Martin Fone's Blog, page 211
November 9, 2019
Christmas News (3)
Here’s news to depress even the cheeriest of souls.
Heart Radio, a commercial radio station here in Blighty, launched
on November 1st a new channel called Heart extra Xmas, promising “to
bring festive cheer across the UK”. Its schedule is one long soundtrack of
Christmas faves and anthems, playing 24 hours a day, every day of the week, uninterrupted
by such external nuisances like presenters or the news.
In their blurb, Heart describe it as “providing the
perfect soundtrack to your personal winter wonderland”. More like a
personal nightmare.
Roll on December 26th is all I can say.
November 8, 2019
What Is The Origin Of (256)?…
Couldn’t
run a whelk stall
We live in
an age of political ineptitude. Most British voters wouldn’t trust their motley
collection of MPs to organize a piss up in a brewery never mind sort out the
affairs of state and run the country. A politer summary of their collective
ineptitude is to remark that they couldn’t run a whelk stall. What is
interesting about this phrase is that we can attribute it to one man, that it
was initially used to describe politicians and that it demonstrates that despair
of the political classes is not a new phenomenon.
Our story
starts with John Burns, an English trades unionist and politician, keen
sportsman, teetotaler and, in his later years after receiving an annuity from
Andrew Carnegie, historian. 1894 was a bit of a year for John. He was a keen
cricket enthusiast and could regularly be seen watching a game at London’s
premier grounds, Lord’s and The Oval. It is important, though, to keep your on
the ball, something that John spectacularly failed to do, sustaining severe
facial injuries when he was hit in the face.
On the
other hand, 1894 also saw him lay claim to the title of the inventor of the
phrase, couldn’t run a whelk stall. Addressing a meeting of his constituents in
Battersea on January 7th of that year, he was in full rhetorical
flow, as Reynold’s Newspaper recorded. “Am I”, he fulminated, “to
take my orders from these political Admirable Crichtons who fancy themselves
Pitts and Bolingbrokes, but who haven’t got the brains and ability to run a
whelk stall?” At which point his audience burst out into cheers and whoops
of laughter.
Quite why
Burns chose a whelk stall is uncertain. They were a regular sight on the
streets, for sure, and as a simple operation selling a single product would not
require much ingenuity to make a fist of it. What is clearer is that Burns was
associated with the phrase, a letter from Walter Isaac, published in the
Islington Daily Gazette and North London Tribune on January 2, 1903, noted, “[it]
reminds us somewhat of Mr John Burns’ description of some public committee
as not possessing sufficient ability to run a whelk stall”.
The phrase
moved into political parlance, used as a telling critique of the aptitude and
ability of the ruling party. A Labour candidate for the constituency of
Wolverhampton West, a Mr T F Richards, was reported by the Lancashire Daily
Post as sying, to laughter from his audience, that “the Government had not
enough intelligence to run a whelk stall”.
The Labour movement took it up with some gusto, Ramsay MacDonald, on the stump in May 1926 was reported in several newspapers to have given this sound bite; “the intention is good, the masses are glorious, but your Government could not run a whelk stall”. Baldwin’s men, though, would not take this jibe lying down, the Tory Sir William Joynson Hicks retorting, according to the Evening News and Southern Daily Mail of May 20, 1926 that, “difficulty arose when a body of men, whose capacity was that of running a whelk stall, strived to run the country”.
Touché.
The phrase has endured as has the notion that politicians couldn’t even run a whelk stall. John Burns also made another contribution to the richness of the English language. In 1929 when an American compared the Thames unfavourably with the Mississippi, he wrote, “The St Lawrence is water, the Mississippi muddy water, but the Thames is liquid history”. Another phrase that stuck.
I wrote this before the General Election was called and it seems even more apposite now.
November 7, 2019
Gin O’Clock – Part Eighty Two
If Lantic Gin has the feel of a gin made by an enthusiast,
then today’s gin, Monterey Helford Gin, has much loftier pretensions.
Such are the variations in approaches that the ginaissance has spawned. It
comes in a wonderfully ornate, tall, octagonal bottle, four short sides at the
corners and four longer faces, with a glass stopper. The label, a dark green
background with predominantly gold lettering, has a profusion of art deco style
geometric shapes. It tells me that it is “gin for the discerning”, I
would expect nothing less, and that its ABV is 43%.
I bought my bottle, number 62 from batch one, from the
Constantine Stores on a recent visit and it came in a splendid white
presentation box, resplendent with the art deco Monterey logo in gold. It is an
impressive object and stands out on my crowded gin display.
