Take a deep breath

I'm pleased to say that I've enjoyed a brilliant Christmas time with my friends on the Algarve though was lucky to get away as I escaped Gatwick North Terminal on December 23rd. The easyjet flight boarded on time but we then waited around two hours for the water carrier to arrive to top up the tanks. All this time the plane rocked from side to side, buffeted by the wind and rain storm. I was unfortunately seated right at the back, just by the crew area. So not only did the rock n rolling feel even worse but I was treated to hearing all the many complaints from fellow passengers, asking for drinks, food, take-off and even get-off. The requests became more abusive as tempers flared. What can you do except take a deep breath and keep smiling at the crew who were unfailingly patient and polite. The plane finally got topped up with water, just at the point when the airspace was closed due to the storm and I really thought that I was in for a night on Gatwick's floor. By then I was taking deep breaths to try and stop myself feeling sea-sick. It's a wonder I didn't arrive with the flu bug from hell, given all you hear about the air quality on board aircraft, as it was another hour before luckily, there was a brief window of calm and we took off, all clenching the handrests for dear life.
But despite the bad press, it seems that cabin air is no more contaminated than that regularly circulating in  general office buildings. A survey conducted by the Department for Transport in 2012 found that cabin air is of about the same quality as that found in most households - we just imagine it's worse because we are out of our comfort zone. I surely was on that evening. Good to be home on dry land for New Year's Eve - well, dry-ish !

Caffeine fix

I've gradually become addicted to coffee. For years I pretty much only drank tea - ye gods, I'm old enough to remember bottled Camp Coffee so do you blame me ?! Maybe it's something to do with my regular commute to Kensington & Chelsea these past couple of years where coffee shops are on every corner but coffee - good coffee -  is now my mid-morning fix. So I was interested to read the other day that whilst the price of coffee beans has tumbled, we are all paying more for our morning pick-me-up. There are more than 15,000 coffee shops in Britain and the numbers continue to rise as we are not put off by the rising prices. The market price for Arabica beans has fallen by almost a third thanks to bumper crops. Whereas the price of milk and cardboard and sugar and high-street rents and that 'expert' barista - just keeps on rising. For a medium-size £2.20 cappuccino, the cost of the actual coffee is probably no more than 8p. All the more reason, I think, why we should aim to buy the best quality coffee we can afford.
Arabica beans which most coffee shops use, are grown mostly in Columbia and Brazil but actually Ethiopia is the home or ‘evolutionary birth place’ of Arabica coffee, as I discovered at Kew Gardens this summer. Kew scientists are concerned that climate change as well as de-forestation, could lead to the extinction of wild Arabica coffee in Ethiopia well before the end of this century. Another good reason to choose our coffee carefully.
And if that isn't enough, we now have to follow the latte artists too. I'm happy to have a bit of a swirl on top of my cup but amongst the most competitive of baristas, you might find your favourite cat portrait, flower petals or a good old-fashioned heart. Apparently it takes the freshest of milk and top quality coffee to set up a coffee canvas so a good choice to start. 

Lunch hour labour

Maybe because I am so busy these days I am particularly alert to news about working patterns, as included in last month's post. But even I was gobsmacked by an article in last week's Evening Standard about folks who moonlight during their lunch hour. Some Londoners are now so desperate to cover the basics of day to day living such as heating and the weekly shop, that according to the website for freelancers,  PeoplePerHour, they even will work in their lunch hour. Now, I am prepared to work early morning and/or late evening around a day's work but in my lunch break - ye gods ! Services such as dog-walking, copywriting, book-keeping and bike-fixing were amongst the 'moonlighting' jobs quoted. It's called 'Hourlies' and is the hottest area of new service growth. How lovely - even more opportunity to work oneself to death !
Though on a more serious note, the recent exposure of mis-treatment of migrant workers in the Middle East, due to the focus on Qatar's World Cup plans, is well overdue. That really is a slave labour situation where workers are paid a pittance for 15-hour days in deathly heat. During my visits to the Middle East in recent years, I have been astounded by the number of 'worker bees' on building sites in boiling temperatures and from a distance, the scruffy and barely adequate accommodation that they are forced to live in, in extraordinary contrast to the palatial office and residential blocks that they are working on. Not that truly is killer work and we don't know we 're born in comparison.

