Category Archives: Life in the UK

Creative cacophony

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It’s Day 2 of my five day Easter staycation and today I hopped on the tube to spend a couple of hours over lunch at a friend’s new pad in Chalk Farm. Exiting Camden Town Station and turning right for the very first time, I found myself thrust unceremoniously into the throng meandering along Camden High Street. Determined to arrive on time, I hurried along, eyes focused on finding the gaps in the crowd, without much of a sideways glance.

But when lunch was over and we’d said our goodbyes, there was time for a little exploring. Yet after wandering around The Stables section of Camden Market, it left me feeling that I’d barely scratched the surface.

Entrance to The Stables section of Camden Market
The market is filled with figures which pay homage to the area’s equine past.
One of the exits back on to Camden High Road

Alas I’d dressed more for a quick stroll between the warm tube and the cosy climes of Gidday HQ/my friend’s new pad (versus braving the chilly air for an extended period) so after an hour I set my pedestrian compass for a return to the tube station…which took a little longer than I thought.

Here’s why…

3D efforts made a corner interiors store stand out against the grey sky…
…as well as letting passersby get under foot.
Hard to see the detail in this photo but this building is a riot of colour and imagery.
This extraordinary dragon marks the start of a triad of creative retail frontage.

 

Hard to choose a favourite but I loved this frantic kitty best of all.

This riot of colour and expression exists in just a 5 minute walk between Camden Town tube station and Castlehaven Road. And I can’t believe it’s taken me 9 years to get there.

I’ll definitely be back!

Proving A Point…

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Yesterday I decided that Sunday would be baking day at Gidday HQ.

I’ve been thinking about this ever since I got the More Secrets from the Beechworth Bakery cookbook for Christmas. Reading through it has made me think how wonderful it would be to develop some proficiency in bread making so that I could just whip up a tasty loaf or two on a whim rather than it occurring like an enormous ordeal.

The silly part is that I’ve already had some previous successes with a scrumptious Rosemary and Walnut Loaf and my very first attempt at Easter buns being rather light and fruity (and delicious with lashings of butter) so my thinking’s that I just need a little more practice.

Anyhow after an inspirational Saturday evening watching my favourite foodie movie Julie and Julia, I decided to face up to last year’s Easter bun bomb and have another go.

Getting ready…I like to have everything measured out before I start.

Thirty minutes in and the first proving had appeared to have gone nicely…


Results of the first proving look promising

With hopeful spirit, I folded and rolled my dough and submitted it to its second proving…

Back into my home-made prover (hot water in the sink with a towel over it!)

I’m attempting Tiger Bread which involves painting the top of the proven dough with a paste of plain flour, rice flour, water, caster sugar, salt and vegetable oil. So it’s swish swish swish with my brush and into the oven…

My basted Tiger Bread goes into the oven

…and about 40 minutes later look what I had!

Tiger Bread: looks more like leopard spots to me but who am I to argue with the Beechworth Bakery?

I tapped it on the bottom to make sure it was cooked through then left it to cool a little before carving myself a slice.


It was delicious! So much so that I decided that the only thing for it was to whip up a batch of pumpkin soup to go with it for lunch.

I feel positively Delia-ish!

And now that I’ve proven my point – albeit to myself – I can’t wait to dip back into the secrets of the Beechworth Bakery and try something else. Easter’s just around the corner you know and I need to redeem myself with regard to my unauspicious output from last year…

Gidday Disclaimer:
This is a bread-maker free home. I do not need another gadget to take up more valuable space at the back of the cupboard and the addition of my beloved birthday coffee maker to the Gidday HQ benchtop last year is as far as I’m prepared to go on that score.
Yours in Baking Earnestness
The (Only) Gidday Bread-Maker

Leopard Flats

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Well I was set to post about all sorts of trivial things this week. The new Pope. The new head dude up in the space station. New revelations in the horse meat scandal. A visit to Sadler’s Wells. The anticipated shape of Sunday night telly now that Dancing on Ice and the wonderful Mr Selfridge have taken their final bows.

And then these arrived.


They are my very first own-design Shoes of Prey shoes. Made especially for me.

I was beyond excited. Opening them was an experience in itself with layers of bows and paper lovingly swaddling my luscious leopard-print flats.

There was even a photo.

(Shoe afficionados – like Lil Chicky, who I hold entirely responsible for this new addiction after a small shoe showcase over Christmas – will know that this is to put on the outside of the shoe box so when all of your lovely leather, scrumptious suede and general foot-ish fabulousness are stacked up in your cupboard, you know exactly where to find the perfect pair.)

