My (still) Beating Heart

There I am, innocently watching ‘The Blacklist’, picking up any number of arcane tips about how to run a dastardly criminal empire when the subject of ‘deep fried butter’ comes up. Deep fried butter? Don’t mess with me now, Raymond. Straight over to Google, and yes, it really does exist. How have I lived for so long without hearing of this marvel? Do I need to tell you that this originates from Atherosclerosis Central, a.k.a, Southern USA? I am not kidding; you get a nice big chunk of butter, make up a batter similar to that used for our beloved Fried Mars Bar in the UK, swirl the butter around in the batter mixture and then deep-fry it! Some people cover it with a cinnamon-flavoured sugar glaze. Ye gods and little fishes, I could feel my arteries furring up just watching the video. It is the single most astonishing thing I have seen this year. My life will not be complete until I have attempted at least one bite of this monstrosity, melted butter running freely down my multiple chins.

There is more. Pole-axed on the sofa (see, I’m already getting into the lardo couch-potato mindset), I then noticed a video for Deep Fried Coke. No, I could not resist. It turns out that this delicacy consists of a similar batter to which you add one can of Coke — full fat obvs, Diet Coke is an abomination, as any fule kno. The kicker? The guy then added 3 tablespoonfuls of sugar to the batter mix and, you guessed it…..deep-fried the batter balls. Absolutely right. I mean, it’s not as if each can of Coke already contains 9 spoons of sugar or anything like that 🙂 I am gobsmacked. I’d take my hat off to the Americans and bow at my waist if 1) I still had a waist, and 2) the shift in my centre of gravity wouldn’t send me keeling over.

Now, as a healthcare professional who wishes to hang on to her licence, I strongly counsel you not to consume either of these products, unless of course you never leave home without your personal defibrillator. Should you be foolhardy enough to ignore my sterling advice, please let me know what they taste like. Once you’ve fully recovered from your quadruple bypass, of course.

In the spirit of continuing craziness, my latest favourite fashion items are depicted here for your enjoyment. I am glad I can’t afford Anthony Vacarrello’s Roller Skate shoes for YSL because I would definitely buy them just to attempt to walk in them. Shortly after breaking both ankles, I would still insist on keeping them on. I would lie on the sofa and admire them, comatose from eating too much deep-fried butter. Happy days 🙂 The other beauties are Camilla Elphick’s Crystal Butterfly shoes and Dolce & Gabbana’s Dolce Box bag. I think my work here is done for today. Now, where did I put that Kale and Quinoa salad? Just kidding……..

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Luna To The Max

O my giddy aunt! A perfectly ghastly week, from Monday to Saturday. By Friday it was so awful that my whole perspective turned on a hinge and I started to find the sheer awfulness of it quite funny. Hysterical laughter? Persecution mania? Perish the thought. Surely I don’t have my own personal full moon hanging around, encouraging lunatic behaviour and making me a nutter-magnet! My only consolation was going to be the design shows in London and I didn’t even make it there. My ticket is here, sadly unused. Sad times. On the plus side, I found a Jack Reacher novel which I apparently never read on my bookshelves. I don’t know how that is possible, but a gift horse etc etc, Plus, I got a replacement for a copy of an Asterix comic I foolishly gave away Plus a new translation of The Gallic War. Yep, my pleasures are pretty simple, and even better, cheap 🙂

So, for your edification: selected exhibits from Decorex. I particularly like the Simon Hasan leather pendant lights, the blingtastic Saturno table lamps, and the Hanky chandelier. Creatively, designers are upping their games this year which is all to the good. However, my fave pic of the week is of the Bar Botanique- Cafe Tropique in Amsterdam. Feast your eyes:

Pure beautifulness, I’m sure you’ll agree. I basically just want to move in, it’s so lovely. Other stuff that cheered me up was seeing Phil Hammond looking like he was chewing a wasp while standing next to the Blond Bombshell, aka Boris Johnson. Poor Phil, one of life’s charisma-free zones. He must hate Boris with the heat of a thousand suns. I laughed like a drain. It was also good to finally see Theresa May break her cover at the Basilica Santa Maria Novella. Nice ironic touch picking that venue; someone obviously has a good sense of humour. Message understood, war it is, then. In my newly burnished effort to spread bonhomie everywhere, I think you all ought to start the week with W.B.Yeats:

He Wishes For The Cloths Of Heaven

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

Now, isn’t that lovely. On a more prosaic note, this gem by Adrian Mitchell:

Celia, Celia

When I am sad and weary
When I think all hope has gone
When I walk along High Holborn
I think of you with nothing on

Adrian, you are a very bad boy, but you’ve made me smile. Wishing us all a cheery, nutter-free week. Pip pip.

