I've been doing a bit of writing - since having a baby in September, I've been THINKING a lot about writing, but not doing a whole lot of it. Apart from about cloth nappies on another blog of mine. I've written a LOT about cloth nappies.
Anyway. I heard about this Friday Fiction Challenge thing where you use a photo to inspire a 200 word story. I've never written short stories and I don't really read them - it just isn't a genre I feel comfortable in at all: I enjoy unspooling things over chapters (that I never actually write). But this feels doable - it's flexing my creativity and making me write. Two things I really want/need.
The baby and I go swimming on Fridays at 1pm and after that he tends to sleep his ass off so it's a good time to do a writing challenge. But we shall see how long I stick to it :)
Friday, January 22, 2016
Thursday, April 10, 2014
True McConaughey
I was watching True Detective the other night. Third episode. Maybe fourth. And I realised that:
1) I did not have a fricking clue WHAT was going on.
2) I was probably going to switch off.
3) McConaughey's done what most people say but is actually impossible: disappeared so far up inside his own arse he cannot - CANNOT - see the light.
There used to be a time when Matthew McConaughey could be relied upon to regularly serve up charming, romantically challenged losers who find redemption via a ghost/a very slim woman/to all-intents-and-purposes a hooker hired by his parents. He woo-ed his adoring lady fanbase with his cheeky smile/bo-deeeee and turned up at premiers with his hair in all kinds of nonsense.
I'll have to admit I wasn't a fan of his romance films - he was brilliantly charming in Time To Kill - but I liked him and the little spark he bought to the screen.
What McConaughey did not do was method.
But then, someone showed a bit of interest in Mud and BANG the real McConaughey Show hit the road. Instead of a amusing charmbox, we've got a lizardy, humourless, self-lauding moron who thinks that if he says enough stuff with enough loaded pauses and a finger raised in the air, SOME of it's going to make sense.
I haven't seen Dallas Buyer's Club yet but I have seen Wolf and his cameo is great because it's funny and Matthew McConaughey keeps his top on and has mannequin hair. I have no issue with the roles he's playing or the fact that he's doing them well. I have an issue with the fact that now people are taking him seriously he has to take himself seriously. I mean that's no fun at all. The guy made Ghosts of Girlfriends Past for God's sake: this dude is no Nobel Prize winner.
But he has won an Oscar.
And now we all have to know that McConaughey is an actor.
A sssserious actor.
His speeches throughout the Awards Season went from very sweet - his son told him he wouldn't win - to eye rolling - referencing his wife 'she told me: You get out there McConaughey. You get out there My King.' and the little nod to Jesus. To the hilarious Oscar's speech where he revealed his hero is ... him in a few years.
Which, when you think about it, isn't deep or cool. It's basically what people say after they've read a self-help book.
Which brings me back to True Detective. Now I KNOW that McConnaughey is NOT Rusty. He's playing a role. But the way he plays this makes me feel like he's really, fucking loving it. And that, boy, he wishes he could think half as deep as him. Rusty's scenes are so ponderous and pretentious I genuinely can't bring myself to pay any attention during them. He's self-satisfied and smug but, even worse, he's talking monkey nuts. He's not cool. He's not smart. He's the epitome of every single basement-dwelling Internet Troll, emerging from the bottom of his mother's house to spray his contrived nonsense all over the naive, non-thinking world. It's just so fucking annoying to watch - SAYING THE WORLD IS SHIT AND EVERYONE DIES IS NOT AN INDICATION OF A DEPTH. No matter how many Camels you get through in 10 minutes or how little you care about your hair.
What Rusty's ramblings are is boring. But they're delivered in a way that we're supposed to think: wow, can that fucked-up cop think. And ever wow-er, can that boy act.
Maybe somewhere, deep down inside, McConnaughey: The Fun is still in there. He's not morphed into this odd vainglorious dude lacking in any sense of humour. Because that drawly, cocky, charming schtick was what made him watchable, made him different, made him ... McConnaughey. To modify, I understand, but to lose all together is a crime.
However, while we're on True Detective while I DO NOT like Rusty or his endless preaching, I DO like Woody's 1990s hair. I think he should go with it. It definitely beats his Hamish-Do.
1) I did not have a fricking clue WHAT was going on.
2) I was probably going to switch off.
3) McConaughey's done what most people say but is actually impossible: disappeared so far up inside his own arse he cannot - CANNOT - see the light.
There used to be a time when Matthew McConaughey could be relied upon to regularly serve up charming, romantically challenged losers who find redemption via a ghost/a very slim woman/to all-intents-and-purposes a hooker hired by his parents. He woo-ed his adoring lady fanbase with his cheeky smile/bo-deeeee and turned up at premiers with his hair in all kinds of nonsense. I'll have to admit I wasn't a fan of his romance films - he was brilliantly charming in Time To Kill - but I liked him and the little spark he bought to the screen.
What McConaughey did not do was method.
But then, someone showed a bit of interest in Mud and BANG the real McConaughey Show hit the road. Instead of a amusing charmbox, we've got a lizardy, humourless, self-lauding moron who thinks that if he says enough stuff with enough loaded pauses and a finger raised in the air, SOME of it's going to make sense.
I haven't seen Dallas Buyer's Club yet but I have seen Wolf and his cameo is great because it's funny and Matthew McConaughey keeps his top on and has mannequin hair. I have no issue with the roles he's playing or the fact that he's doing them well. I have an issue with the fact that now people are taking him seriously he has to take himself seriously. I mean that's no fun at all. The guy made Ghosts of Girlfriends Past for God's sake: this dude is no Nobel Prize winner.
But he has won an Oscar.
And now we all have to know that McConaughey is an actor.
A sssserious actor.
His speeches throughout the Awards Season went from very sweet - his son told him he wouldn't win - to eye rolling - referencing his wife 'she told me: You get out there McConaughey. You get out there My King.' and the little nod to Jesus. To the hilarious Oscar's speech where he revealed his hero is ... him in a few years.
Which, when you think about it, isn't deep or cool. It's basically what people say after they've read a self-help book.
Which brings me back to True Detective. Now I KNOW that McConnaughey is NOT Rusty. He's playing a role. But the way he plays this makes me feel like he's really, fucking loving it. And that, boy, he wishes he could think half as deep as him. Rusty's scenes are so ponderous and pretentious I genuinely can't bring myself to pay any attention during them. He's self-satisfied and smug but, even worse, he's talking monkey nuts. He's not cool. He's not smart. He's the epitome of every single basement-dwelling Internet Troll, emerging from the bottom of his mother's house to spray his contrived nonsense all over the naive, non-thinking world. It's just so fucking annoying to watch - SAYING THE WORLD IS SHIT AND EVERYONE DIES IS NOT AN INDICATION OF A DEPTH. No matter how many Camels you get through in 10 minutes or how little you care about your hair.
