Martin Fone's Blog, page 175

Defection Of The Week

[image error]

It is a frustrating time to be an athlete. One North Korean gymnast, though, put his skills to good use.

South Korean security officials received reports of “unidentified personnel” in the heavily fortified border area in Goeseng and after an extensive manhunt arrested the man in his 20s, who immediately asked for asylum.

They were intrigued as to how he had got through the extensive barrier that separates the two countries without triggering any of the sensors. The man told them that he had used his gymnastic acumen to swing himself over the three-metre fence. Taken aback, they asked him to demonstrate the feat which he did, not once but twice. The officials had no option but to believe his story and grant him his wish to remain south of the border.

What are the odds he will be competing for South Korea in the next Olympics. He would be a force to reckon with in the pole vault.

Book Corner – November 2020 (8)

[image error]

Sweet Danger – Margery Allingham

This is the fifth crime novel by Margery Allingham to feature Albert Campion and in many ways marks a turning point in the development of her principal character. Published in 1933, in the States it went under the titles of Kingdom of Death and then The Fear Sign, it is the last where Campion is portrayed as a rather vacuous ass, albeit one with considerable underlying intelligence and steely determination well, an obvious parody of Dorothy L Sayer’s Lord Peter Wimsey. Subsequently, he becomes a more cerebral character, an effective sleuth. In this book his character betwixt and between. This is also the first book in which he forms a working partnership, later to be consummated in marriage, with Lady Amanda Fitton.

Frankly, this is a rather ludicrous book with a fantastical storyline, stocked full of bizarre and eccentric characters, which betrays its age, but nonetheless is hugely entertaining if you are looking for a light and escapist read. Campion, aided and abetted by his man, the wonderfully named Magersfontein Lugg, and his friend, Guffy Randall, is called upon to establish that a small but oil-rich principality on the Adriatic coast by the name of Averna is British and, principally, belongs to a now defunct aristocratic family in Suffolk. The proof that Campion is searching for is a crown, a drum and a receipt signed by Metternich, confirming the sale of the land. If that was not difficult enough, an unscrupulous financier, Brett Savanake, and his gang of thugs are also after the same prize.

The trail leads to a pretty village in Suffolk, Pontisbright, the home of the Fittons. Amanda is the belle of the family, described as being “at a stage of physical perfection seldom attained at any age’ and possessor of hair of a ‘blazing, flaming, and yet subtle colour which is as rare a it is beautiful”. It is inevitable that Campion will fall for her. Mind you, she is a game lass and more than plays her part in thwarting the evil plans of Savanake and his pals.

The characters, for the most part, are well-written, Savanake a monstrous, loathsome man straight out of central casting, and Dr Galley delightfully over the top as a medic who has lost his marbles. The plot has many ludicrous moments, characters climbing in and out of windows, some not advancing the storyline a jot, giving the sense of being padding, and Campion jumps into a cupboard and switches identity in a way that is so obvious it is a miracle that none of the other characters caught on. The tone of the book veers between tongue-in-cheek humour, almost a parody of the genre, and a high-class thriller, as if Allingham could not quite make up her mind which way to take the story.

The showdown at the Mill is a tense, taut piece of writing, Allingham at her best, and keeps her reader gripped and anxious to know what happens. The resolution of the mystery, though, is a little disappointing, a bit rushed with Allingham giving the sense that she had had enough of the story and wanted to put it to bed as quickly as possible. She only agreed to write the book under pressure from her American publishers, after disappointing sales of Police at the Funeral and at the time she was working on what was to become the sixth in the series, Death of a Ghost.

Many consider this to be her best Campion novel. I found it a little too rushed and silly to give it that accolade, but it was an enjoyable few hours spent.

Apostrophe Of The Week

[image error]

The Apostrophe Protection Society may have thrown in the towel in their attempt to halt the misuse of the apostrophe, but here’s an example when knowing when and when not to use one can make all the difference.

An Indian takeaway restaurant in East London thought it would overhaul its publicity in order to attract more custom and to enhance its presence on on-line food delivery sites. A good idea, at least in theory.    

The name of the gaff is Anu’s Kitchen. In what can only be called a lamentable piece of proofreading, the oh so vital apostrophe was omitted and so the advert proclaimed the virtues of a restaurant known as Anus Kitchen. It was even listed as such on Foodhub, where you can get a 15% discount.