But I digress.

I love them. Really LOVE them.

I’ve always wanted a pair of leopard-print shoes. There’s something immensely frivolous about animal print and the Shoes of Prey website is a veritable treasure trove of imagination and creativity and just plain desire.

They arrived on Tuesday. It’s Friday night and I’ve worn them twice already.

Super comfy as they are, they come with a little bag of tricks – heel grips, gel inserts and the like – to ensure that you can create the perfect fit for your fetish feet. And a super lush shoe bag has helped my little leopard friends make the commute to the office this week in what has been some rather inclement (and unseasonably chilly) weather.

Not for them the travails of the chill and damp. Oh no.

Oh and by the way, if you are wondering about the potential perils of buying made-for-me shoes online, the Shoes of Prey returns policy is awesome. If your new arrivals don’t make your soles sing and your heart beat a little faster, you can return them – up to 365 days later.  Yes that’s right. A whole year. I couldn’t believe it when I first placed my order.

But I don’t think that will be necessary.

Because I love them.

Really love them.

A lot.

A Tiger’s Tale…

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I had a particularly challenging week last week so when I fled the office on Friday afternoon for a night at Sadler’s Wells (more on this in a later post), it couldn’t have been soon enough for me.

Upon reaching Kings Cross-St Pancras International station I was strolling down the concourse, mentally debating the merits of popping into Peyton and Byrne, wandering around Foyles for a bit or heading straight down to the tube when I saw this…

 …a large orange tiger.

Having been assailed with much advertising about the ‘movie epic’ Life of Pi, I wondered fleetingly as I walked by whether this was an homage to Richard Parker.

But what made me stop was not the tiger but the bales of cans ready for recycling it was standing on. How strange you might be thinking but I work in the packaging industry, have been to an aluminium recycling centre and have seen what happens so I was pulled up short wondering what they were doing in the middle of St Pancras Station. Besides I didn’t find out about the milk bottle thing until I walked around to the front of the display.

Speaking of the display, commissioned by Veolia Environment (they are one of the rubbish and recycling contractors here in the UK), it appears that it’s all part of Tiger Tracks, a Save Wild Tigers initiative designed to raise awareness and funds for tigers in the wild. It is made entirely from recyclable materials found in Merseyside’s household recycling bins. That’d be 300 milk bottles and over 58,000 cans that artist Faith Bebbington has reused and recycled to recreate this life-sized Bengal tiger.

And as I moved around to the front, inspired to take a few smartphone snaps, do you think anyone would stop their whizzing past to let me capture the moment? No…

This was the best I could manage…


Sorry peeps.

In the meantime, you can find out more about Save Wild Tigers by clicking here or by popping down to St Pancras International Station anytime during March for more tiger themed activities.

Otherwise efforts to save this noble animal from extinction could amount to nothing more than catching a tiger by the tail.

A Pinter…Pause

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Last night I went to see Old Times with a couple of friends. The play follows a particular evening in the lives of married couple Kate and Deeley, an evening when Kate’s old friend Anna comes to visit. It’s 80 minutes long and stars Kristin Scott-Thomas, Rufus Sewell and Lia Williams so I was ready for enoyable evening.

I did not factor in that it was a Harold Pinter play.

As we walked back across Leicester Square to the tube station and puzzled over what we’d seen, all I could say was ‘I just don’t get it’.

We debated what we thought it might mean – I had read somewhere that the two female characters actually represent two facets of the same woman’s personality and the play explores Deeley’s interactions with each. We compared notes on restlessness and boredom – both our own and of those around us throughout. We all agreed that it was well-acted but enjoyable? It was thought-provoking – definitely – but I was left feeling a bit ‘so what’ about it all – but not so much that I was sorry I had gone.

It wasn’t until this sharing afterwards that it occurred to me that this had happened before.

I saw my first Pinter – Betrayal – back when I was living in Melbourne. And then it was Old Times last night. A Pinter pas-de-deux so to speak.

And I realised that both times I’d felt the same…incomplete-ness. A kind of bereft-ness, like I’d been on the outskirts of a conversation that I didn’t quite understand and had then been cut loose and left to drift away.

I’m not averse to a challenge but after a couple of similar experiences, I’m starting to think that perhaps Pinter’s just not for me.

Or maybe it’s just that I need another Pinter Pause…

Horses**t…

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If you haven’t heard about the latest scandal here in the UK, you’ve probably been either living under a rock or cryogenically frozen for the last six weeks.