What Rusty's ramblings are is boring. But they're delivered in a way that we're supposed to think: wow, can that fucked-up cop think. And ever wow-er, can that boy act.
Maybe somewhere, deep down inside, McConnaughey: The Fun is still in there. He's not morphed into this odd vainglorious dude lacking in any sense of humour. Because that drawly, cocky, charming schtick was what made him watchable, made him different, made him ... McConnaughey. To modify, I understand, but to lose all together is a crime.
However, while we're on True Detective while I DO NOT like Rusty or his endless preaching, I DO like Woody's 1990s hair. I think he should go with it. It definitely beats his Hamish-Do.
Thursday, February 13, 2014
My Favourite Moments With Friends
Continuing on from the One Where I Talked About Things I Liked That Happened In Friends, these are my favourite moments with Friends.
Meeting Friends
At 9pm every Wednesday night in the years 1995-1996, me and Sarah J would crowd onto Graham's bed in the attic of their Wake Road student house where I spent most of my first year in Sheffield. We'd pile in with a couple of bottles of the cheapest red wine we could find, loads of fags and a pizza for, first, ER then Friends. In the days before catch-up TV and cheap video boxsets (this was before even DVDs, man) if you wanted to see something, you either had to watch it then and there or video it. I didn't have a VCR so if I missed it, I wouldn't see it (it was repeated on Friday nights, but I was at Stardust at the Union on Friday nights (equally, not to be missed) so ...). Oh ... the count downs to our Wednesday nights on Graham's bed were electric.
And then: 'What? Oh: no, you just rolled over the juicebox'. 'Thank God!' Perfection.
Kensal Rise and Portobello Road with Friends
Lying in bed with Sarah G for hours with disgusting hangovers, choking our way through packets of 10 Silk Cut/ML, eating beans on toast and watching endless episodes of Friends, still really laughing at the jokes, even though, by then, we knew them off by heart.
Sarah's got a real belly laugh and she's not afraid to use it - so I always think of her really laughing when I see bits she particularly liked: The Routine; 'it tastes like feet', 'Pivot!' and Joey being forced to dance by Ross at his failed wedding to Emily.
Being dumped with Friends
One particular loser who I was so much better than but had managed to wheedle his way into my affections for no other reason than he said he wanted to introduce me to his mum, chucked me in our local pub after a week of radio silence. We all know how horrendous radio silence followed by a 'we need to talk' contact followed by a 'it's not you, it's me' on a SUNDAY NIGHT can be. I remember sobbing my way home in the rain along West Norwood High Street. Friends filled the rest of that particular Long Night Of The Dumped and kept my pitiful weeping to a more manageable level of hysteria.
Jetlagged with Friends
When Rob and I came back from our honeymoon in LA, we had to move straight into the spare room as we were having our ensuite put in (I know). The spare bed was old and small, the mattress so sleep-worn it had a divot down the middle in which you had no choice but to both sleep. Jetlag, coupled with the fact we were basically conjoined by sweat in that divot meant we were awake most of the night. At three am, Rob went downstairs, made a plate of Marmite on toast and two steaming mugs of tea and we watched Friends in the dark until we finally fell asleep.
Bliss.
Crushing the pretenders with Friends
When I first started working at the Globe, I had no idea I was walking into a den of secret Friends fans. But, as my time there wore on, they slowly, but surely slunk from the woodwork. At first it was just Clare and Rathers who tentatively invited me into their Friends cave, taking care that I was no Friends fool with cryptic tests and obscure asides. Once I'd passed, I cannot tell you how AMAZING it was to have a detailed email analysis of why Emily was such an annoying character. Or highlight a character contradiction - ie: in Season 7 Ross is exposed for not liking ice-cream because it's too cold and it hurts his teeth but au-contraire! he does like the cream of ice in Season 2.
Then, others began to suggest that they, too, were Friends super fans. Oh, really? We suggested a Friends quiz night. The entire Education department signed up. Everyone had to come as a supporting character - there were teams of Richards, Janices, Days of Our Lives doctors and my team - Rathers, Clare and the lovely Georghia who had heard of Friends - went as Three Chicks and A Duck (a hy-larious play on The One With Five Steaks and An Eggplant and ... well, the chick and duck).
We all wrote questions so that it was fair (of course, our masterful quiz-master made sure we didn't get any of our own so there really was no cheating). Naturally, Three Chicks and A Duck won the Geller Cup and, while the bitterness was evident about some of the less sportsmanlly players, it was our gauntlet that was thrown - they were the fools who picked it up.
To this day Three Chicks and A Duck retain the Geller Cup (in a drawer upstairs, away from my husband's desperate-to-chuck-it-out hands).
What are yours?
Meeting Friends
At 9pm every Wednesday night in the years 1995-1996, me and Sarah J would crowd onto Graham's bed in the attic of their Wake Road student house where I spent most of my first year in Sheffield. We'd pile in with a couple of bottles of the cheapest red wine we could find, loads of fags and a pizza for, first, ER then Friends. In the days before catch-up TV and cheap video boxsets (this was before even DVDs, man) if you wanted to see something, you either had to watch it then and there or video it. I didn't have a VCR so if I missed it, I wouldn't see it (it was repeated on Friday nights, but I was at Stardust at the Union on Friday nights (equally, not to be missed) so ...). Oh ... the count downs to our Wednesday nights on Graham's bed were electric.
And then: 'What? Oh: no, you just rolled over the juicebox'. 'Thank God!' Perfection.
Lying in bed with Sarah G for hours with disgusting hangovers, choking our way through packets of 10 Silk Cut/ML, eating beans on toast and watching endless episodes of Friends, still really laughing at the jokes, even though, by then, we knew them off by heart.
Sarah's got a real belly laugh and she's not afraid to use it - so I always think of her really laughing when I see bits she particularly liked: The Routine; 'it tastes like feet', 'Pivot!' and Joey being forced to dance by Ross at his failed wedding to Emily.
Being dumped with Friends
One particular loser who I was so much better than but had managed to wheedle his way into my affections for no other reason than he said he wanted to introduce me to his mum, chucked me in our local pub after a week of radio silence. We all know how horrendous radio silence followed by a 'we need to talk' contact followed by a 'it's not you, it's me' on a SUNDAY NIGHT can be. I remember sobbing my way home in the rain along West Norwood High Street. Friends filled the rest of that particular Long Night Of The Dumped and kept my pitiful weeping to a more manageable level of hysteria.
Jetlagged with Friends
When Rob and I came back from our honeymoon in LA, we had to move straight into the spare room as we were having our ensuite put in (I know). The spare bed was old and small, the mattress so sleep-worn it had a divot down the middle in which you had no choice but to both sleep. Jetlag, coupled with the fact we were basically conjoined by sweat in that divot meant we were awake most of the night. At three am, Rob went downstairs, made a plate of Marmite on toast and two steaming mugs of tea and we watched Friends in the dark until we finally fell asleep.
