All I ever wanted to be.....

A week and a half ago, Lucy Mangan wrote volubly in the Guardian about a Christmas incident when she was a teenager where her father presented her and her sister each with a slice of hick chic all the way from Carolina when he was posted there for work. All in all, her description of the dressed-up lumber shirts had me in stitches (sic). However, funny as her column was, I could not touch base with Lucy – no one has ever presented me with a slice of backwoods’ bling. Next weekend, however, I squealed in empathy with Victoria Coren’s column in the Observer . Victoria gripes over how us women are supposed to appear at our most glamorous at the darkest, coldest, wettest or frostiest time of year, while the boys are permitted to stay snug as rug bugs in sensible suits and boots. Even as a child, I puzzled over the fashion spreads in December magazines; painted females in trip-me-up shoes and gold foil dresses that began somewhere just above the bosom and ended halfway down the thigh. In the time and place I spent my formative years, not even the average winter ensemble of wools and furry cottons prevented me from sporting the glorious accessory of a snuffly head cold on 25/12. No, I never was the fairy on top of the Christmas tree.

In memory of Jacintha Saldanha

When I heard of the telephone prank on the nurses at the King Edward VII hospital, I did not punch the air and laugh at the royals – no. Apparently, two well-paid broadcasters “down unda” had nothing better to do but attack hard-working, working-class people. In light of the latest news, I hope that they are proud of themselves and their fools’ project. Let me make one thing clear, I have no personal agenda in writing this. I have no ties with the medical profession, apart from having once had to spend a few days in hospital where I was very well cared for by the staff. They put up with my post-op groaning and moaning, grumbling and whingeing. Multiply that many times over, and I wonder why anyone, anywhere wants to nurse for a living. But still they do it. They put up with the hard labour and the low pay, the grumbling and groaning from people like me, the lifting and carrying, the phials of blood and other bodily fluids. In return, they are lampooned and trivialised, humbled and sent up in every possible way. A quick spot of Googling, and you can access millions of “naughty nurse” and “sexy nurse” outfits – yes, they are presented as sex maniacs, as well. How long will it take for us to see the truth, that the nurse is a highly-trained, hard-working professional? All I can do is extend my deepest sympathy to the family, friends and colleagues of the late Jacintha Saldanha.

Shocks, Chocs and Academics...

From the earliest age, my favourite television advertisements have always been that series where this good-looking guy risks life and limb (scaling walls, jumping out of helicopters, and so on) to bring a box of chocolates to his elegant girlfriend. When he finally does so, a voiceover says all because the lady loves Milk Tray… And that is the core of my valedictory speech when I finally stand on stage at the Swedish Academy. A study by Franz Mezzerli of Columbia University has established a link between high intelligence and commensurate chocolate consumption…OMG! There was I, pouring late o’nights over books and manuscripts, scribbling copy copiously when all I had to do was wolf the walnut whirls and make light of the lime barrels. Gone are all those agonies of guilt I suffered over my passion for praline and cravings for c-covered caramels…ah, me! If only Mezzerli had released his results sooner, I might have gotten the Famous Phone Call before now. But it’s never too late. Forget the Omega-3 and watch out for my forthcoming brand of Academic Chocolates; Nobel nougats, egghead orange creams and nutty professors….

Trouble in Utopia

Last night, between 11 pm and midnight, I watched the TV programme unfold. It was eerie to hear the words of the late Robert Hughes, remembering them as if he had spoken the day before and not three decades earlier. The shock that was new then still resonates today. Since, I have read much and written much more about the International Style and the Bauhaus, Le Corbusier and Mies van der Rohe, the Villa Savoie and the Unite d’Habitation. Maybe I have read the wrong books, but I have never since read a word about the architectural embarrassment that was La Defense. Little did I understand then of Hughes’s courage in airing the subject. The sight of those candy-coloured towers and the plight of those people staring out at the dismal concrete spaces in between, are still as moving now as they were then. If I remember, the dog whimpered and ran under the table. My late father covered his head with his hands and muttered an imprecation. Uncharacteristically, I silently thanked the Above (for the first and only time) for my having grown up in a “normal” suburban house. That sentiment didn’t last, but I have never forgotten the lesson learned; the difference between “stunning architecture” and basic, good housing. Since then, I have written much on the consequences of planners neglecting to turn space into place. I have lampooned the notion of building-as-lifestyle, the theme park, and the danger of erecting a habitation to express ideas rather than serve human needs. You can take man from the organic, but you can’t take the organic from the man. All this could not help the residents of La Defense, of course. I have every respect for Robert Hughes but as The Shock of the New drew to a close, then as now I felt regret that he didn’t talk to, didn’t talk onscreen to at least one of the humans caught in that modernist nightmare.