Night owl or early bird?

Are you looking forward to Christmas? I can't believe that I am already and mostly because I can't wait to get some decent holiday time to rest and re-create. I spotted an announcement from Amazon the other day that they would be recruiting 15,000 seasonal workers to cope with their seasonal demand and just thinking about that made me tired ! So I'm wondering if I should change my work pattern for the next couple of months. Maybe I should make a real effort to be an 'early bird' and benefit from the so-called 'extra part of the day' which eludes me as I prefer a more respectable 8am start to my day. Research from a study at Milan University found that night owls like me tend to be more creative and extrovert than their lark counterparts which I like to think fits me well. But these days, I struggle to do anything much late into the night either. Hmmm - I think a better balance is what is required - wish me luck. 
Meanwhile, on that creative note, to say that I was delighted to get chance to see the last day of the fabulous cascading glass chandelier at the V&A last weekend, part of London Design Festival, and a masterstroke of installation art by a Canadian called Omer Arbel. Followed by another 'glass-like' structure, the Serpentine Gallery Pavilion in nearby Kensington Gardens - like a cloud blending into the green background. 

Food fight

Food is making the national news again today: Jamie Oliver causing controversy by berating folks who are short of money and who spend on ready meals rather than making their own nourishing meals more cheaply at home; and Gordon Ramsey's new restaurant opening in Borough mid-September, backed by David Beckham, and booking out on Saturday nights until November within the first few hours  of opening on line - crikey - is David waiting on tables or what ?!
My own food news is both at home and away.....
As I'm spending a lot of time at Chelsea Physic Garden these days, much energy has gone into promoting this season's theme of Superfood Summer - debunking the myths of so-called miracle foodstuffs. As well as the display beds of good old apple, tomato, cabbage, kale and more such, a new and legitimate superfood to me is quinoa -  pronounced, I'm told, as keen-oo-aah. I've actually bought some now but haven't tried to cook any yet as I'm advised that the '20 mins' on the packet is much too short and because I never seem to have much time, it's very much an 'inconvenience' food for me. So the nourishment that could help me live to 123 - like the chap from Bolivia as reported the other day - will just have to wait a bit longer.
The 'away food' news was much more distressing. I'm just back from another brilliant few days at the Edinburgh Festival but what is still spinning in my mind is a production I saw called Trash Cuisine. I have never seen so much food chopped and smashed so scarily on stage. The theatre company from Belarus used food in their amazingly inventive production to symbolise torture, brutality and murders committed by the many and various regimes and governments across the world over recent years - and still today. It was disgusting, chilling and totally effecting.   

Planning method or madness

Myself and so many of my neighbours here in Olde Hanwell are still reeling from a decision last week by the Ealing Council Planning Committee, approving an application for what is known as Oak Wharf. This is to be a modern building comprising of four, three-story dwellings with 12 bedrooms, squashed into the heart of a Conservation Area. Residents of the surrounding cul-de-sac, beside the canalside and well-known Fox Pub, were universally opposed to the proposal and had generated masses of support. In the end there were six votes for and six against, and the Chair's vote in favour approved the application. This was in spite of 17 conditions from the Council and a further six from the Environment Agency who removed their objections by letter late the same afternoon - suspicious or what?
What caught my eye in the press soon after was a letter in Daily Telegraph from the Campaign to Protect Rural England, describing their new charter which has three demands: don't sacrifice the countryside; give a fair say to local communities; the country needs more affordable housing but this must be sensitively located. Each of these demands were ignored by Ealing Council. So a little corner of rural England, actually snuggled in not far from the busy Uxbridge Road but feeling like a million miles away, disappears for ever. It makes you want to weep.......

 

Anyone for tennis?