Still, look on the bright side. After the error went viral, they probably got more publicity than they would otherwise have done. Who needs apostrophes anyway?

Shiitake mushrooms anyone?

Dish Of The Week (2)

[image error]

I like a nice steak, but I think I will give the Ouroboros steak a miss. If you don’t know the symbolism of the Gnostic philosophers, a pretty niche subject I have to admit, the ouroboros portrayed a snake engaging in autophagy by eating its own tail, a symbol that was initially used a millennium or so earlier by the Egyptians.

Said to be a critique of laboratory-grown food, the Ouroboros steak kit would allow users to grow miniature steaks from their own cells. The idea of a scientist, Andrew Pelling, an artist, Orkan Telhan, and an industrial designer, Grace Knight, it has created sufficient interest to be nominated for the Design of the Year award by London’s Design Museum.

Two things to clear up: the kit is little more than a twinkle in the fevered minds of the trio and autophagy or eating yourself does not technically class as cannibalism. The latter may be a fine line many of us would not want to cross.

In a year which has taught us to pay closer attention to the provenance of our foodstuffs, they make a fair point, but I do not see it replacing a nice rump steak anytime soon.

Cantering Through Cant (10)

[image error]

Sleeping with someone who is not your partner may not necessarily be down to loose morals but rather to a shortage of beds. Francis Grose in his A Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue (1785) describes a custom called bundling which he defines as “a man and woman sleeping in the same bed, he with his small clothes, and she with her petticoats on; an expedient practiced in America on a scarcity of beds, where, on such an occasion, husbands and parents frequently permitted travellers to bundle with their wives and daughters”.  

One of the drawbacks of celebrating a birthday when I was a boy was that so-called friends would seize you by the arms and legs and throw you up and down for as many times as the years you were celebrating. We called this getting or giving the bumps. Grose gives a possible etymology for the custom of bumping which, no doubt due to ‘Elf and Safety considerations, is no longer performed in the nation’s school grounds. Grosse described it as “a ceremony performed on boys perambulating the bounds of the parish on Whit-Monday; when they have their posteriors bumped against the stones marking the boundaries, in order to fix them in their memory”.  

We may be the poorer for the loss of these customs.

Curio Wild Coast Gin

[image error]

My wife and I enjoy our trips down to Cornwall, taking in the wonderful gardens and breath-taking scenery. Our recent trip this October was more bracing than usual, battling against the ravages of what the meteorologists dubbed Storm Alex. There is something peculiarly British in battling against the elements to stand on Lizard Point, the most southerly point in Britain. As well as invigorated, bedraggled, and windswept, we had that distinctive taste of saltiness on our lips. If you could bottle it, that would be the essence of Cornwall.

Our visit did have its compensations, one of which for me was a visit to the delightful Constantine Stores. On the principle of when in Rome, I was looking for a distinctive Cornish gin, of which the ginaissance has spawned many, and Curio Wild Coast Gin jumped out at me from the shelves.

It comes in the squat, dumpy bottle shape favoured by a number of distillers, think Chase or Malfy, for example. The neck is quite short with a wooden cap and artificial stopper. The labelling is distinctive and bright, featuring in colour a tableau of botanicals, presumably those in the mix. The lower part of the bottle is dimpled, and the words “Curio” and “Cornwall” are embossed at the top of the bottle just before the neck.   

The label at the rear of the bottle informs me that everything they do is “inspired by the alchemy of flavour”. The gin is four-times distilled and “captures the light, fresh sea spray and wild aromas of the Cornish coast with notes of piney juniper, fresh citrus, sweet cinnamon and a slight peppery finish. Hand foraged on the local cliff tops, rock samphire is blended with 14 botanicals, then distilled with pure Cornish spring water in small batches”. Leaving aside the marketing hyperbole, this is the sort of information that a potential purchaser is looking for when they pick up a bottle. My bottle is from batch number 104.

I have been unable to find a definitive list of the botanicals used, but it does seem that juniper, lime flower tea, star anise, fresh lemon peel, seaweed, and nutmeg are deployed with the botanicals highlighted on the label. What else is used seems to be a state secret.

The gin is the brainchild of Rubina and William Tyler-Street who operate from Trenance, near St Keverne, although the expansion of their business means that Rubina looks after the gins and William the vodkas. Work began on developing the gin in 2014 and the Wild Coast Gin with an ABV of 41% suggests that their experimentation has paid off. On the nose there is a distinct smell of the coast, a mix of the aromas of the vegetation found on the Cornish cliffs and the spray of salt, but the juniper makes its presence felt as do the more citric elements. Like a well conducted orchestra, the disparate elements combine to make an alluring come-and-drink-me smell.