The Conservatory: All You Need to Know

Now that the government is relaxing the laws on building conservatories, I foresee a rush by homeowners to erect cages of aluminium and glass against a back or sidewall of their suburban bijoux. Conservatories do have a purpose; acting as a heat trap and preventing cold air from creeping into a house. They can be pleasant places to sit, and act as a focal point for daytime guests. Conservatories come in many sizes, shapes and styles. The most simple and utilitarian is the lean to, so-called because it leans against the house proper, like a toddler shadowing an adult. Incidentally, I grew up in a house that sported a lean to. On reaching maturity, I discovered that most conservatories are much greater in size and grander in function. The lantern is u-shaped, with its ‘proper’ roof capped and closed by a miniature roof…aaah…presumably the ‘lantern’ of its name. The Victorian has a jutting gable that apes the bay window of a house from that same period. The P-shape is a combo of said Victorian and lean to. The gable looks like a regular greenhouse, and most likely functions as one, too. The Georgian fans outwards from the house – fanlight, geddit? These are the main players on the conservatory stage. There are many more combos, mutations and permutations available. Several firms offer varying numbers of ‘facets’ in their Victorian and Georgian conservatories. Most manufacturers offer ultra modern, streamlined aluminium and glass affairs, but several offer more retro references. So, there you go….

Red-hot in Surrey....

Phew! I’m hot, I’m very hot. From morning to night, for the past five days, I have been slowly turning into a pile of H2O combined with perspired mineral. Well, not quite. My fingers are intact and still connected to my brain. Yes, there are a zillion ‘how to stay cool in steamy weather’, blogs out there. But moving into a Moorish-style palace complete with cooling tower is not an option for most of us. And I reckon that by the time you have purchased the fans and ice cube-filled plastic sacks, your anatomy has expended enough energy to power a mobile air conditioning unit. So, I’ve decided to sit tight and explore the virtues of those folk who routinely get steamed up for health reasons – that’s right, the Finns. The word ‘sauna’ is actually Finnish. Aeons ago, these clever people dug pits in the ground and used them as winter dwellings. They lit fires that heated stones, and sprinkled water on the stones to make the living space warm enough to shed their clothes. Slapping with birch twigs happened later on, when the sauna and the living space had parted company. But even in the earlier days, the Finns were smart enough to know that it was not good to keep one’s clothes on for the duration of their harsh winters. And they were certainly aware of the therapeutic effects of mild, artificially-induced fevers, skin-cleansing and raising the body’s immune system against viruses – it can’t be a coincidence that we get fewer colds in summer than in winter. They have another custom, that of jumping into an ice-cold lake afterwards. I will explore that one day. Meanwhile, enjoy the balmy, end-of-summer days.

Life on Mars...

...at last. Curiosity has landed without a hitch and has even tweeted its outcome…aah! Congratulations to all at NASA. At this juncture, I am going to refer to Curiosity as she. The craft is named after the human quality that we consider particularly female. Just think of Eve and Pandora, Psyche and Lot’s wife. There has been a lot of criticism levelled at the voyage, chiefly that it has cost a lot of money, and what is the purpose of it, anyway? But is there anything female about curiosity? Curiosity on Earth got us out of trees and into caves, from caves into skyscrapers. Curiosity on Mars will remind us constantly that there is another world out there. It will remind us that we are not here to stew in our own earthly juices for as long as our species survives. I look forward to all the discoveries that that cutie little buggy is going to beam back. You know, if this were a movie, Curiosity would meet a machine from another world, fall in love and produce an entire family of hybrid Curiosity-type machines…aah! Cue David Bowie..