 

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Tempus Fugit

There’s a new exhibition at the British Museum about the Scythian empire and its art. ‘The who?’, I hear you ask. I’m surprised you don’t have all the facts about the Scythians at your very fingertips. Forgive my flippancy but in the light of the current political temperature of the world, I have been thinking about the decline and fall of empires. The Scythians were the usual assortment of bloodthirsty, murderous lunatics characteristic of our fine human race, and they laid waste to much of Eastern Europe and parts of the Middle East, controlling huge swathes of land for nearly a millenium. Yes, they were fearsome warriors much given to drinking their enemies’ blood out of their skulls. And so on, and so forth. Yet here we are; the people who know anything concrete about the Scythians would probably not fill Wembley Arena today. Humbling, isn’t it? When I see our plutocrats and politicians huff and puff and threaten to blow the house down, I would whisper in their ears if I had the opportunity, ‘Ozymandias, king of kings. Look on my works ye mighty, and despair’.

The nations rage and kingdoms fall, and yet each little, insignificant, power-crazed popinjay thinks, ‘Me, and no other’. They actually seem to believe that they will be the first to buck the trend and rule with absolute power forever. It would be humorous if the idiots did not do so much harm in their quest for supremacy. The Roman Empire controlled pretty much the entire western world at one time or the other. If you had told Julius Caesar a couple of years before his death that his absolute stranglehold on his empire would be ended by 60 of his closest frenemies, would he have believed you? 20-odd stab wounds later, and it’s all change. Divine Caesar, wonder of wonders, is no more. But then, he never was; either divine or a wonder. The only thing that holds true is that those who live by the sword will die by the sword, as sure as eggs is eggs.

What remains of all the previous empires, from the long-forgotten Hittites, Girgashites, Perizzites to the Scythians, Etruscans, Spartans etc etc? Art. Sculptures, paintings, literature, and even all that will be dust one sad day. Of all the artworks shown in my pictures do you know which is the only one still being made? Yep, the bronzes from Ife and Benin in Nigeria. So everytime you come across one of these self-aggrandizing maniacs whether at the micro level in your family, your workplace or at the council, or at the macro level on the world stage, treat them like the emperors with no clothes that they are. Our only prayer ought to be that we be preserved from the consequences of their rage against humanity. More people will read 50 Shades of Grey this month than will read about Caesar’s Gallic Wars this decade. Yes, I know that is actually a very depressing thought in one way but from another perspective, it’s cheering. Warmongering destroyers of humanity should not be celebrated, irrespective of how ‘great’ a conqueror they may have been. They should not even be reviled as that makes them too important. They should be totally forgotten and their wretched graves unvisited. The blood of their brothers cry out from the ground. That is the ignominy they deserve. Actually, I have to confess to having a soft spot for Ole Julius, he was both clever and smart; I’m a sucker for brains and smarts, what can I tell you. If you’ve never read The Gallic Wars, you’re in for a treat; it’s fascinating. Here is a nonsense poem by Christopher Isherwood that will probably still be read after the fifth world war:

The Common Cormorant

The common cormorant (or shag)
Lays eggs inside a paper bag,
The reason you will see no doubt,
Is to keep the lightning out.

But what these unobservant birds
Have failed to notice is that herds
Of wandering bears may come with buns
And steal the bags to hold the crumbs.

Apropos nonsensical behaviour, have you seen the outfits of the new supercops who will save us all from the terrors of ISIS etc etc? Here is a picture for your delectation.