Bliss.
 |
| Barely able to contain myself beside the effortlessly cool Rob |
When I first started working at the Globe, I had no idea I was walking into a den of secret Friends fans. But, as my time there wore on, they slowly, but surely slunk from the woodwork. At first it was just Clare and Rathers who tentatively invited me into their Friends cave, taking care that I was no Friends fool with cryptic tests and obscure asides. Once I'd passed, I cannot tell you how AMAZING it was to have a detailed email analysis of why Emily was such an annoying character. Or highlight a character contradiction - ie: in Season 7 Ross is exposed for not liking ice-cream because it's too cold and it hurts his teeth but au-contraire! he does like the cream of ice in Season 2.
Then, others began to suggest that they, too, were Friends super fans. Oh, really? We suggested a Friends quiz night. The entire Education department signed up. Everyone had to come as a supporting character - there were teams of Richards, Janices, Days of Our Lives doctors and my team - Rathers, Clare and the lovely Georghia who had heard of Friends - went as Three Chicks and A Duck (a hy-larious play on The One With Five Steaks and An Eggplant and ... well, the chick and duck).
We all wrote questions so that it was fair (of course, our masterful quiz-master made sure we didn't get any of our own so there really was no cheating). Naturally, Three Chicks and A Duck won the Geller Cup and, while the bitterness was evident about some of the less sportsmanlly players, it was our gauntlet that was thrown - they were the fools who picked it up.
To this day Three Chicks and A Duck retain the Geller Cup (in a drawer upstairs, away from my husband's desperate-to-chuck-it-out hands).
 |
| The Original |
 |
| The Best |
Wednesday, February 12, 2014
10 Favourite Friends Moments
A few weeks ago a lovely fellow Friend-ite of mine sent me a link to this - it's a zinging attack on the terrible legacy of Friends by someone who sees it as the root cause of all evil in our world. According to this sparky little fella, Friends is, amongst other things, the reason why people place pretentious coffee orders, why men hit on women all the time and made neurotic behaviour acceptable.
High praise indeed for a little sit-com.
Friends isn't everyone's cup of tea (or coffee which, if my memory serves me correctly, is probably about as complex an order the Friends cast ever really give. Maybe a muffin.), but it's definitely mine. It's unfailingly upbeat, it has strong, generally believable and clearly flawed characters and it handles tough subjects - infertility and death - with a light but effective touch.
There are hundreds that I could list here, but here are my top ten moments (today's version, anyway) from Friends, in no particular order:
10: Ross & Rachel's first kiss
This was the first episode I ever watched and I really belly-laughed at this. The timing of Ross's collision with the dryer door is just perfect.
09: Ross finds out about Chandler & Monica
Again, the timing on this is brilliant. It shunted 'My sandwich' by a nose.
08: The others find out about Chandler & Monica
But I couldn't have Ross finding out without these two:
Pheobe on perfect form:
And so's Joey:
07: Pheobe singing along to Ross's bagpipes
06: Mike's fake piano
05: Ross made out with the school librarian
There's also the amazing scene where Brad Pitt goes to high-five Ross when he tells him that he got Rachel pregnant and isn't going to marry her. GENIUS.
04: Mike & Ross's awkward night
03: You just rolled over the juicebox
02: Pivot! Pivot!
01: This is Vikram
Tied with:
01: I got off the plane
What's yours?
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
What Friends Means To Me: A Mildly Embarrassing Confessional
(Which means I am old.)
 |
| Me: geeking out INTENSELY on-set |
So I came to Friends late, by that sense. It was introduced to me, instead, the next year when I was at university in Sheffield and Channel 4 began playing the first season on Wednesday nights - right after ER. Then, when I only had four channels to deal with, I was able to get into it.
Now, I can't imagine my life without Friends.
Oh, don't worry. I'm well aware of how tragic that sounds. I'm 38 for God's sake. And a lot of what I've written here could possibly get me sectioned, but it's hard to write about how much a TV show means to you without sounding a bit mental.
So here goes:
I was 19 when I first started watching Friends and I really haven't stopped. It's been a constant in my life for the past 19 years. At every high and low, Friends has been there.
 |
| Me: geeking out AGAIN on the corner of Grove & Bedford, NY |
Friends has had such a positive impact on my life. Contrary to what may be inferred from this post, it's not replaced real friends, but enhanced those friendships I make. I've honestly made friends-for-life through the mutual understanding of an obscure Friends quote - 'front and back!' ... 'but you left' ... 'Cups and ice'.
It bonded me to two of my best friends - Sarah 1 at Uni who introduced me to it, and Sarah 2, my flatmate in London who I introduced it to, leaving her with my Season 5 Video Boxset on a Saturday morning and finding her in the same position that night having watched the entire season in one sitting. From then on, getting a brand-new season box-set of Friends was the absolute HIGHLIGHT of our year, man! And when we moved into a new flat, my full-season set of Friends videos filled an entire kitchen cabinet.
My beloved (at the time) boyfriend dumped me the night after the final ever episode of Friends. It was like two eras ending and I felt as bereft of one as I did of the other. But with Friends, I could go right back to the beginning and start again - with Joey in his leather waistcoat and Monica and Rachel's high-waisted jeans. I have split up with a lo-ooo-ot of men and Friends has held my hand through long, weeping nights. I've had some sad things happen and during the worst parts, it was the only thing I could have on the TV. The comfort is in its reliability, that I know what's coming and I know I'll enjoy it. I've found that when I'm happy, I need Friends less - when things are tougher, I come back to it. Like crack, I suppose ...
And, I think, that's the basic fact - I enjoy Friends. I just do. It gives me 22 minutes where I can relax, regroup and enjoy myself.
And there's so nothing wrong with that.
Friday, January 24, 2014
GQ Cool Issue - Idris Elba
Because nothing says Cool like a drunk rent boy.
Poor Idris. Someone at GQ hates you.
Poor Idris. Someone at GQ hates you.
Tuesday, June 04, 2013
FILM: The Shrew v The Goofball
I’ve been thinking a lot recently about women in film. Not film-makers and not independent film-making but women in Hollywood film – the ones that bring in the big bucks. And I’ve been wondering a lot about why men can’t seem to make a film that shows a woman as a … well, woman.
But perhaps I’m wrong …
Perhaps it's not that the women are being presented wrongly. Perhaps it's the notion of Who Is What in a film that we need to talk about.
Perhaps it's not that the women are being presented wrongly. Perhaps it's the notion of Who Is What in a film that we need to talk about.
During the promotion for Knocked Up – a film I liked a lot – it's lead female star, Katherine Heigl, made this comment:
"It paints the women as shrews, as humorless and uptight, and it paints the men as lovable, goofy, fun-loving guys. It exaggerated the characters, and I had a hard time with it, on some days. I'm playing such a bitch; why is she being such a killjoy? Why is this how you're portraying women? Ninety-eight percent of the time it was an amazing experience, but it was hard for me to love the movie."