The discovery of horse meat in a high profile brand of frozen burgers back on the 16th of January has led to outrage, a**e-covering and some serious spin doctoring from all quarters and producers and retailers alike are re-examining and re-fortifying their supply chains. Ikea has withdrawn its weiner sausages from sale, Tesco is vowing to back British farmers and only yesterday, the Food Standards Agency revealed horse meat DNA in even more products. 


Needless to say frozen burger sales have plummeted 43% (source: Guardian 26th Feb 2013) and I suspect other family ‘mince-based’ favourites like frozen lasagne and spaghetti bolognese won’t be far behind.

The press are loving it.

But it’s not just sensational headlines that have been shifting papers. Co-op placed a full page ad in last Saturday’s Times newspaper and Tesco have also boosted the media’s advertising coffers by placing full page ads in the Metro newspaper starting with a rapid fire response the day after the scandal broke followed by a double page spread this week.

I’m sure this is all intended to reassure their shoppers. But quite frankly, when I turned the page and saw it, all that registered was ‘blah blah blah’ and rather than being reassured, I was left thinking ‘what a load of s**t’.

How cynical you may be thinking. And you’re right. 

The damage has been done, another dent left in consumers’ waning confidence and with trust at an all time low, it will take more than a couple of ads to restore it. And every subsequent exposé will serve to underscore this deepening lack of faith in the world around us. 

Or will it?

Do you think we can find it within ourselves to trust again?

What is it going to take?

Another Rainy Sunday…

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I can’t quite believe that I’ve been back five weeks. The days have flown by and it feels like much longer since I sat under that hot blue sky and felt the fierce Australian sun on my shoulders. Particularly since I have been rugged up at home this weekend keeping the chilly grey dampness outside well at bay.

This afternoon I’ve been watching Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe. I’ve seen snippets of it before but have never sat and watched the whole thing through. What an amazing movie – kind of like Beaches and Thelma and Louise (enduring female friendship flicks) combined with The Help and To Kill A Mockingbird (for commentary on racial injustice). If you haven’t seen these films, I’ll let you google them for yourself to avoid this sentence getting a little ‘link-crazy’. 

 
The four leading ladies are extraordinary and I can only surmise that there was some stiff competition during the 1992 awards season for while Jessica Tandy and Kathy Bates received nominations at the Oscars, BAFTAs and Golden Globes, the ‘Whistle Stop Cafe’ trophy cabinet remained strangely empty.


Rear: Mary Stuart Masterson and Mary Louise Parker
Front: Kathy Bates and Jessica Tandy

There are times when I still find it difficult to believe that the era of black oppression and the Klu Klux Klan actually existed. But then prejudice is still prejudice no matter what the ‘colour’ and I think about Sarah’s Key (which I saw recently at my beloved Phoenix as part of Holocaust Memorial Day) a film that tells the story of the 13,000 Jews rounded up by the French authorities in Paris in 1942 for transportation to Auschwitz and my visit last September to the old ghetto areas of Krakow and the camp itself.

And then I think about the recent ‘burkha debate’ that has reared its rather unattractive head in various institutions of ‘learning’ across Europe and of a recent book I read called The Cypress Tree (the Book Nook 2013 #3) by Israeli-born journalist Kamin Mohammadi and it seems to me we’ve not come so very far at all.

Anyway, the final credits rolled and I found myself wondering why I’d never watched this movie before. And it strengthened one of my ‘resolutions’ (for want of a better word – I don’t really do resolutions) to branch out from my traditional favourites and to watch some older, unseen films when the comfy couch beckons again on another rainy Sunday afternoon.

Quintessential Quentin…

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Over the last couple of weeks, there’s been a bit of hype around Quentin Tarantino’s latest flick, Django Unchained. His films usually generate lots of talk and debate and after seeing interviews with both Jamie Foxx and Quentin himself on The Graham Norton Show earlier in the month, I had added it to my ‘if I get to the movies soon’ list – which actually turned out to be yesterday afternoon.

Jamie Foxx stars as Django, a slave in America’s Deep South who finds himself in the company of garrulous German dentist/bounty hunter, Dr. King Schultz (played by the fabulous Christoph Waltz). The movie follows the unlikely duo as they criss-cross the country pursuing the Wanted and making a tidy sum before reaching Candyland, home to Leonardo DiCaprio’s Calvin Candie (and his outrageously outspoken manservant Stephen, played by Samuel L Jackson) in search of Django’s wife, Broomhilda.

