG BITE OUT OF THE BIG BAGEL

Noo Yoik, August, 2011. To visit my nephew Joel and his heavy-with-child Mrs.  I really had no idea just what a joy the Tribeca part of town could be. Owing much to Joel, who proudly gave me the 25cent tour, I quickly realised that I could move there in a heartbeat. Located at the very beginning of the southern end of The Avenue of the Americas, the area still needs to get over itself a bit, but with just a little breaking down of barriers (shyness is definitely not one of my qualities!), the locals quickly warm to the British who seem to be here in much larger numbers than one would imagine. The exterior fire escape ladders on the frankly, pretty drab exteriors belie the terrific interiors, with any number of stores catering for the rich and spoiled. Some famous high street stores are so cool, they don’t even have a name on the outside; you are expected to know who and where they are!

As most of the locals seldom eat at home – that is – actually cook at home, the neighbourhood boasts all kinds of eateries. The weather being balmy, we ate outside most nights, with only the occasional inside meal. Notable was Odeon which seems to have got the French thing – with New York twists just right.  Staff everywhere were highly entertaining and I think I am now betrothed to the Maitresse D’ at this establishment...

Pssst! Wanna buy my Rolex?

The day after arriving I realised that my trusty Canon Ixus was playing up. Videos that I had recently recorded, were sadly lost as the memory card showed a "LOCKED" message. I thought that this was because I had slipped the little tab on the SD card, but no, they were irretrievably lost. Too bad. I shall have to re-shoot some scenes again!

This caused me to visit a remarkable store in mid town called B&H Cameras. This enormous establishment is entirely run by Hassidim who are a pure delight to deal with. all patience and totally genned-up. I am now the owner of a  spanking new red camera with four times the recording capacity, true HD imagery and stereo sound to boot. I love it. Joel was so impressed he bought one too!

Armed with said photographic gear, I took a side trip to University town Princeton in Noo Joizy. Ninety minutes by train from Penn Station, this is a charming little all-American place, which, while out-of-term quiet, still threw up a few delights. Not least of which, on the main thoroughfare Nassau Street, a  jewellery store in a mock-Tudor style.

Don't mock the Tudors - they drive on the wrong side of the road!

A record emporium tucked away behind there was a salutary example of how not to run such an establishment. Surly staff and ambitiously priced tatty stock. My disappointment was assuaged by me tagging on to a Japanese tour group going around Princeton’s remarkably striking and lookalike appearance of Cambridge type campus.

                                                I'd only just finished mowing for three weeks, when I had to start all over again

I discovered a local ice cream parlOr featuring 99 flavOrs (what’s with not including the “u” in their spelling?) and cooled down under a shady tree in the warm afternoon, and a perky young lady I sat next to offered to show me around the local museum. How could I refuse?

One of the reasons I always carry my camera with me is to capture those once-only type of pictures. We were on our way to a pizzeria one evening, when I spotted this fabulous sunset scene.

There are 10 million stories in the Naked City - this is one of them

I ducked out of New York just before Hurricane Irene “struck”. In the event it had been downgraded to a tropical storm by the time it reached the City, but I wasn’t taking any chances.

Next time, I may continue this American theme, by talking about Memphis (or MEMPHS as the locals seem to call it).

A HUGE thank you again to Joel and Lynsey for making this such a special trip!

THE SOUTHBANK VINTAGE FAIR 31st JULY, 2011

A TRULY “VINTAGE” VINTAGE FAIR

Sunday, 31^st July – we repair to London’s South Bank to attend the Vintage Fair. What larks! A staggeringly beautiful sunny day with clear blue skies, making all those drenched 50’s colours just sizzle!

I went with an Italian friend, Cinzia who has a faux fifties fashion shop in Milan (and another in Sanremo run by her sister Barbara) to show her what – in my humble opinion - she should be showing in her bottegas next season. She was, like me, absolutely gob-smacked (I don't know what the Italian for "gob-smacked is - must find out)  by the hundreds of vendors displaying their wares with such humour and obvious delight.

As many of you will know, I am seldom without my trusty Cannon Ixus, and I was much amused by some of the attendees who turned out in styles of the period as some of my selected pictures below show, which I hope, will amply illustrate some of the delights of our day.

She has balloons in her hat! She's "Balloon Lady" - no, really!                         

His moustache was fake, but his style was real!

Now that's a helluva fascinator!  And there has to be a cherry joke around here somewhere....

Thiis is my favourite photo of the day....She did all the talking, he just smiled. He's got her well-trained. Great US Army outfit, sir! Are those medals for real?

A stand selling old radiograms, wind-up gramophones (some well over £300.00, but “fully restored” I was assured!), and miscellaneous “lo-fi”,  played music that only accelerated one’s senses back to the times when this was the Festival Of Britain in 1951 which the event was celebrating.  