It can't have escaped your attention that Wimbledon 2013 starts tomorrow and the papers are full of it. Not only do we have long articles about the form and psychology of each seeded player but also about 'the ones to watch', plus tennis themed features on shoes, clothes, food, drink, cosmetics, restaurants, etc. From 10 Things you didn't know about Andy Murray, I learned that he would eat ice cream from dawn to dusk, were he not in training, though he doesn't believe in no sex the night before a match, like many boxers and football players, because tennis players play matches so often that he'd never have any - good to know he isn't missing out on all his treats then !

But on a more serious note, I spotted an article by Justin Cartwright in the Evening Standard, criticising the Lawn Tennis Association for its poor progress in establishing tennis in schools - so bad that apparently Sport England is threatening to cut its funding. It struck a disappointing note for me too as I have enjoyed many years of playing tennis thanks to my Father and to my (state) school.

I was taught to play tennis by my Dad who grew up playing on local Derby Council parks' courts. I learned with him at Darley Park on their excellent grass (yes, grass) courts and played for my school. Such was my pretty raw talent that I was even selected for county trials. Unfortunately this was where my dreams of Wimbledon evaporated in an afternoon when my Dad and I found ourselves surrounded by what I can only describe as 'loads of posh girls' and their equally posh families and coaches. We were both terrified, I played terribly and of course, wasn't asked back. Despite that set-back, I continued to play and especially enjoyed some brilliant times at the De la Bere Tennis Club when I lived in Cheltenham.

So, I'm all in favour of more tennis being taught in more state schools and in local communities and of the sport being taken more seriously there. All little ones should have equal opportunities to not only learn how to have a 'knock about' but also, if they show talent, to be able to progress beyond what Justin called 'a bit of a lark' and to be able to take it as seriously as the rest of our European competitors.

Olympic Park revisited

A friend and I returned to the Olympics Park the other day, reliving memories of one of the best evenings of our lives, the Opening Ceremony of the 2012 Games. This time we just about managed to find the portakabin meeting point for the Park in Progress Tour (where are all those jolly Games Makers foam finger directions when you need them?), battling against the freezing May wind in sharp contrast to the balmy days of last August - yes, we did have some!
Anyway, following a short tour bus trundle through the largely building site of a Park, we reached Anish Kapoor's blazing red tower and whizzed up the lift, accompanied by yet another chatty "come back this summer" tour guide. The Orbit's viewing platforms provide fabulous views not only across the whole Olympic Park and right into the still stunning stadium but also all across London. Some sporting venues like the Basketball Arena are being dismantled but others like to wonderful Aquatic Centre are being remodelled. The bedrooms of the Olympic Village are being reconfigured as flats and town houses, over 2000 of them, with some ready for rent as soon as this summer. The jury's still out on how attractive these places will be, given the affordability of rents and the density of the tightly packed blocks.
Meanwhile, we missed out on tickets for the Anniversary Games this July but plan to make the 'East' arts festival weekend. The South Park will fully re-open in 2014 when we will all be better able to see how the Games' legacy is shaping up in E15.

Tragic connections

I went to my lovely local Questors Theatre this month to see a brilliant production of Antigone, a premiere version of a new translation by the British poet, Ruth Fainlight. What made the tale of Creon's tragic pig-headedness all the more resonant were the stories and reminiscences of Margaret Thatcher's stubbornness which filled the media following her death, that same week. It was so amazing that the impact of conviction politics and the inability to bend to consensus could be so well mirrored over a period of more than two thousand years.
Another poignant moment came after a memorable short break in Istanbul, also this past month. We stayed centrally in the Sultanahmet district, surrounded by so many beautiful domes and minarets. From the balcony of our little hotel over looking the massive Blue Mosque, we loved to hear the returning calls of muezzins, beating through the evening air. And so it was especially sad to hear that the UNESCO World Heritage Site 11th century minaret of the mosque in the ancient city of Aleppo has just been destroyed in the bloody civil war over there in Syria, each side blaming the other for this latest cultural catastrophe. This on top of the destruction last year of the medieval souk in Aleppo. When will all the tragedies come to an end in Syria, we wonder? 