In the glass the clear spirit does not disappoint. There is a rush of taste sensations, a gin with a character of its own, with each element given its opportunity to shine whilst the juniper sits in the background, holding this whirligig of tastes together. It also tastes a little salty, not unpleasantly so but enough to conjure up the visions of a stretch of the Cornish coastline. The aftertaste is long and slightly peppery. The addition of a tonic has a transformative effect, bringing out the more floral and sweeter elements. Again, the choice of tonic is crucial. It cannot be overstated how the type of tonic you use can distort the taste of the spirit. Discretion is the better part of valour.

I really enjoyed the gin. It does what it says on the bottle and is distinctive. In a good way, I have never tasted anything like it.

Until the next time, cheers!

Book Corner – November 2020 (7)

[image error]

A Confederacy of Dunces – John Kennedy Toole

It may be an unfashionable view, but I find Joseph Heller’s Catch 22 almost impossible to read. I get so far and find I can’t go any further. Some years later I pick it up and the same thing happens again, my own peculiar version of Catch 22. Perhaps I’m prejudiced because the man who discovered the book, a senior editor at Simon & Schuster by the name of Robert Gottlieb, rejected Toole’s book after two years of protracted correspondence. Toole’s life spiralled out of control and he committed suicide near Biloxi in Mississippi in March 1969, aged 31. Due to his mother’s persistence it finally saw the light of day in 1980, winning the author a posthumous Pulitzer Prize, the only writer to be so honoured. Much good it did him.

The book is a picaresque novel detailing the adventures of a misfit in New Orleans, Ignatius J Reilly. There are Quixotic overtones as the anti-hero, an enormous slob of a man, rails against what he perceives to be the evils of society and trying to foist his own philosophy, based on Boethius, on the unsuspecting public. Ignatius is clumsy, walking disaster, a hypochondriac who will bore anyone in earshot about the state of his pyloric valve, eccentrically dressed with a preposterous green deerstalker perched atop of his oversized head, trapped by his own delusions of grandeur, a compulsive liar, blunt to the point of rudeness and unable to hold down a job. He really does not have much going for him.

Toole walks a fine line with his larger than life character. He joins in with us at laughing at his ludicrous creation but does it in a way that elicits sympathy. You wouldn’t want to live next door to the gaseous oaf, but you end up having a great deal of sympathy for him and hope that he finds a way out of the downward spiral that is his fate, or according to his philosophy, what the wheel of Fortuna has determined.         

Reilly is a worry to his mother and she eventually conspires to send him to a lunatic asylum. After a hilarious motor accident which results in significant structural damage and a big bill for compensation, Ignatius is forced to earn a living. Naturally, he wreaks havoc, initially as a filing clerk at Levy’s Pants, where he incites a strike, and as a hot dog seller where he gets himself involved in a scam to distribute pornography, centring around a house of ill repute. Events come to a hilarious head towards the end of the book.

Toole leaves us with a sense of hope from all the carnage that his comic creation has caused. His mother is finally able to stand her ground against Ignatius while still showing that, for all his faults, she still loves him. Gus Levy, the owner of Levy Pants, finally releases himself from the shackles of the past and looks forward to driving his business forward, manufacturing Bermuda shorts, with renewed gusto. The put upon African American vagrant-cum-bar sweeper, Burma Jones, through a clever piece of PR manipulation, engineers his escape from a life of vagrancy.

The book is very funny and has many memorable moments. Toole’s handling of colour may jar with many modern readers, although you could make a strong case for arguing that Burma Jones is the real hero of the story, showing a savviness and sense of compassion that all the other characters lack. The title, by the way, comes from Jonathan Swift’s essay, Thoughts on Various Subjects Moral and Diverting; “when a true genius appears in the world, you may know him by this sign, that the dunces are all in confederacy against him”. Is Burma, rather than Ignatius, Toole’s true genius?

I really enjoyed the book.

Error Of The Week (12)

[image error]

Red faces all round at the Rijksmuseum the other day when they found out that what they thought was a piece of rock brought back to Earth from the moon by US astronauts was a piece of petrified wood.