The name of the gin, distilled in Helford, near Falmouth, in
Cornwall ties in nicely with the art deco feel of the bottle. Monterey pines,
which stand tall and proud along the banks of the Helford river, overshadowing
the indigenous oaks, were introduced in the 1920s and 30s from California. They
found the area to their liking and have not looked back. The brains behind
Monterey gin wanted to create a gin that resonated with the days of speakeasy
bars, flappers and when cocktails were de rigueur, a gin that would be equally
at home as a component of an extravagant cocktail as the companion to a tonic.
There are eleven botanicals in the mix. Frustratingly, they
do not reveal what they are save that you will find Gentian Root, it is the
main ingredient in Angostura bitters so you get the idea, Mate, a form of tea
from Argentina, and Sea Buckthorn. The starting point is an organic grain
spirit into which the eleven botanicals are steeped in a copper still named
Shirley. As the still heats up, the infusion is allowed to evaporate and then
is cooled and condensed. Once the Heads and Tails of the batch are disposed of,
the Hearts are diluted down to its fighting weight using de-mineralised water.
What this process, known as “one shot” distillation, means
is that other than the water dilution, the spirit isn’t changed – what goes in
is what comes out and all the oils and flavours resident in the botanicals are
retained – but it is also a time-consuming process and means that the number of
bottles obtained from any one batch is on the lower end of the production
spectrum.
The key question, though, is; is it all fur coat and no
knickers? Does it live up to its image and hype?
I don’t know why but I was expecting a bit of a let down but
my endemic pessimism was misplaced. The aroma told me that this gin was going
to be juniper-led and that spice, peppers and some citrus elements were going
to be in the mix. To the taste it was a smooth, complex drink with all the
elements coming into play once the initial juniper hit had passed. The
aftertaste was long and slightly spicy.
It went well with Navas tonic, the lightness of the tonic
emphasising some of the subtler flavours in the gin. Not only does Monterey gin
look good, it tastes good and you can’t ask for better than that.
Until the next time, cheers!
November 6, 2019
Book Corner – November 2019 (1)
Murder in Midsummer: Classic Mysteries for the Holidays
I’m a sucker for these anthologies of murder and crime tales. Murder in Midsummer is not one from the series curated by the inestimable Martin Edwards but was out together by Cecily Gayford. Quite what she did is difficult to determine as there is no introduction to the anthology and no introduction to any of the stories. Money for old rope, if you ask me.
My other quibble is the title. The books blurb says that all
the stories take place in the summer and whilst they all have a vague holiday
theme about them, some are vague as to which season the action is set. The
story that jars most is Ellis Peters’ contribution, Dead Mountain Lion, not a
Cadfael tale, by the way, which is set in the snow-capped and icy Dolomites.
Snow and ice form the backdrop to the story, not blazing sun. These are small
points and it is difficult to hit on a title that represents a wide range of
stories but the title is a bit of a misnomer.
That said, the ten tales which make up the book are well
written and entertaining enough. You can’t go wrong with a collection that
features Sherlock Holmes. Father Brown and Lord Peter Wimsey, can you?
The Lion’s Mane, Conan Doyle’s contribution, is an oddity in
itself in that it is one narrated by Holmes himself rather than the
ever-faithful scribe, Dr Watson. Holmes is in retirement by the coast and is
invited to exercise his grey cells to solve a perplexing and violent assault.
It is his knowledge of sea life that resolves the conundrum and as Holmes’
cases go, it is one of the weaker.
Dorothy L Sayers’ Lord Peter Wimsey is a Marmite character,
many love him, others are irritated by his mannerisms. I rather like him and
the stories have a nice thread of humour running through them. Rather like
Holmes, Wimsey has a propensity to let sleeping dogs lie and let natural
justice take its course. The felon in The Unsolved Puzzle of the Man with No
Face, unmasked by Wimsey, gets away with his crime. However, Sayers’ moral
compass is not as steady as Doyle’s as another cops the blame.
I really enjoyed The Exploding Battleship by Michael Innes
which beautifully combined two of my interests, murder and scamming. The ruse
that lures mark into the scam is ingenious. Ruth Rendell’s Achilles Heel
features Inspector Wexford and is entertaining enough, if a bit pedestrian. The
weakest of the stories in my view was Carter Dickson’s The House in Goblin
Wood, a mix of gothic horror and fantasy, which didn’t quite work.
Disappointingly, the Margaret Allingham story, The
Villa Marie Celeste, is one I have read several times but still withstood
another reading. R Austin Freeman, I find a little tedious and The Blue Scarab
was no exception. It was a clever enough plot but he does go on. The Oracle of
the Dog sees Father Brown on top form as he unravels the truth behind a crime.
