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GUARDIAN Thu, 02 Feb 2012 20:15:01 GMT
Here are some suggested knights erring. Pitchforks not included
This week's big news-effect announcement is that former RBS boss Fred Goodwin has been stripped of his knighthood. As pious chancellor George Osborne explained, Fred "came to symbolise everything that went wrong in the British economy over the last decade".
How convenient, and I know we all feel a real sense of catharsis now that someone none of us will ever clap eyes on has been stripped of whatever meaningless bauble was conferred upon him by a bunch of politicians still posing as hapless bystanders to events that continue to destroy people's lives. But most impressive is that "came to symbolise" – perhaps the woolliest piece of non-legal reasoning for a decision since that bloke was voted off the Weakest Link for being Welsh.
By now, you will have realised that your role in papering over capitalism's malfunctions is to watch politicians call for empty gestures, and then look grateful for them. In fact, ideally, you will have the bit between your teeth and already be thinking: in the interests of consistency and trying to keep warm, which other knights can we demand to have stripped of their pointless titles, on the basis that they have Come To Symbolise everything that's wrong with something or other? As a foray into service journalism, Lost in Showbiz has laid out a potential field from which you may pick your knights erring. Pitchforks are not included, and you are reminded that these are merely idle suggestions that you can reject at will, while further nominations are, of course, welcome.
Sir Bruce Forsyth
Given that Sir Brucie gracelessly held out for his K since what feels like the cretaceous period, what a giggle it would be to see him stripped of it seemingly seconds after finally bagging it, on the basis that he has Come To Symbolise everything wrongly nostalgic and unimaginative about modern light entertainment. I know many adore Brucie. But watching him blame the stagehands when he fluffed his lines at the National Television Awards last week, Lost in Showbiz was reminded of a passage in the legendary Bob Monkhouse's memoir Crying with Laughter, which finds Bruce turning up late at some Variety Club event or wherever, and a mutinous crew glossing the situation. "Ladies and gentleman," booms the loudspeaker. "The ego has landed. The ego has landed."
Thereafter, Monkhouse offers a little pen portrait of Bruce, which contains more faint praise than an estate agent's blurb for 10 Rillington Place. "Tap dancing his way through life," he muses of Brucie, "while bestowing his prodigious gifts upon us all, his genes have allowed him to become a skilled pianist, tuneful singer, convincing actor and magnificent TV host. It would have been going too far to make him an intellectual too."
"Sir" Rupert Murdoch
Though this one isn't in the power of the honours forfeiture committee to rescind, the News Corp chairman was made a papal knight in 1998 for bunging the Catholic church some huge donations. (Evidently the church has a similar system for honours to the one Britain has long espoused.) Cavaliere Murdoch – he uses this title with baffling rarity – was knighted in Los Angeles, with Pope John Paul II judging that he was of "unblemished character". Little further comment seems necessary, other than to point out that, although Murdoch could not reasonably be said to have Come To Symbolise everything that went wrong in the Catholic church, relieving him of his honour would be an easy win for a Vatican whose other image problems are proving harder to fix.
Sir Ben Kingsley
When the Gandhi star was credited as "Sir Ben Kingsley" in the titles and promotional posters for the movie Lucky Number Slevin, it drew all manner of mirth from parties such as Lord Puttnam and Sir Roger Moore, with the latter deeming it "pretentious bullshit". Eventually, Kingsley felt moved to make a statement, claiming that such forelock-tugging was nothing to do with him. "No.....
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GUARDIAN Thu, 02 Feb 2012 10:59:01 GMT
There was just a bit too much Carol Vorderman on show at the National Television Awards, says the Invisible Woman. So how to do revealing?
One thought is still rattling around my head after last week's blog and the avalanche of comment that followed: what constitutes "sexy" when the flush of youth gives way to the hot flush? I can tell you what it isn't. It isn't Carol Vorderman at the National Television Awards last week. I can see that on paper a fitted and flared pale pink gown would seem the perfect thing and, my goodness, it certainly fitted. There was just a bit too much Carol. Well, quite a lot too much actually. Credit where it's due, Ms Vorderman is indeed in terrific nick and that dress required confidence but what it really said, and none too subtly, was "this is me at the Last Chance Saloon". Here's another example: a friend, casting a critical Italian eye over two middle-aged women at a bar, tipped his chin in their direction and said witheringly, "See that? Vecchia gloria…" Old glory. Ouch. What he meant was the dresses were a little too short and too tight, the décolleté a little too deep and the maquillage a little too heavy. They were trying a just a bit too hard. On such fine distinctions opinions are formed.
What I'm saying is that, whether or not you're in the market for a relationship, that feeling of being comfortable in your skin, of feeling attractive and sexy, is a great feeling to have. But… just because you've still got good legs, or a great rack, you don't have to put it out there. Just because you can doesn't mean you should, or at least not all at once. It's tricky. I used to laugh when my 80-year-old nan tapped her forehead and said, "In here I'm still 18", but now I think I know what she meant. I have to stop and consider a little more than I once did in case too much of my 18-year-old free-spirited inner hippy slips out for a turn in the spotlight. "Too much" is the key to this slippery subject. I remember being very struck by what Helen Mirren was wearing on Jonathan Ross's BBC show a couple of years ago. It was a simple skirt suit but under the jacket (no shirt) was just a glimpse of frothily fabulous lingerie. No sartorial grandstanding just a casual nod to femininity, almost an afterthought. That couple of inches of lace hit the male guests like a gust of catnip and the flirt factor rose proportionately. It was fascinating to watch.
