Archive for December, 2005

Christmas Dinner No. 4

Fyse December 26th, 2005

Undisputed head chef, yet loathe to delegate, my mother is crouched on the kitchen floor, frantically rearranging oven shelves in an attempt to find room for both turkey and potatoes. Atop the stove, each ring is occupied by a merrily bubbling pot, filling the air with steam and tantalising smells. My brother stands nearby, knife in hand as he carefully trims and butters a slice of bread, moves to add it to the nearby plate, then changes his mind and eats it instead. On the kitchen table stands an apparently inexhaustible pile of brussel sprouts, before which sits my sister, peeling and trimming as if her life depended on it. Straightening from the oven, my mother flicks a concerned glance from the sprouts to the clock before busying herself with a bag of parsnips.

Through the open door floats the sound of banging and the occasional muttered oath. My father is wrestling a reluctant table flap into place, eventually succeeding and opening a chest of drawers to unearth a holly-patterned table cloth. He pauses to survey his handywork. I enter with hands full of cutlery, before returning a minute later clutching wine glasses. Soon the table is fully laid, the festive scene illuminated by watery winter light from the large dining room window.

Outside, the sun shines sporadically through cloud, casting pools of light that rush across the valley and up the opposite headland. The town of Dartmouth is quiet and seemingly relaxed. The river is empty except for a lone craft puttering slowly past, no cars move on the winding roads and the silence is broken only by an occasional seagull, calling loudly as it swoops low over the rooftops. Day wanes and the windows of the town wink into light, casting shimmering reflections that grow more pronounced as darkness falls completely. Back in the kitchen, the oven timer sounds with a harsh tone and the turkey emerges once more from the oven.

This Christmas Dinner, I grossly over-indulged on…

  • Smoked salmon with buttered bread, lemon and black pepper
  • Roast turkey with roast potatoes, roast parsnips, brussel sprouts with toasted almonds, cranberry sauce, pigs in blankets, gravy, stuffing and bread sauce
  • Christmas pudding with brandy sauce, brandy butter and marzipan balls

Probably the best Christmas Dinner I’ve ever had, with each item cooked to perfection by my Mum. The rest of us strived to do all the chopping, peeling and stirring without getting in the way, leaving her as artistic director of operations, doing all the skillful bits. The food was accompanied by large quantities of alcohol, and left us all sprawled and sated in armchairs and sofas. Right now I feel I may never eat again, but perhaps I’ll have worked up an appetite by next year…

A typical family departure…

Fyse December 22nd, 2005

My family are amongst the worst in the world at departing anywhere, and I do not say this lightly. You may be thinking ‘well, getting more than two people to coordinate on anything is always pretty tricky’, but I assure you my family is an extreme example. Today we are travelling down to Devon for Christmas, but ‘today’ is about as specific as departure time gets. Arrival may not be today at all.

Fraught and frenetic, my family are busy broadcasting to the entire street as vain attempt is made to fit everything into the car. My little brother is careering about clutching rolls of wrapping paper and sellotape, in search of presents he has somehow scattered evenly through every room of the house. My Dad is stomping around unable to find the cables for his video camera, occasionally dumping a fresh tangle of wires under my nose to check whether they’re at all relevant. My mother is battling bravely against a temperamental computer, trying to finish a few work emails before leaving and muttering darkly as Internet Explorer crashes once again. My sister, who travelled over from her home in Watford this morning, is entirely ready to leave and wandering the ground floor, watching with detached amusement the chaos that surrounds her. I have just returned from the petrol station and am grabbing a final few moments calm before the long journey ahead.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

Under the giant Freddy Mercury…

Fyse December 22nd, 2005

It seemed like a very odd suggestion for a meeting place, but my friend assured me all would become clear when I arrived. Leaving Tottenham Court Road tube station I was more than a little sceptical, but it would indeed have been hard to miss. Towering above the busy intersection, a massive statue of the late Queen front man stood astride the entrance to the Dominion Theatre, subtly advertising the show ‘We Will Rock You’. I waited in its shadow and my friends soon arrived, each grinning at the success of such bizarre directions.

About to set off in search of some lunch, I was distracted by a startlingly pretty and somehow familiar woman walking past, a hat pulled low on her head. I looked straight to one of my friends, finding him staring back with an expression of slack-jawed incredulity that exactly matched my own. “Was that who I think it was?”

“Er, yeah. I think so.”

We both gazed in wonder at the retreating figure. Another friend looked confused. “Well, who was it then?” she asked.

“Keira Knightley”, we both replied, transfixed by the street corner round which she had disappeared.

“Oh.” And feeling some further comment was required, “She had a really nice jumper.”