The result is that neither her co-star Seth Rogan or director Judd Apatow have spoken to her since. In fact, Rogan dismissed her comments as 'batshit crazy' when he was asked about her on the Howard Stern Show a couple of years ago.
Which is where the problem lies.
Because it's simply ridiculous to dismiss what Heigl says just because it could be construed as a criticism of your film. It's not. It's an observation. Heigl has a reputation of speaking her mind and it's had an impact on her career. But that doesn't mean that what she says here isn't worthy of wider consideration.
Because it's impossible to ignore that what Heigl says about the women in this film is true: Knocked Up DOES portrays its women as 'shrews ... humorless and uptight' whilst its men are 'lovable, goofy, fun-loving'? Her high-acheiving character's just been landed with the child of an unemployed stoner - she's not going to be playing for laughs at that point in her life.
Katherine's Alison is not the fun one. Rogan's Ben's the fun one: a loser stumbling around trying to do the right thing. Ben's the one you root for, not Alison who could - quite frankly - do it on her own anyway.
Batshit crazy, then? Not at all.
Because it's simply ridiculous to dismiss what Heigl says just because it could be construed as a criticism of your film. It's not. It's an observation. Heigl has a reputation of speaking her mind and it's had an impact on her career. But that doesn't mean that what she says here isn't worthy of wider consideration.
Because it's impossible to ignore that what Heigl says about the women in this film is true: Knocked Up DOES portrays its women as 'shrews ... humorless and uptight' whilst its men are 'lovable, goofy, fun-loving'? Her high-acheiving character's just been landed with the child of an unemployed stoner - she's not going to be playing for laughs at that point in her life.
Katherine's Alison is not the fun one. Rogan's Ben's the fun one: a loser stumbling around trying to do the right thing. Ben's the one you root for, not Alison who could - quite frankly - do it on her own anyway.
Batshit crazy, then? Not at all.
But these two characters being so different and, in some ways, unappealing isn't wrong. It's one of the basic devices of comedy: two people who shouldn't get along trying to get along. It's not about women being one thing or men another. Putting your characters into awkward situations is how you make your audience laugh. If it were two goof-balls or two uptight shrews, it'd be whole different story. For the odd couple premise to work you need one straight guy and one funny guy. Great comedy pairings are all about this.
Conveniently enough, The Odd Couple is a great example of this.
Jack Lemmon's Felix is Heigl's uptight shrew. Constantly cleaning up and complaining about Walter Mattau's Oscar's disgusting goofball lifestyle - just as Alison is appalled by Ben's. It's funny because Felix is Walter's friend and the friendship they have is suddenly put under strain by their living arrangements.
In Tina Fey's under-rated Baby Mama (maybe the name didn't help and the trailers ...guh) Tina's Kate is anal about her beautiful home and protective of her successful career in organic living. Amy Poehler's rough-and-ready Angie is all about junk-food, crappy computer games and general loafing. The humour comes from them trying to live together.
Even Dumb & Dumber pitched Jeff as the straight guy to Harry.
Conveniently enough, The Odd Couple is a great example of this.
Jack Lemmon's Felix is Heigl's uptight shrew. Constantly cleaning up and complaining about Walter Mattau's Oscar's disgusting goofball lifestyle - just as Alison is appalled by Ben's. It's funny because Felix is Walter's friend and the friendship they have is suddenly put under strain by their living arrangements.
In Tina Fey's under-rated Baby Mama (maybe the name didn't help and the trailers ...guh) Tina's Kate is anal about her beautiful home and protective of her successful career in organic living. Amy Poehler's rough-and-ready Angie is all about junk-food, crappy computer games and general loafing. The humour comes from them trying to live together.
Even Dumb & Dumber pitched Jeff as the straight guy to Harry.
The reason why I'm talking about this, though, isn't because it's not 'right' to have a shrew and a goofball as your main protagonists. My problem is that, in commercial Hollywood, the shrew is persisting That while either one in a comedy pairing can be the funny guy, the laughs are consistently going to the goofball man. That's what Heigl was alluding to. That's what we should all be thinking about: is the theme of men and women in comedy not updating itself to reflect more modern attitudes?
Or is it that simply no-one can quite believe that women are funny enough to carry it?
Friday, May 24, 2013
GENERAL: Spam Comments
I get a lot of spam comments on my blog but I have to say that THIS is my all time favourite.
It feels a lot like my brain when I make myself sit in front of the computer with nothing to say.
I especially like 'anal acrobata pattycake' - I'm pretty sure a friend of mine had that once.
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It feels a lot like my brain when I make myself sit in front of the computer with nothing to say.
I especially like 'anal acrobata pattycake' - I'm pretty sure a friend of mine had that once.
wrecking ball tattoo removal cream pot pourri manga nymphet teen rapidshare great hard core porn video clips young indians sandy latina jordana brewster nude video hollywood sex movie fishnet porn rar megaupload kentucky sports radio matt jones helicopter video puma swede sex sexy stories into urdu birds of prey pictures guy laroche mens shirts she male ginger tube fuck women bodybuilder puffy african nipples tube8 anal acrobata pattycake online fully nude
FILMS: The Two Types of Women (according to Bromances)
Do not even get me STARTED on this:
I can only assume Grown Ups 2's subtitle is Men Rule! Women: Not So Much.
I haven't seen it. I mean, if I wanted to watch a bunch of privileged men shirking their responsibilities and being dicks all day, I'd watch Parliament TV. But those WOMEN. My GOD. Those moany old sows being all annoyed at their fun-loving fellas. Poor men.
I'm guessing that film shares the same depth of female character development plumbed by THIS doozie:
It's a funny-ish film. I like Zac Gallaifliifjakis. I don't like how they leave their friend roasting on top of an hotel and I don't like the mess they leave behind.
But what I don't like the MOST is how they show women. Yeah it's a bromance. I get that. Women aren't going to feature heavily and that's fine. But at least put some THOUGHT into those you do choose to feature. There's more to being a woman than being really, really nice and really, really horrible. I know. SHOCKER.
First off Ed Helm's fiance is just despicable. She's mean-spirited, spoiled and generally a complete fucking bitch.
But what's this? A cute little lady who's super good fun but also happens to be an 'escort'?
Oh PURLEASE. These are the laziest depictions of women in a film EVER. It's like the writers have only seen two films: Porky's and Porky's 2.
I have absolutely no doubt that this is exactly how the character discussions for these two went:
'Right. So that's all the guys done. I guess we should look at the women.'
'God, I am dying for a drink. We've been in here for eight hours.'
'Five more minutes, guys. That's all.'
'Okaaay.'
'So Stu's going to marry this woman. But when he's in Vegas he gets drunk and ends up with someone completely different. What do you think?'
'Hey. I know. Let's make his fiance a complete bitch so that everyone hates her and no-one feels sorry for her when Stu jilts her on her wedding day.'