So it's not all bad news. There might be an upper age limit on how much you can tastefully get away with, if not a legally enforceable one, but there is no age limit on sex appeal itself. I had much more fun and was much happier covered from neck to ankle in poison green velvet than I did sweating in black latex at an Austin Powers fancy dress party. A draped silk top that slipped "accidentally" from one shoulder was window-dressing in a wickedly entertaining evening last year, and silk on the skin feels glorious. I believe that feeling comfortable and not trussed up like a roasting bird is fundamental. You are what has sex appeal and not what you're wrapped in – that's just a prop.
A very dear, and very elderly, friend summed it up well. He was an artist, born and raised in the Bronx and had womanised his way across postwar Europe. He once said to me, "Tiger, for a woman, the art of dressing is so that a man will look at her and want to undress her. Not that the table is already laid. There must be mystery, honey." And so we knocked back another vodka shot and I couldn't help but agree with him. On the "mystery" part at least.
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Invisible Woman
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GUARDIAN Fri, 27 Jan 2012 00:05:14 GMT
A quick and easy fish supper, perfect for a mid-week family supper
When I was younger I wasn't that confident with fish, but this dish is so quick and easy, and it makes such a great speedy family supper, that we eat it most weeks. The fennel seeds are subtle and flavoursome, but if you're not a fan then just leave them out.
Serves 4
Oil
1 large red onion, peeled and finely chopped
2 cloves of garlic, peeled and chopped
2 x 400g tins of cherry tomatoes
1 tbsp caster sugar
1 tsp fennel seeds
1 bay leaf
Salt and black pepper
4 haddock fillets, about 500g in total, skin removed
Handful of fresh basil leaves
Put some oil in a frying pan over a low heat, add the onion and cook for 5–7 minutes, or until the onion is nice and soft with no crunch. Add the garlic and cook for another minute.
Pour in the cherry tomatoes, sugar and fennel seeds, add the bay leaf, season with salt and pepper and cook for a further 2 minutes. Add the haddock fillets, spooning the mixture all over them, then cover with a lid and cook for about 8 minutes, or until the haddock is piping hot in the centre.
Take the pan off the heat, leave to cool a little before tasting and adjust the seasoning if you think it needs it. Rip up the basil leaves and add to the fish, stir lightly and serve.
• This is an edited excerpt from Home Cooking Made Easy by Lorraine Pascale (HarperCollins, £20) Buy a copy for £14 from the Guardian bookshop
Food & drink
Fish
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GUARDIAN Thu, 26 Jan 2012 09:56:27 GMT
In a world full of information, when we are constantly wired in, how do we make time to unplug and recharge?
• Don't miss the Make the most of your time guide, free with the Guardian this Saturday
When it comes to filling time with noise, words and images, this is an unprecedented age. Among American eight- to 18-year-olds, media usage now fills more than seven and a half hours daily – and you can add another three if multitasking is taken into account.
Today, for the first time in history, many people's daily default is to be wired into at least one personalised form of media. Consider the "quiet carriage" signs found in most trains. These are signs of our times in the literal sense, indications that the absence of digital devices must be specially requested.
If we are to get the most out of both the world around us and each other, we need to recognise that we have two fundamentally different ways of being. Our wired and disconnected states each represent a different set of possibilities for thought and action.
The greatest advantages of wired living are easily enumerated. Plugged into the world's hive-mind, we have speed, we have range. We can research and reference much of humanity's gathered knowledge – and gossip and opinion – in minutes. We have godlike capabilities and are increasingly adept at using them.
Unplugged from media's live wires, however, our originality and rigour can come into play in a different, older sense that's found in our capacity to make decisions, to act on our own initiative, to think freely, without fear of pre-emption. Much as we hunger for connection, we need to keep some sense of ourselves separate from the constant capacity to broadcast. We need tenses other than the present.
When it comes to taking action, what's required is not so much moving to a remote mountainside (although it's telling that such "off-grid" vacationing is becoming a new index of luxury) as building different qualities of time and attention into our daily lives. This can mean setting aside mornings or evenings when phones are strictly turned off; checking emails just two or three times a day in fixed slots; or insisting that meetings and personal events are sacred, and not to be interrupted. In each case, it's about creating boundaries, and learning how to push back against the always-on logic of communication systems – and the accompanying temptation to constantly broadcast your own status and perception of the world.
There are no one-size-fits-all solutions, however. What works best is likely to be individual and idiosyncratic. I sometimes choose to write longhand, in a suitably hefty notebook, to escape the inexorable multitasking that writing on screen brings. It's a welcome paradox of a digital age that the ease of virtual communication has increased the emotional impact of physical objects such as letters and journals, placing them apart from the maelstrom of other media.
There are also mental habits we can change, perhaps the most pernicious of which is embodied in the overused metaphor of a media "landscape". It's a description that implicitly turns our tools into an immutable aspect of the world, to be lived within, rather than critically examined.
We must never forget that, however pervasive technology becomes, software and hardware are made by humans and are limited by the intentions of their makers. If we cannot think critically about their histories and limitations, then we're unlikely to be able to make discerning use of them within our lives. For some people, the suffusion of the present is increasingly attended by strain and anxiety, and a sense of lost control. For all of its challenges, we live in an era of near-miraculous, unprecedented opportunities.
Above all, though, every effort on our part should begin with the knowledge that without the ability to say no as well as yes to technology – and to understand what exactly it is that we are agreeing to when we do say yes – we risk turning...
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