Behind the Royal Festival Hall, the weekly organic food fair was in full swing, so off we went, purchases bundled under arms to sample – sitting with other fair attendees – scoffing dishes from the Levant, Poland and the Indian sub-continent.  A completely sublime and blissed-out day!

Can’t wait for next year to do it all over again!

FANCY FLIGHT & A FLIGHT OF FANCY...

Last week, I had one of the most exciting rides of my life! A journalist friend and I had dinner on the South Bank and afterwards we went to see the new passenger terminal at the upgraded London Heliport. This is next door to the equally remarkable and luxurious Hotel Verta, but that's for another time. Today I shall only discuss the exhilarating - and let's face it - uber-romantic, half-hour helicopter ride over London at midnight.  My photo shows us over the Thames passing the Houses of Parliament at Westminster.

It was a stunningly clear night and I felt an enormous amount of pride as we flew over all those familiar landmarks that gives my city such a powerful impact.

By coincidence, this week’s copy of New Scientist has an important story on the very real prospect of us one day, in the not too distant future of owning our own mini-helicopter. You can read more about this remarkableaircraft, The Terrafuggia (an Italianism for ‘escape the earth’) can be seen here: http://www.aircraftcompare.com/helicopter-airplane/Terrafugia-Transition/289

This wasn't what we were up in (that was an altogether bigger thing).

Now, if they can just make them affordable, we’ll all be whizzing off to Waitrose in our personal helicopters, or will we? They said Ocado wouldn’t work, but now they are in profit, maybe we don’t have to ever leave our homes ever again. Well, not for a  pint of milk.

Such prospects of future life were discussed at a friend’s recently when I learned that her daughter is involved in predicting – if that’s the word – future trends.

‘Futurology’ and its associated study groups have so often got these things wrong.

After all, who could have predicted ten years ago, that we would shamelessly flaunt and share our deepest and most personal details with everybody else in the world? Think Twitter or Facebook. I can’t help thinking that somewhere, employees in the FBI and MI5 are constantly rubbing their hands with glee at how we’re all doing their spook-work for them!  And here in the UK, we deplore the prospect of carrying ID cards!  No worries - ‘They’ already know too much about us.

Right now, I think one of the most important predictions problems we face, is to foresee what the climate is going to be like on our little planet. Even the [London] Met Office can’t get it right 24 hours ahead!

A very happy 4^th July to all my friends in our former Colonies! If I could just get my Learjet started.....

LONDON'S NEED FOR A RESTAURANT INSPECORATE

I can only blame myself for my absent-mindedness and - more likely- a complacency in observing my rule of going to check out the loo before I sit down in a restaurant before ordering.  The thinking being that if the restaurant is slovenly in the way it presents its clients' conveniences, they're probably lax in the kitchen and hygiene departments too.

I first heard about this rule-of-thumb many years ago while listening to British journalist and broadcaster, Janet Street-Porter on BBC Radio 4's "Today" morning programme.

I thought: what a great idea! She also posited the additional idea that we diners should also ask to take a peek in the kitchen.

Two things collided that have brought about the stream of consciousness. One was taking a late Sunday lunch at the "Coach Makers" pub in London's Marylebone Lane recently. I specifically name them because I think that such remarks should be public - even more for reasons that become apparent when I mention reason number two in a moment.  The pub by the way was full (at 4pm) with the local Marylebonites haute-voix, which one got used to after a while.

My wife, her friend and myself ordered wine and the specials. All quite acceptable, but this isn't a restauarnt review (as regards the food quality per se). Before desert Madame and her friend traipsed off to 'powder their noses' which gave me an opportunity to peruse a copy of "The Observer". On their return, they both had wrinkled noses indicating that the toilets were 'disgusting'. I'll not outline their reasons for commenting in case you're eating while reading this, save to say that my wife called over the manager and read a version of the Riot Act to him - well within earshot of the other diners.

He sheepishly said that he would look into the lack of toilet paper, broken seats, and non-flushing [you said you weren't going to mention this, Ed.]. We in the meantime forewent desserts and coffe and did some quick vamoosage vowing not to return.

All this is in contrast to those civilised people over in the Big Bagel.  There the New York Sanitary Inspector has regular inspections that take place and their (the eatery) is awarded a rating which is publicly displayed outside.  The findings are also published in the local press. This procedure incidentally, is not confined just to New York, but is nationwide.

Why can this not happen in London? "Spending Cuts", "We haven't got the manpower", and rubbish like that. "Piffle" as our Mayor Boris would say. I think that if such a system were to work here it would go some way to upgrading the facilities in places such as I have just mentioned that would, in effect, make the places self-policing, especially not knowing when inspectors might be coming round!

In the meantime, do as I will make sure I do henceforth - check the loos and kitchen FIRST!