No laughing at the back. All I can say is that I hope all the terrorists are morbidly obese couch potatoes with secondary heart failure. With all the ridiculous gear they have strapped to them, even I could show these guys a clean pair of heels. If Olympic triathletes become terrorists, we’re all screwed. Just kidding; I feel much safer already, don’t you? Note to government – ideally we’d like you to catch the terrorists before they attack. And no, we do not want to be surveiled to death just to make it happen. Hands off our privacy, thank you very much. Seeing as it’s impossible to buy so much as a croissant without some information-gathering fascist recording it somewhere, perhaps you could try following the money. You have no trouble spying on your citizens so we can only assume that these terrorists are masters of subterfuge…….Seriously, no need to thank me. You can have that one for free. I intend to try and ignore the madness around me as much as I can, and get my stuff done. Fugit inreparabile tempus as said by no one at AlaraApothecary, ever 🙂 Have a safe week, one and all.

Photos: Ife Bronze; Benin Bronze; Scythian sculpture; Scythian sculpture; Etruscan pottery; Etruscan pottery.

 

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Saving Grace

 

What a perfectly ghastly day. From the minute I woke up, I knew that the day was going to be a humdinger. By 9am, the only thing that was stopping me from crouching in a corner and rocking slowly back and forth was talking to my lovely customers. And then it went downhill……. 🙂 Not really, I’m just being a drama queen but today was exhausting. I’m glad my customers are so forgiving because I really was not at my shiny best. They did still keep asking about my holiday and that in turn reminded me that I had been on holiday. I enjoyed telling them my second favourite holiday story (the fave is the airport nazi story). Having survived the second circle of hell that is a budget airline flight, I got to the hotel, checked in, and noticed that there was no iron in the room. Back to reception, for a truly surreal conversation:

Me: Hi, there’s no iron in my room. Is there one I could borrow?

Receptionist: Sorry, we don’t have irons in the room because of the fire risk.

Me (thinking, ‘Well, the entire Hilton, IHG, Sheraton etc groups seem to have managed to prevent their hotels from burning down whilst providing irons…) : I really need to iron my stuff. It’s all badly creased from the flight. Do you have a housekeeping room where I can use the iron?

Receptionist: No, sorry we don’t. (Has bright thought) We usually tell people they can go to iron at the launderette near the station.

Me (incredulous tone): You think I should take my clothes to a launderette to iron them while I’m on holiday?

Receptionist: Yes, madam. But you can’t today. It’s a public holiday, everything is shut.

Viva Italia. I mean, it wasn’t ‘The Four Seasons’ but, come on! When Expedia sent me an invitation to review the hotel, I wrote such a blistering review in my head! If it had been put down on paper, the paper would have combusted spontaneously. Then I did what I do when I’ve calmed down, and I didn’t send it. I factored in the fact that it was 98Fahrenheit in the shade and I’d just been on a journey from hell so my temper was perhaps not as even as it might have been. By the time I left, I was firm friends with the receptionists so I didn’t have the heart to give the hotel management the kicking they deserve. By the way, if you go to Florence, give the Basilica Santa Maria Novella a miss. My fave church but  they’re doing some building work. Instead of having the decency to close it, they’ve pretty much emptied it out and you get to see the frescoes and some dodgy relics for your trouble. They removed my favourite painting! £7.50 entrance fee!! What a rip-off. My thoughts were decidedly unchristian. Mea maxima culpa 🙂

So, what’s new in Florence? They now have a Hard Rock Cafe. Mamma mia. That is sacrilege. Don’t get me wrong; most of my youth was misspent at the Hard Rock Cafe in London. Till today, I have never found a better Banana Split. But in lovely Firenze! I was appalled. This is the beginning of the end for Western Civilization. If they let them open a Starbucks, I’ll know that Armageddon is just round the corner. You think I’m over-reacting? You couldn’t be more wrong. My favourite meal? Believe it or not, it was an amazing Bresaola with Arugula and Parmigiano Reggiano starter. I’ve decided that I really like simple food. I remember the first time I went to Paris. My most memorable meal? A Roast Chicken sandwich with Aioli at Angelina on the Rue de Rivoli. It was epic. If I tell you that I went to both Le Jules Verne and Le Relais du Parc (we stayed at Le Parc Trocadero Hotel. That was an excellent hotel) on that same trip and can hardly recall what I ate, you’ll know how epic that sandwich was. Better than poisson pané et pomme frites or des flageolets en sauce sur une tranche de pain grillé. That’s fish and chips or baked beans on toast to you. AlaraApothecary: we posh up your culinary life.