An easy mistake to make, perhaps, as the Amsterdam museum had acquired the item from the estate of former Prime Minister, Willem Drees, in 1988. He in turn had been given it by the then-US ambassador, J William Middendorf, on October 9, 1969 as a souvenir as part of the “Giant Leap” tour involving the three Apollo 11 astronauts who went to the moon.

Or did they? Perhaps this gives more grist to the speculation that it was all a bit of a hoax.

The museum claim that they checked the object’s provenance in a phone call with NASA when they inherited it, but they have only got round to checking its composition.

According to its spokesperson, Xandra van Gelder, the Rijksmuseum will be keeping it as a curiosity.

I just want to confirm that the piece of cheese loitering at the back of our fridge wasn’t from the moon either.

Book Corner – November 2020 (6)

[image error]

Mystery in the Channel – Freeman Wills Crofts

Published initially in 1931 and reissued as part of the inestimable British Library Crime Classics series, Crofts combines a version of a locked room mystery with a tale of financial skulduggery. His go-to ‘tec, Inspector Joseph French, is called upon to solve the mystery and put all to rights, in what is the seventh tale he features in.

I enjoyed this book less than the others by Crofts I have read. In part this is because French, worthy, methodical, hard-working, meticulous as he is, is a tad dull compared with some of his more illustrious rivals such as Holmes, Wimsey or Campion. He has little in the way of panache or flamboyance. Secondly, much of the sleuthing takes the form of a meticulous deconstruction of seemingly cast-iron alibis. Crofts betrays his engineering background by immersing the reader in the world of ferry timetables, ocean currents and wind directions. Thorough as the methodology may appear to be, it doesn’t make for a scintillating read. Apparently, though, this book is a classic example of that type of approach to problem solving. I will leave it to you to consider whether that is something in the book’s favour or not.

Thirdly, the list of suspects is a short one and I think my enjoyment was spoilt when it dawned me fairly on whodunit and, frankly, I was not over bothered how the murders were committed. My boat had well and truly left port by then. It is also a surprisingly monochrome book, with no female characters of any note. Many Golden Age crime novels relegate females to playing distracting love interest parts or subservient roles. Here, they do not even make the cut in one of these guises. Perhaps that is because the backdrop to the book is the world of high finance, a world in which women barely feature.

The book was written two years after the Wall Street crash, when the security of banks and one’s investments was uppermost in one’s mind. A Newhaven to Dieppe ferry stops to investigate a yacht adrift in the middle of the English channel. Captain Hewitt sends a boarding party on to the yacht who discover two bodies, both shot but with no sign of a murder weapon or, indeed, a murderer. Shortly afterwards, John Patrick Nolan arrives on a motor launch and identifies the dead duo as his colleagues, Paul Moxon and Sydney Deeping, chairman and vice-chairman respectively, of Moxon General Securities. It transpires that Moxon are on the verge of collapse, they do indeed, and that £1.5 million of the firm’s assets have been salted away, near on £100 million in today’s value.

The plot has more red herrings than you would find in the stretch of the channel where the murders took place, but French works his way to establishing the hows and whos of the case. Perhaps, as tellingly, the revealing feature of the book is the disapproval reserved to those who perpetrate financial fraud. Writing of the Assistant Commissioner, Crofts notes, “But for the wealthy thief who stole by the manipulation of stocks and shares and other less creditable means known to high finance, whether actually within or without the limits of the law, he had only the most profound enmity and contempt.”

It is a fascinating insight into attitudes of the time, but insufficient to save the book from being little more than a slightly above average example of the genre.

Fun Run Of The Week

[image error]

If there was one winner in the recent US Presidential campaign it was Philadelphia’s Four Season’s Total Landscaping, handily situated next to porn shop and across the road from a crematorium and host of a bizarre news conference hosted by Rudy Giuliani. Its place in folklore has been further cemented by Jeff Lyons who came up with the idea of an 11-ish mile fun run from the site to the Four Seasons hotel in aid of a hunger charity, Philabundance.

The idea of the event, dubbed the Fraud Street Run, caught the public imagination to such an extent that to control numbers the event is now to be hosted virtually via the organiser’s website. “Runners” from anywhere around the world can choose to “run” the route either from the Landscaping lot to the hotel or vice versa.

The event will be hosted on November 29th and 30th and all monies raised, $19,000 with in the first three days, will go to a good cause.

Fraud Street Run

Fraud Street Run