'Genius! And we can have the other woman as an exotic dancer who may, or may not, be a hooker! But she's super sweet and innocent and only does it for cash for her baby.'
'I think we've nailed it fellas. Margaraitas back at mine?'
'I'll bring the blender!'
And the most depressing thing about it all is that Heather Graham looks so HAPPY about it.
GET SOME FUCKING IMAGINATION, WRITERS!
I can only assume Grown Ups 2's subtitle is Men Rule! Women: Not So Much.
I haven't seen it. I mean, if I wanted to watch a bunch of privileged men shirking their responsibilities and being dicks all day, I'd watch Parliament TV. But those WOMEN. My GOD. Those moany old sows being all annoyed at their fun-loving fellas. Poor men.
I'm guessing that film shares the same depth of female character development plumbed by THIS doozie:
But what I don't like the MOST is how they show women. Yeah it's a bromance. I get that. Women aren't going to feature heavily and that's fine. But at least put some THOUGHT into those you do choose to feature. There's more to being a woman than being really, really nice and really, really horrible. I know. SHOCKER.
First off Ed Helm's fiance is just despicable. She's mean-spirited, spoiled and generally a complete fucking bitch.
But what's this? A cute little lady who's super good fun but also happens to be an 'escort'?
Oh PURLEASE. These are the laziest depictions of women in a film EVER. It's like the writers have only seen two films: Porky's and Porky's 2.
I have absolutely no doubt that this is exactly how the character discussions for these two went:
'Right. So that's all the guys done. I guess we should look at the women.'
'God, I am dying for a drink. We've been in here for eight hours.'
'Five more minutes, guys. That's all.'
'Okaaay.'
'So Stu's going to marry this woman. But when he's in Vegas he gets drunk and ends up with someone completely different. What do you think?'
'Hey. I know. Let's make his fiance a complete bitch so that everyone hates her and no-one feels sorry for her when Stu jilts her on her wedding day.'
'Genius! And we can have the other woman as an exotic dancer who may, or may not, be a hooker! But she's super sweet and innocent and only does it for cash for her baby.'
'I think we've nailed it fellas. Margaraitas back at mine?'
'I'll bring the blender!'
And the most depressing thing about it all is that Heather Graham looks so HAPPY about it.
GET SOME FUCKING IMAGINATION, WRITERS!
Thursday, May 16, 2013
FILM: STAR TREK - INTO DARKNESS - where have all the women gone?
Last night I watched its sequel, Into Darkness, and was not disappointed. Even more exciting with the fabulous Benedict Cumberbatch (Cumberbunch in our house, I just.can't.say.it) in all kinds of brilliant villainy. I love his journey from the snivelling toad on Starter for Ten to an action star who has, and I take no pride in saying this, a really sexy run. I know. I am SO predictable.
Anyway. Yes: yes, great film, great visuals, good story, good dialogue (although Bones is reduced to a vehicle for dour one-liners, lurking in the background of adrenaline-filled scenes with all the warmth and likeability of a Tory back bencher opening a new state school in Streatham), great sets and nice looking people.
I really enjoyed it.
BUT.
But.
The film is set in the early/mid 2200s and while there are women at a ratio of about 75/25 (men/women) in the worker ranks of Star Fleet, elsewhere it appears that the strides in the workplace that women have taken over the past fifty years clearly stalled somewhere around 2100.
It was only a short part of the film, and the second bit I mention was seriously nip-to-the-loo-and-you've-missed-it.
BUT
One of the key early scenes, where all the commanders, admirals, basically all the big cheeses in Star Fleet, are called for a summit, the members of the meeting are almost entirely male.
Seriously? In 200 years, women still aren't in those top jobs?
The only woman at the table was this Vulcan woman.
I may be being a cynic but she's good ten years younger than the rest of the old farts around that table (apart from Kirk because, natch, he's like some boy wonder). She also appears in the second Big Cheese Meeting again, surrounded by even more gouty-looking colleagues. Maybe she's a stellar candidate - maybe she's a female Kirk. Which would be awesome.
But I doubt that's what JJ Abrams had in mind when he cast for Big Cheeses. But even if he did. Even if this spunky young woman is another wunderkind, just the one? One woman on that table was enough? It bothers me so much that no-one thought that the current male-dominated Top Tables may have changed in 200 years. That alongside the puffed up male generals and admirals, there might be an equally puffed up female general or admiral with years and experience and authority under her belt. A woman who might also have earned their place at that table through skill at leading, inspiring, strategizing and all the other kinds of 'ings' Big Cheeses need to have shown. God forbid more than one.
I know it's a TINY part of the story, but isn't it a little narrow-minded to completely overlook the fact that women are becoming increasingly more present in the board room and in the military? Not as much as they should, but it is growing. How amazing would it have been if JJ Abrams (or his casting agents, both of whom were women ....) had decided to acknowledge this trend of equality and just put a few women in there. Not loads. Not even a 50/50 split. Just some.
I don't know. Maybe the women in Star Fleet struggle to climb the Corporate Ladder because they're stuck in these outfits.
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The sight of Carol climbing into a shuttle whilst trying to maintain some kind of gusset-free dignity really underlined the impracticality of the female uniforms. Women don't travel in them: they wear grey jumpsuits (I mistyped that originally as jumpshits which is AWESOME) just like their male colleagues. And Uhulu changed into something far more practical - TROUSERS - for her assault on the Klingons.
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This clearly indicates to me that those mini-dresses are nowhere near as practical for the business of space travel as they look. And don't even get me started on the sorts of havoc to be wreaked on the back of a bare thigh during a long shift on a plastic chair in a skirt that short ...
I mean, look how uncomfortable Zoe Saldana looks in this shot as she relaxes with her colleagues:
Isn't it about time that, with such a brilliant renaissance of a dated brand, that women were included in the redux too? I mean, Uhulu's a great female character with all sorts of power - more of her would be wonderful. But I was suspicious of physics doctor Carol who just seemed too young and beautiful to be who she said. And rightly so because this is what Abrams thought of her:
It's not enough to have female characters with outstanding abilities in translation and physics when you diminish them like that. It's not good enough to make your female characters everything: it's not good enough to make them doctors with great racks. That is not what being a modern woman is about.
A successful and inspiring woman is exactly the same kind of person as a successful and inspiring man. She doesn't need a bloody washboard stomach and tits up to here to be good at what she does. (unless she's a model, natch)
Bones. Scotty. Chekov. Sulu.
You don't see them in their skivvies but their knowledge and skills make them key characters. Carol's some kind of physics genius but Abrams has also chosen to give her a smoking bikini bod. WHY HASN'T THE WORLD OF 2250 MOVED ON FROM THIS POSITION? God, it depresses me that my great, great, great, great granddaughter will be facing the self-same bollocks I currently ignore. According to Abrams, anyway.