Favourite shop? Furla’s amazing bags as per the photo. Gucci A/W ’17 was a hot mess. If I say Smeg fridge by Dolce & Gabbana, you’ll know how lurid it all is. My big fat gypsy designer bags. Eek. Favourite gelato combo? Actually, it was a sorbet from Cortona: one scoop melon, one scoop pineapple. Incredible. The flowers? An unexpected gift from lovely Jasmine to cheer me up. Thanks Jaswinder.

I leave you with a cheesy joke for the scientists among you. What is a tuesday without a cheesy science joke? Exactly. Have a wonderful week.

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The Italian Job

I’m back from a much-needed sojourn in La Bella Italia. The trip commenced with the 3am start of a 250 mile journey. Don’t ask. This is my idea of hell, not remotely being what you would call a morning person. By the time I arrived at Firenze, I was a complete zombie. Came out of the airport, 38 Celcius in the shade. Ay, Caramba!, as they do not say in Italy. I knew I was home when I dropped my hand luggage in my living-dead state and the driver said ‘Mama Mia!’ Pure awesomeness. This was in stark contrast to the airport in London. Yep, I fell foul of the Airport Nazi. How this country manages to produce so many pea-brained jobsworths, I cannot fathom. Put one of these eejits in a uniform and they believe they have the authority to waterboard you. This was the ghastly woman at security check; they keep ratcheting up their stupid rules to make our lives more difficult. First, no liquids over 100ml. Check. Then, suddenly only one tiny bag can be used. OK, check. Then, you must be able to seal the bag without it popping open so essentially the bag is max, 2/3 filled. At this point, I told her that wasn’t feasible as I needed my stuff and only had hand luggage. She told me if I didn’t agree to discard part of my carefully curated 100ml stuff, she would have to ‘tag my stuff. You’ll be here for an hour.’ I told her to do whatever she needed to do. She did not like that… Meanwhile, I checked my watch– flight take off in 50 minutes but I was so angry, I was thinking I’d buy another ticket if needed. Yes, I am crazy; I know it but I’ll never kowtow to these power-crazed fascists.

It is possible to do a job which I agree is necessary without being such a pisspoor example of a human being. She pretty much tagged everybody, the check took 40 minutes, and they made me throw away a 75ml tube of toothpaste, so you can all sleep safely in your beds, another terrorist threat averted. Jackasses. I made final boarding with 5 minutes to spare 🙂 The kicker? I studied chemistry for a solid 8 years. I wouldn’t need to smuggle chemicals past security if I wished to blow anything up, especially doors 🙂 . I can make a perfectly good explosive device using stuff from duty-free and the contents of the cleaner’s cart. And no, I wouldn’t need to make any dimwitted internet searches either, you’d never see me coming. The government can’t keep us safe unless all cars and vans are now confiscated, so implying that taking off my belt at the airport helps is an act of ridiculous posturing on their part. If most of us don’t go around blowing people up, it’s because we know right from wrong, and personally, I believe I will answer for my actions after I shuffle this mortal coil. Civic irresponsibilty and psychotic behaviour cannot be regulated by criminalising the entire population. Any determined murderer will find a way round the rules, especially if they don’t mind dying in the attempt. That is a much more serious problem to address, hence the headless chicken acts of our governments.

Anyhoo, Firenze was as lovely as ever. I realised that I feel so much at home there because the sunlight is like African light. As soon as I clocked that gorgeous, golden light that pours out like syrup and coats everything with an amber tint, I forgot all about the airport nazi. But yikes, it was HOT! Even a heat-lover like myself started wilting at the edges rapidly. Luckily, there is a cure – copious amounts of gelato and lashings of Schweppes Pompelmo. I put on 10 kilos in 2 days; thank God the airline doesn’t weigh us on the way back from holiday or my excess baggage charge would have been through the roof 🙂 More to follow on Italy. In the meantime, I pray for protection for us all from all the loonies out there, ideological or otherwise, and wish you a safe, warm weekend full of golden light. Yes, even you, Airport Nazi.

 

 

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