A thorny problem solved…

Fyse December 19th, 2005

We can probably all agree that nothing is better on a cold winter’s night than an armchair, a good book and an open fire. (Well perhaps not all of us, but this is my blog and what I say goes.) There is one obvious problem, however. I can spend many a happy hour staring at flames, perhaps occasionally rising to prod at them with a poker. I also enjoy reading, and will remain contentedly immersed in a good book for lengthy periods. But obviously my eyes can only look at one thing at a time. How can I simultaneously indulge both my pyromania and my love of reading, I hear you ask? Audio books! Stephen Fry reads ‘Harry Potter’ far better than I ever could anyway…

The death knell of nobility…

Fyse December 15th, 2005

Seated on a bench waiting for an old school friend, I hummed quietly (and slightly dementedly) to myself. Situated by a junction in the centre of town, cars swished by as I eyed a sweeper truck crawling along the curb toward me. Peering over the dashboard, the driver guided his furiously spinning brushes through the gutter as litter of every genre was hoovered from sight. If ever there was a calling both noble and pure, it is that of the municipal street sanitiser. Entirely unsung, through the filth and grime of the world he pilots his sturdy craft, a wake of gleaming tarmac testament to his tireless industry. A proud tear welling in my eye, I watched his steed battle bravely past.

But my ‘joie de vivre’ was short lived. Imagine my audible gasp when, rounding the next corner, a hand protruded from yonder truck window and released a crisp packet from its hairy-knuckled grasp. Fluttering to the ground, it became on contact what can only be described as litter. Oh, what had I witnessed? Such wanton destruction of tarmac’s virgin purity! Panicked, I racked my reeling brain for a just and noble motivation.

A bold political statement, perhaps, or an act of heroic protest against ‘The Man’? Clearly it was designed to highlight the plight of the working class, or maintain the perpetual grubbiness of streets to safeguard jobs for future generations of sweepers. Though momentarily buoyed by this notion, I soon realised that an almost complete absence of placard-wielding protesters ruled out a political cause. Perhaps it was ‘Art’? I craned round, half expecting to spy a small group of aficionados, deep in meditative contemplation. But no.

A wise man once said, “When you remove the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth”. Thus was I left with the uncomfortable conclusion that our paragon of all that is street-sweeperish was not what he seemed. Perhaps he was a machiavellian genius bent on council district domination, or maybe his brain cell hadn’t grasped the subtle purpose of his job. Either way, he was not the driven idealist of my imagination. Another fragile dream falls, crushed and bloodied by the wayside.

Later that evening, eyes burning with salty tears, I ripped ‘Street Sweeping Heroes 2005′ from my bedroom wall and cast it into the fire. Unable to look away, I watched as Mr December was hungrily consumed, the orange flames licking across his jacket of fetching fluorescent yellow. Once a potent symbol of hope in adversity, such yellow shall remain to me forever tainted, redolent of betrayal and deceit. Shaking both with grief and fury, I turned from the hearth, my jaw set in grim determination. So began my search for a new form of spirituality, one free from the strictures of that accursed colour. Early research suggests the Dalai Lama prefers red of a cheery autumnal hue…

Drama on my doorstep…

Fyse December 13th, 2005

The sprawling behemoth of 21st century communication has brought footage of catastrophe across the world straight into our living rooms. Graphic images of cities ablaze are all too familiar, but through our televisions they seem thousands of miles away, and normally are. How strange it is, therefore, to step from my front door, look west, and see a huge pall of black smoke snaking high into the sky.

A small town I visit regularly making international headline news is pretty surreal, and there was something farcical and faintly comic about the caption ‘Live from Hemel Hempstead’. Dramatic footage, complete with breathless and over excited reporter, all from just down the road. The unfolding drama is brought even closer to home since anyone ringing the emergency information line tomorrow afternoon could well speak to my Mum. She works for the local council and volunteered to man the phones for a while, since many of the official ‘Emergencies Committee’ have been working round the clock since early Sunday morning.

I presume the events have made headlines the world over, so I wont bother with any details. The extent of the coverage was demonstrated earlier this evening when my parents received an email from a concerned friend in Mauritius. The last newsworthy event that I mentioned in my blog was probably the July 7th attacks in London, and thank goodness this one isn’t the same order of magnitude. Thus far there hasn’t been a single fatality, and it allows the pyromaniac in me to slightly appreciate the majesty of such a huge blaze. Reports are that the explosion measured 2.4 on the Richter scale, and was audible over a hundred miles away. At the time I was nearly 200 miles north, but knowing me would have slept straight through it anyway…

Vital precursors to actual work…

Fyse December 8th, 2005

I’ve spent the last couple of days engaged in preparation for revision. The capacious draw that was home to an entire term of physics notes has been emptied, and two large lever-arch files have been filled with sheaves of neatly punched paper. Five horrifically overdue library books have been returned, many of which had remained entirely unopened during their lengthy sojourn on my shelves. The lone book that inexplicably did not appear on the angry note from the librarian remained where it was. Nine new volumes were grabbed, whose titles suggested vague relevance, and a solemn vow was taken to make actual bone fide use of these books. I will also read my nicely ordered lecture notes at some point.