Just because Abrams and his production crew are trying to stay true to the original 1960s design, does that include attitudes to women. If a male black character had been depicted as intellectually inferior or a Jewish character as greedy would they have stuck to those hideous out-dated stereotypes? Just because the women were basically sexed up phone operators in the original series, doesn't mean that the women in the new films have to continue to be beholden to those dated attitudes of objectification and simplification.
This is a Sci-Fi film for a whole new generation of girls, and it's a good, powerful, fun film. It's just such a shame JJ Abrams missed the trick that women have come further than space travel since Star Trek first aired. Maybe next time he'll put one bright old admiral broad amongst all those farts on the Big Cheese Board and one bright young woman may be inspired to boldly go where no man has gone before ...
Friday, May 10, 2013
TELLY: THE APPRENTICE
I am SO excited because The Apprentice is back. It really is the only thing on TV I actually remember to watch - apart from Homeland and ... well, Homeland, really.
The first two episodes have been that heart-racing mix of hilarious stupidity and outright nob-ending and I LOVE IT.
Two things are already standing out for me:
1. Why are most of the girls dressed like they're auditioning for a Business Lady Stripper role? Have I missed something or can you not be taken seriously as a woman in business unless you wear six inch fuck-me heels and do your hair like Katie Price? They're attractive women, but they looked like dolls sitting at the boardroom table.
And one of them's a doctor for God's sake. It's embarrassing. I was genuinely gutted when Jaz left - as comedian Kathryn Ryan rightly noted, she was the only one who didn't look like they'd had their make-up done by Take Me Out.
It's also hugely disappointing that one of the candidates chose to describe herself as having the 'energy of the Duracell bunny, the sex appeal of Jessica Rabbit and the brain of Einstein' yet then went on to ask who the president of the UK was ... If you're going to sell yourself as something, at least try to live up to it.
There's nothing wrong with being a sexy, powerful, successful woman. Of course there isn't. But there is something wrong when you notice the shoes first and the business sense second.
2. The boys are no better. A clutch of posturing, vain, dim-witted morons all shouting over each other how bloody amazing they are at selling, guys. The kind of men who think that if you say something enough times, it's true. Even the Silly Shit PhD student is useless - anyone who undercuts HIS OWN COLLEAGUE is a fuckwit on any planet.
However, my favourite is Alex Mills who dresses like Del Boy and came up with the Silly Shit's name of the Silly Shit and also called him a Pleb in fury. I didn't even know that was still in use (outside of Tory MPs, natch, whose entire cannon of swearwords are sourced solely from Biggles stories). His camel coat worn over the shoulders a' la Jerry from The Good Life ... AWESOME.
The first two episodes have been that heart-racing mix of hilarious stupidity and outright nob-ending and I LOVE IT.
Two things are already standing out for me:
1. Why are most of the girls dressed like they're auditioning for a Business Lady Stripper role? Have I missed something or can you not be taken seriously as a woman in business unless you wear six inch fuck-me heels and do your hair like Katie Price? They're attractive women, but they looked like dolls sitting at the boardroom table.
And one of them's a doctor for God's sake. It's embarrassing. I was genuinely gutted when Jaz left - as comedian Kathryn Ryan rightly noted, she was the only one who didn't look like they'd had their make-up done by Take Me Out.
It's also hugely disappointing that one of the candidates chose to describe herself as having the 'energy of the Duracell bunny, the sex appeal of Jessica Rabbit and the brain of Einstein' yet then went on to ask who the president of the UK was ... If you're going to sell yourself as something, at least try to live up to it.
There's nothing wrong with being a sexy, powerful, successful woman. Of course there isn't. But there is something wrong when you notice the shoes first and the business sense second.
2. The boys are no better. A clutch of posturing, vain, dim-witted morons all shouting over each other how bloody amazing they are at selling, guys. The kind of men who think that if you say something enough times, it's true. Even the Silly Shit PhD student is useless - anyone who undercuts HIS OWN COLLEAGUE is a fuckwit on any planet.
At this point, it's too wide a playing field to say who might win, but I'm going to say the final five will, hopefully, be:
Ice Maiden Stephanie - she may be unpopular with the other women, but I like her humanity.
The one wearing Laboutins (Natalie?) - she seemed on it a bit more than the rest at the Brewery.
Niall The Cock - the cocks always seem to stay in and are good value.
The Body (Miles?) - he seems cool and calm enough to get through a Board Room Attack.
Alex. Because he's bloody brilliant.
The rest will be nailed by their own desperation.
Friday, May 03, 2013
WRITING: Is Chick Lit really just a woman's world?
The other week, I went to an author's night which included the rather wonderful Polly Williams (who, it turns out, is a friend of mine's sister-in-law - I know - this means we're essentially related) speaking on a panel about her current book. She was joined by Veronica Henry and Ciara Geraghty ( both brilliantly engaging too - Ciara in particular is hilarious: if you get a chance to see her at a book event, go. She also has awesome hair). All three were super bright, articulate and funny - it was such an inspiring night I came out all aglow.
But, since then, something that Polly said during the course of the evening keeps snagging in my head. She was sharing an anecdote about how a stuffy literary broad-sheet critic had savaged one of her early books and how, a few years later, she happened to be seated next to him at a wedding. He was, of course, nervously charming and everything ended up happily, but the review still stung.
Polly was incredibly discreet and did not name or give away any identifying features but from what was said, he was clearly a middle-aged white man. I'm guessing of the kind that's predisposed to calling you 'dear' from the moment you're introduced. (Veronica Henry guessed straight off who it was, btw, (and was equally discreet) because he'd also ripped one of her books apart.)
I can't remember exactly how he'd done it, but it was a fairly ruthless assassination of Polly's book that, in the main, women had embraced and enjoyed.
But we all laughed at how of course he'd be a shit about those books. Of course he would because they weren't aimed at him, anyway!
Which is what's stuck with me: that it was accepted in that room, by practically everyone, that this stuffy old fart wouldn't like Polly's book.
It seems that we all accept that genres, in particular gender genres, are still very much alive and kicking. We are accepting that this book - the one with the soft, feminine cover - this is for girls. This one here, with the sweat sheen muscular forearm with a smear of car oil beneath a bright yellow, angry font. That's for boys.
Are we still writing in sexes?
It's not about women writers. Not at all. There are men writing Women's Commerical Fiction now too and plenty of women write Literary fiction (isn't all writing literature??? Whatevs, don't get me started on THAT).
It's about the audience.
One of the most frustrating things is that women readers, as a sex, are a genre.
If you asked Andy McNabb (sorry, he's the most opposite of Polly Williams I can think of) who his audience was, would he say 'Men'? No. He'd say: 'People who like fast-paced, violence-rich, kind of non-story stories'.
Do you think Hilary Mantell says 'Women?'. No. She says 'People who are interested in challenging, literary historical fiction'. (I guess. I'm pretty sure she'd put it a whole lot better than that. Hilary Mantell is AWESOME).