Foxx’s Django is the movie’s intense and brooding centrepiece around which the cast create their stories. DiCaprio layers smooth Southern charm over Candie’s snake-like cruelty and the ridiculous capriciousness befitting the insanely rich and powerful white man who cannot imagine not getting exactly what he wants. Jackson’s ornery and indignant Stephen is the perfect foil for Candie dangerous charm and even Don Johnson’s (remember Miami Vice?) Big Daddy exemplifies the greedy, ignorant and unworldly white men who owned the populations and plantations of the Deep South.

It’s an amazing cast with extraordinary performances but for me the star of the show was Waltz. Since seeing his chilling performance in Inglourious Basterds, I’ve been intrigued by this relative ‘unknown’ and while this character is a far cry from Colonel Hans Landa, his performance was every bit as mesmerising. Frivolous yet pragmatic, in his portrayal of Dr. Schultz Waltz captured the spirit of Tarantino – his passion for crafting his vision, his ability to tell a story without resorting to the esoteric or high-brow (let’s face it, there is never anything high-brow about a Tarantino flick), his ability to give his cast the space to ‘play’ with their characters and his unadulterated joy in simply making movies. 

The film pays homage to the Spaghetti Western genre of the 1960s and is typically Tarantino – irreverent, unapologetically gory and in-your-face. It’s also on the long side (160+ minutes) and there are a few scenes that ‘don’t work’ towards the end but it is full of typical Tarantino moments and remarkable performances.

A great way to spend a chilly, grey Saturday afternoon!

Pop Culture…

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This week I have come across a rather cracking idea and it was delivered right to my desk.

I opened my weekly graze box to find my usual assortment of healthy snacks accompanied by this small flat package…


Intrigued, I tore it open to find a set of easy instructions…


So I popped it in the microwave….


…and voila! Popcorn! Mmmmmm….


It was delicious!

In other news, we’ve had a bit of snow. Here’s snap from the train mid week…

…here are a few from the office window…


and here’s tonight’s snowy trudge down my street.



Note to self: Melbourne was too hot…38C was too hot…

Tis The Season…Party Feet

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With the big day fast approaching (only 17 sleeps to go peeps), attention has suddenly turned to collaborations of the festive kind. And this week has seen me celebrating with considerable commitment to the Christmas cause, the result being that I am ensconsed on the comfy couch at Gidday HQ today after last night’s work Christmas party. Amongst today’s priorities is resting my aching feet, having kicked off my dancing shoes *slash* drinking boots in the early hours of this morning before pouring myself into bed.

It was a fabulous night, starting with a drinks-style mingle (with a spot of champers, of course) and delicious dinner table conversation under the majestic Rubenesque ceiling of the Banqueting House in Westminster. Commissioned by King Charles I and installed by Inigo Jones, the ceiling comprises the only canvasses from the old Whitehall Palace to remain in situ. Flemish painter Peter Paul Rubens painted them in his studio in Antwerp, shipped them across for installation in March 1636 and was paid the princely sum of £3,000 for his efforts.

Eyes up at dinner – what a spectacular view!

After dinner it was down to the Undercroft for a spot of drinking dancing. Designed as a drinking den (how appropriate!) for James I, the area went on to host lotteries after his death, which sounds kind of akin to some (alright, most) of the moves on show under the temporary disco lights last night. And a big shout out to DJ Jeff who kept the floor packed with swinging, singing partygoers – and at whose feet I lay the blame entirely for my scratchy throat and tender tootsies.

But this was not the only celebratory collaboration as earlier this week, we turned to team-building of a whole different kind. On Tuesday night we found ourselves in the south London suburb of Wandsworth for a night of culinary negotiation at Venturi’s Table. Split into three teams, we kneaded, chopped, stirred, dipped, chatted and laughed under the careful supervision of Anna Venturi’s team of patient chefs before sitting down to a fabulous three course meal – fresh pasta, chicken ballotine and a super-scrummy pannetone pudding. Oh and a few drinks. (There may also have been a bit of singing. Yes it’s true.) This is not the first time I’ve done something like this (see my post on Hot Chicks & Hens) and let me just say right here and now, it won’t be my last. It is such fantastic fun.

And last but by no means least, I managed to squeeze in a catch up with three colleagues from workdays past and over a bottle of wine (or two) and a cheap and cheerful meal at my local Italian, we shared the news, reflected on 2012 and speculated on what changes 2013 might bring.

It starts again this week so right now, I’m feeling rather grateful for today’s respite. But not for too long. After all, it is the season to be jolly…

…and my drinking boots still have plenty of tread.