Temptations paid off

I've been tempted to see some wonderful visual and performing art this month - not my usual choices - and loved it all. As well as the relatively traditional Manet exhibition at the Royal Academy, brought vividly to life as ever by a Friday night curator's tour,  I was invited to the 'Dancing with Duchamps' season at the Barbican. It wouldn't have been my first choice but a friend, Margaret Leng Tan was playing Duchamp's friend and contemporary John Cage's 'White Walls' one evening so I definitely didn't want to miss that. Viewing the unexpectedly intriguing exhibition whilst listening to the eerie piano music made for a memorable time, as well as the bonus of a Merce Cunningham dance performance on the flat, white stage at the beginning of the evening.

And on the dancing front, a friend and I were lucky enough to have snapped up tickets to see Edward Watson at The Linbury at Covent Garden. He crawled and twisted his way through ' The Metamorphosis' in a quite extraordinary way. We didn't know quite what to expect but by the end of the just over an hour's performance, both the audience and the dancers, were totally exhausted. The smell of treacle, which was mixed with water to form the black and disgusting goo that spread all over him and the stage, was oddly sweet and homely, by contrast to the bleak tension of the performance.

And on the bleak tension front, I took my godson to see 'In the beginning was the end', performed at night, deep in the vaults and old basement  offices of Somerset House by that  inventive company, Dreamthinkspeak. As a site-specific production, it perfectly matched dusty and dark or blindingly lit corridors and corners with a story of obsessive, man- made creative world domination . We just had to have a drink afterwards to calm our nerves.

And on the calming front, where better to escape to than across the road to the new ME Hotel, to the rooftop bar which overlooks the whole of the South Bank. Another new experience and this one definitely to be repeated.   

Fairtrade dilemma

Fairtrade Fortnight has just started and I'm sure there will be lots of coverage in the press and in the shops encouraging us all to 'buy fair' to support small scale workers and farners in the developing world. The on-going debate about the sustainability of high versus low density farming will also no doubt be raised. As a long-time customer of the organic food delivery company, Abel & Cole, I'm a keen supporter of their mostly locally grown and in season, UK fruit and veg. Though I read recently that UK farmers and growers are comparatively so much better off than their developing world counterparts, with EU subsidies etc, that I'd be better advised to spend more of my money on fruit and veg flown in from overseas, despite the airmiles, thus supporting those workers for whom a consistent market for their harvest really is a matter of life or death. So could it be out with the carrots and swede and in with the mange tout and French beans ?
One answer to the quandry is to 'grow your own', which I attempt to do, having dug up half my back lawn for vegetable beds a few years ago. Although I never have quite enough time to prepare the ground as well as I should nor propagate enough seedlings, I always manage to grow something that re-pays my labours - if not in cash, certainly in satisfaction. I'm just truly grateful that as a recreational gardener, I don't have to rely on my patch to feed me and my family as so many others across the world do.

Take a tip from me

I read an article the other day which practically labelled me a guilt-free psychopath - I'm not, am I? According to 'Inside Science' published by the BBC, we give those who serve us tips, on top of their regular charge, largely because of guilt.  We feel awkward being served by others and use tipping to compensate the other person for being in a subservient position. Except that I don't, well, not that often anyway. Unless I'm in the US and then I do respect when there that tipping is part of the culture. I haven't travelled to Japan but apparently tipping there is considered an insult. Sounds like my sort of country.  A Professor Lynn at Cornell University has begun to study tipping levels in various countries and has found that tipping rates are higher in countries with higher levels of neurosis - such as America. Maybe that's why it's increasingly expected as a matter of course in worried old London.  Apparently if you write 'thank you' on your bill or invoice, you are more likely to get a tip than not - it's the personal touch that counts. In my defence, I was very late for my appointment at my hairdresser this Saturday and though I still couldn't bring myself to give a tip, I did return with a bunch of flowers by way of apology - is that personal enough for you?