PEOPLE WHO LOVE CRIME. PEOPLE WHO LOVE PSYCHOLOGICAL STUFF. PEOPLE WHO LOVE HORSES.
WOMEN.
We even have a specific CATEGORY for us: Women's Commercial Fiction. What authors are in Commercial Fiction? What's the difference between that and the category with the word Woman at the front?
And the WORST thing about it is this: it is totally acceptable for fiction written for women to be seen as the easy option. It's okay for people to say the word Chick Lit with a sneer, even by some who write within the genre. It's expected for books tackling tough subjects - Jojo Moyes' for example - to have soft, girly covers. It is a given that fiction written FOR WOMEN will not get a decent review from a man who writes for a broadsheet newspaper. Commercial Women's Fiction, for those outside of the circle, is dismissed as fluff and nonsense. It fills their pretty little heads and keeps them quiet for the weekend.
Why don't we expect critics to like books written in this genre, even if they are old farts? Why do we accept being marginalised?
If we really think 'oh he just won't get it' then we'll never get out of the sidelines. What's to GET? It's a funny, touching, romantic etc. story with a (in the main) female protaganist. WHAT IS SO HARD TO 'GET' ABOUT THAT??? If the Old Fart wouldn't connect with that story, why did the newspaper ask him to REVIEW IT????
When I first published my Chick Lit book on Amazon, it was uncategorised, but I was still surprised that the first person to read and report back on it was my ex-boyfriend from school. A very Alpha male ex-boyfriend who said it wasn't what he'd usually read but he'd actually really enjoyed it. He knows I'm married so I'm guessing it wasn't part of some ruse to get me back (we snogged for three weeks 20 years and 20lbs ago). Which means there's a whole world of books out there that this man who, it appears, always wears sunglasses and likes guns, would absolutely love but he's not been made aware of.
I call that a travesty. A TRAVESTY.
BUT ...
Having said that: do we want to come out of the sidelines? It's not as if money's not being made over there and it's offering talented women (and men) success. Do we, readers and writers of Women's Commercial Fiction, actually choose to be in a world of our own where are stories are discovered by people like us and adored in a way that few other genre books are. Do we care that Old Farts don't like them?
And how much does it matter anyway? Polly Williams' career was hardly destroyed by that dreadful review.
I guess the itch that can't quite be scratched is the acceptance of marginalisation. I like that there is a whole network out there of greedy readers who can't wait to get their mitts on the latest release. I guess that what makes me sad is that it just feels like we're limiting ourselves. These are, at the end of the day, REALLY GOOD BOOKS and those people who dismiss them as 'just' Chick Lit don't know what they're missing. That's all.
So am I right? Is it time to rise up against the ChickLit dismissers?
Or am I less right - is being part of an exclusive club a powerful place to be?
Download my book from Amazon today for a sunny Bank Holiday read!
One Way Or Another - Lucy Barker
Polly was incredibly discreet and did not name or give away any identifying features but from what was said, he was clearly a middle-aged white man. I'm guessing of the kind that's predisposed to calling you 'dear' from the moment you're introduced. (Veronica Henry guessed straight off who it was, btw, (and was equally discreet) because he'd also ripped one of her books apart.)
I can't remember exactly how he'd done it, but it was a fairly ruthless assassination of Polly's book that, in the main, women had embraced and enjoyed.
But we all laughed at how of course he'd be a shit about those books. Of course he would because they weren't aimed at him, anyway!
Which is what's stuck with me: that it was accepted in that room, by practically everyone, that this stuffy old fart wouldn't like Polly's book.
It seems that we all accept that genres, in particular gender genres, are still very much alive and kicking. We are accepting that this book - the one with the soft, feminine cover - this is for girls. This one here, with the sweat sheen muscular forearm with a smear of car oil beneath a bright yellow, angry font. That's for boys.
Are we still writing in sexes?
It's not about women writers. Not at all. There are men writing Women's Commerical Fiction now too and plenty of women write Literary fiction (isn't all writing literature??? Whatevs, don't get me started on THAT).
It's about the audience.
One of the most frustrating things is that women readers, as a sex, are a genre.
If you asked Andy McNabb (sorry, he's the most opposite of Polly Williams I can think of) who his audience was, would he say 'Men'? No. He'd say: 'People who like fast-paced, violence-rich, kind of non-story stories'.
Do you think Hilary Mantell says 'Women?'. No. She says 'People who are interested in challenging, literary historical fiction'. (I guess. I'm pretty sure she'd put it a whole lot better than that. Hilary Mantell is AWESOME).
PEOPLE WHO LOVE CRIME. PEOPLE WHO LOVE PSYCHOLOGICAL STUFF. PEOPLE WHO LOVE HORSES.
WOMEN.
We even have a specific CATEGORY for us: Women's Commercial Fiction. What authors are in Commercial Fiction? What's the difference between that and the category with the word Woman at the front?
And the WORST thing about it is this: it is totally acceptable for fiction written for women to be seen as the easy option. It's okay for people to say the word Chick Lit with a sneer, even by some who write within the genre. It's expected for books tackling tough subjects - Jojo Moyes' for example - to have soft, girly covers. It is a given that fiction written FOR WOMEN will not get a decent review from a man who writes for a broadsheet newspaper. Commercial Women's Fiction, for those outside of the circle, is dismissed as fluff and nonsense. It fills their pretty little heads and keeps them quiet for the weekend.
Why don't we expect critics to like books written in this genre, even if they are old farts? Why do we accept being marginalised?
If we really think 'oh he just won't get it' then we'll never get out of the sidelines. What's to GET? It's a funny, touching, romantic etc. story with a (in the main) female protaganist. WHAT IS SO HARD TO 'GET' ABOUT THAT??? If the Old Fart wouldn't connect with that story, why did the newspaper ask him to REVIEW IT????
When I first published my Chick Lit book on Amazon, it was uncategorised, but I was still surprised that the first person to read and report back on it was my ex-boyfriend from school. A very Alpha male ex-boyfriend who said it wasn't what he'd usually read but he'd actually really enjoyed it. He knows I'm married so I'm guessing it wasn't part of some ruse to get me back (we snogged for three weeks 20 years and 20lbs ago). Which means there's a whole world of books out there that this man who, it appears, always wears sunglasses and likes guns, would absolutely love but he's not been made aware of.
I call that a travesty. A TRAVESTY.
BUT ...
Having said that: do we want to come out of the sidelines? It's not as if money's not being made over there and it's offering talented women (and men) success. Do we, readers and writers of Women's Commercial Fiction, actually choose to be in a world of our own where are stories are discovered by people like us and adored in a way that few other genre books are. Do we care that Old Farts don't like them?
And how much does it matter anyway? Polly Williams' career was hardly destroyed by that dreadful review.