While my methodical filing was time consuming, I feel it will reap benefits in the long term, and I did stop short of completely blatant displacement activity. A medic friend of mine unpicked the staples of all his notes, placing each individual page in a separate plastic pocket, before organising them in colour coded files with matching dividers. A work of art it may have been, but fruitful use of time? I think not.

Tomorrow morning will be spent packing my stuff before my Dad collects me in the afternoon, then it’s off to visit grandparents for the weekend. It’s looking worryingly as though a new week will arrive before I start work properly. I have five and a half weeks till my exams, and a petrifying volume of work to cover. Long time readers may remember my letter after last year’s exams. Time for a re-read, and a reminder that it’s not too late IF I START NOW.

Pause in writing as fire alarm sounds and entire block convene for brief bitching session outside in rain and freezing cold.

I felt an irresistible compunction to write something before heading to bed tonight, and thus I’m still tapping away at nearly 2 am. The evening was spent happily diverted by a local pub quiz, in which we finished 2nd and won a large pitcher of beer. My friends discussed plans to meet tomorrow evening for home-made mince pies, gathered round an open fire in one of their living rooms. If only I were leaving on Friday instead…

Two shows? How did that happen?!

Fyse December 2nd, 2005

I’m a fourth year now, and as such it is more than time to take my work seriously. With this in mind, I auditioned for three musicals a while back. To compound my stupidity, I am now doing two of them.

I’m pretty excited, though. First up is ‘Singing in the Rain’ at the Arts Theatre. It’s the professional theatre in Cambridge, normally home to touring productions, but stages a few student shows each year. Not only is it another show at this great venue (after ‘Me and My Girl’ last year) but it’s also my first principal role. For anyone familiar with the film / show, I’m playing R F Simpson, the studio executive. I’m not yet sure how much singing and dancing it’ll entail, but it’s a hefty speaking role, and ought to be good fun. I only read the script for the first time today, so I’m not overly familiar with it all yet. Believe it or not, I’ve never even seen the film. (Though it has just found its way onto my Christmas DVD list.)

The second will take place at the student run ADC theatre, and is a chorus role in ‘South Pacific’. It’s a two week run at the end of Spring term, the latter half of which falls outside lectures. I’ve done shows in this slot twice before, and this time a huge number of my friends are involved in both production team and cast. I’m hoping I wont live to regret taking on two shows, but it’ll be too much fun to miss out on. It wont actually take up twice the amount of time, since I doubt I’ll attend more than a couple of ‘South Pacific’ rehearsals until the run of ‘Singing in the Rain’ is over. I just hope I can do myself justice in both productions, as well as avoid utter academic failure.

Anyway, that’s the big news from me at the moment. We had the first get together for SitR (as I shall henceforth refer to the show) and that’s just added to my sense of anticipation. Other than that, I handed in the plan for my research into bullfrog calls today and am suffering a sense of rising panic now I know the dates of my exams (16th-18th of January). There’s a lot of work to be done this vacation…

Christmas Dinner No. 3

Fyse December 1st, 2005

Aka ‘A dinner too far?’

As much as I still enjoyed this dinner, I did find myself struggling by the end. It’s not that I ate more, or consumed more alcohol. More that I altered the order somewhat, with most of the wine gone before main course. This was due mostly to another of Cambridge’s arcane rituals, known as ‘pennying’. The rules are too convoluted and long winded to enter into now, but involve flicking coins into wine glasses that then have to be drunk. It can occasionally lead to trouble.

The menu for this evening was identical to the accidental dinner of Sunday, but was every bit as good a second time. I’ll run through the list again, just for symmetry’s sake. This Christmas Dinner, I courageously consumed…

  • Minestrone soup
  • Roast turkey with roast potatoes, carrots, brussel sprouts, cranberry sauce, gravy, stuffing and pigs in blankets
  • Christmas pudding with brandy sauce (again x2, due to fussy friends. Their loss is my gain!)
  • Cheese and biscuits
  • Coffee and a mince pie

That ought to be my last Christmas Dinner until the proper thing, but perhaps I’ll make detailed description of meals a regular feature of my blog. Don’t worry, I’m not serious.