I guess the itch that can't quite be scratched is the acceptance of marginalisation. I like that there is a whole network out there of greedy readers who can't wait to get their mitts on the latest release. I guess that what makes me sad is that it just feels like we're limiting ourselves. These are, at the end of the day, REALLY GOOD BOOKS and those people who dismiss them as 'just' Chick Lit don't know what they're missing. That's all.
So am I right? Is it time to rise up against the ChickLit dismissers?
Or am I less right - is being part of an exclusive club a powerful place to be?
Download my book from Amazon today for a sunny Bank Holiday read!
One Way Or Another - Lucy Barker
Friday, February 15, 2013
HISTORY: IT'S AMAZING!
I'm doing some research for a story I'm working on at the moment and came across a place called The Parting of the Ways which is in the north of Sweetwater County, Wyoming.
This is where the California and Oregan Emigrant trail diverged and travellers decided whether they kept on the main route to towards Fort Bridger or cut across the Little Colorado Desert on a 'Cut Off'. Opened in 1844, it offered a much faster journey - shaving 46 miles on the journey - but while the main route was well-watered, taking this option included fifty-or so waterless miles. Still, some travellers were more risky than others and from 1849 it's popularity increased with people keen to get to the other side as quickly as possible.
There's something so significant about this little fork in the road: there's no particular landmark here that would make a deviation in course obvious. The only way it became ... anything was because one day someone called Greenwood (FACT) went right. And then the people behind went right. And then the people behind. And then someone put it on a map.
What I love from this image is that even though the wagons stopped going through here about a hundred years ago, the wheel ruts are still so clear and the sagebrush plain is still wide open. You don't have to even imagine what it was like. Sure it's not hearts and flowers romantic, but there's something so historically romantic about this that it fills me up with inspiration.
This is where the California and Oregan Emigrant trail diverged and travellers decided whether they kept on the main route to towards Fort Bridger or cut across the Little Colorado Desert on a 'Cut Off'. Opened in 1844, it offered a much faster journey - shaving 46 miles on the journey - but while the main route was well-watered, taking this option included fifty-or so waterless miles. Still, some travellers were more risky than others and from 1849 it's popularity increased with people keen to get to the other side as quickly as possible.
There's something so significant about this little fork in the road: there's no particular landmark here that would make a deviation in course obvious. The only way it became ... anything was because one day someone called Greenwood (FACT) went right. And then the people behind went right. And then the people behind. And then someone put it on a map.
What I love from this image is that even though the wagons stopped going through here about a hundred years ago, the wheel ruts are still so clear and the sagebrush plain is still wide open. You don't have to even imagine what it was like. Sure it's not hearts and flowers romantic, but there's something so historically romantic about this that it fills me up with inspiration.
Thursday, February 07, 2013
NEW SKILLS: COOKING JO PRATT'S FISH PIE
When I was little my parents could only have fish pie if I was out of the house for the evening. I really, really hated it. Even the residual smell when I returned would make me gag.
Now, though ... well. I'm a bit more grown up. I can just about eat a prawn without thinking about its wife, children and the fact that its diet consists of little more than poop. Making a fish pie is a bit of a milestone for me.
And I made one last night.
I've had the In the Mood For Food for years. I bought it because it had a nice pattern and she looked pretty but the recipes all looked a bit grown up for me.I did want to do the pomegranet salad: it's photographed in such a lovely little lunchbox, though, that I got distracted by wanting an equally lovely lunchbox too and the salad was forgotten. Discovering this little gem nestled inside has made all those years of moving it from house to house worth it.
I have to say, this recipe was easy and ridiculously tasty. The sauce was thick and silky and totally lumpless - I couldn't believe I made it. The topping is made by grating the potatoes (I got Rob to do that), squeezing all the moisture out through a tea-towel and then cooking it off for a few minutes in butter before scattering the top. I'd never even heard of that method. My repertoire is definitely expanding.
And this is it on my plate with some peas.
And here's the recipe.
Fish Pie with Sweet Potato topping (although I used White) from Jo Pratt's In the Mood For Food
- 50 g butter
- 1 bunches spring onions, sliced
- 50 g plain flour
- 400 ml milk
- 500 g cod, coley or haddock fillets, skinned and cut into chunks
- 200 g cooked tiger prawns
- 150 g smoked salmon, cut into strips
- 1 tbsp chopped dill, or parsley
- 1 lemon, grated zest only
- squeeze lemon juice
For the topping
- 700 g sweet potatoes, peeled - I used white potatoes in exactly the same way.
- 40 g butter
- 50 g matured cheddar cheese, grated
2. Melt the butter in a large pan, add the spring onions and cook until softened. Stir in the flour, and cook for about 30 seconds before gradually adding the milk. Bring to a simmer and cook for a couple of minutes until you have smooth thick sauce.
3. Stir in the white fish, prawns, smoked salmon, dill or parsley, lemon zest and lemon juice. Season lightly with salt and pepper. Once the sauce is bubbling and the cod is starting to flake a little, remove from the heat.
4. Spoon into a large 1.5-1.8 litre pie dish or 4 individual dishes and leave to cool while you prepare the topping.
5. For the topping: coarsely grate the sweet potato. Place in a clean tea towel and squeeze out the excess water.
6. Melt the butter in a pan and add the grated potato. Stir over a medium heat for a couple of minutes until the potato is coated in butter and starting to soften.
7. Scatter the potato over the top of the pie, leaving a rough topping rather than pressing it down. Sprinkle over the grated cheese.
8. Place on a baking tray and bake for 30 minutes, until the top is golden and the filling is starting to bubble over the edges.
NEW SKILLS: COOKING WITH JAMIE OLIVER'S 30 MINUTE MEALS
I skipped the fennel seeds (I couldn't find them in the shops) and I didn't get the skin-on chops so there was no crackling. So basically it was chops and potatoes, but doing the potatoes in the microwave gave them this really interesting stodgy but firm texture which we both really liked. It's fun not skrimping on butter either. I felt very En Francaise.
Jamie really goes for combining flavours and sometimes this can be a bit much, but this was just right. Maybe because I missed the fennel. The lemon in the potatoes on their own was a bit 'hmmm' but with the chops it was 'oo'.
I also loved the Fiery Noodle Salad which is from the Chicken Skewers with Amazing Satay Sauce recipe.
The chicken and satay sauce was nice enough, but the flavours in the noodle salad were AMUUZING. And so easy. Although you serve it cold with the warm chicken which wierded my husband out. He ate it like it was alive, shooting me occasional, tentative looks and saying 'it's supposed to be cold, right?'.
Also got a good tip on how to thread the chicken onto the skewers. Showing here.
WHEN GOOD ARTISTS GO BAD
I mean, of all the images you'd want to recreate in coloured pencils, how far down the list do you think this was?
Technically really very good but ... that gurn forever immortalised in a 2B. Poor Hugh.
Technically really very good but ... that gurn forever immortalised in a 2B. Poor Hugh.
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