November 5, 2019
Culinary Tip Of The Week (3)
I am the last person you should come to for any culinary advice but if
you love avocado, as I do, and want a fool proof way to freeze what you have
left over, never been a problem for me but bear with me, then here’s the
answer, courtesy of a Facebook page called Slow Cooker Recipes and Tips. It
prevents them going an unappetisingly brown colour.
Take a fresh avocado, cut it in half – I addressed the problems associated
with this fiendish task some time ago (https://windowthroughtime.wordpress.com/?p=9740)
– and take out the pit, or the stone, to you and me. Then slice or cut the
fruit into chunks and lay them out individually on to a tray, lined with
parchment paper. Every house should have a roll, I feel. Make sure they don’t
touch each other.
Pop the tray into the freezer and remove it after twenty-four hours. Put
all the pieces into a bag and pop it into the freezer until you want to use it.
Et voilà, perfect frozen avocados, as fresh as a daisy.
Let me know if it works.
November 4, 2019
There Ain’t ‘Alf Some Clever Bastards – Part Ninety Nine
Elizabeth J Magie (1866 – 1948)
I’ve always had a love hate
relationship with that board game that is trotted out when families and friends
gather, Monopoly. On the one hand, it is enjoyable, engaging and can keep
everyone entertained for several hours. On the other hand, for someone with
socialist leanings, it disturbs me that it seems to bring out the worst
features of a grasping capitalist out in many of the game’s participants.
Elizabeth
Magie, known to her friends and family as Lizzie, was from Scottish immigrant
stock, living in Prince George’s county in Washington D.C at the turn of the 20th
century. She was known for her progressive political views and was looking for
a way to bring her concerns about the economic impact of the monopoly on land and property owners
on the common folk to a wider audience. At the time board games were becoming
increasingly popular amongst middle class families and this seemed to be the
best medium to spread her message.
What Lizzie developed was a game called the Landlord’s Game, designed,
as she said, as “a practical demonstration of the present system of
land-grabbing with all its usual outcomes and consequences…contain[ing] all the
elements of success and failure in the real world”.
The elements of the game will be familiar to many readers, players
progressed around the outer rim of a board, receiving $100 every time they
passed the Mother Earth space and going to jail if they trespassed on land.
Properties were available to buy and then collect rents from. Those unfortunate
enough to run out of money were sent to the Poor House. There were two sets of
rules; one which rewarded all players when wealth was created and one where the
goal was to create monopolies and crush opponents.
Satisfied with her game, Lizzie applied for and was granted a US Patent
(no 748,626) on January 5, 1904. The Landlord’s Game gained some popularity
with intellectuals and university campuses (the two are often mutually
exclusive, I find) and was revised and improved over time. In 1924, recognising
that her patent had expired and that she needed to re-establish her ownership
of the game, Lizzie applied for and was granted another patent (no 1,509,312).
It is now time for Charles Darrow to enter our story.
In late 1932, Charles, unemployed and desperate for money, was
introduced to a property board game by Philadelphia businessman, Charles Todd.
Darrow was taken by the game and saw an opportunity to make some money,
initially hand-producing the game which he called Monopoly and then a printed
version, obtaining a copyright for it in 1933.
Sales of the game were so promising in the run up to Christmas 1934 that
Parker Brothers, now part of Hasbro, approached Darrow and, on March 18, 1935,
bought the game, the remains of Darrow’s stock and helped him to secure a
patent. But a month later Parker Brothers became suspicious of Darrow’s claims
that he was the sole inventor of the game and, in a smart move, approached
Lizzie to buy the patent for her Landlord’s game and a couple of other games
she had created. They proposed to her a payment of $500, which she accepted,
but they did not offer her a share of the royalties.
At the time, Lizzie didn’t smell a rat, even writing to the treasurer of Parker Brothers that when the prototype of her game arrived, she had a song in heart”. But in January 1936 her mood changed. The Washington Evening Star carried a picture of her holding a board from her Landlord’s Game and one from a game called Monopoly. The similarities were striking, as they would be. She was angry, steadfast in her belief that Parker Brothers had stolen her best-seller of an idea.
A best seller it was too, taking
off in the States and becoming an international favourite. Darrow, who had a
slice of the royalties, made millions from the game. When asked by the Germantown Bulletin how he came to
invent such a wildfire success, Darrow replied, somewhat ingenuously, “it’s a
freak…entirely unexpected and illogical”.
Lizzie’s role in developing the game was effectively airbrushed out of
history. When she died in 1948, a widow with no children, neither her obituary
nor her tombstone bore any reference to her role in developing one of the
world’s best-known games. The website of Hasbro, ironically named for the
eighth year in succession in 2019 as one of the world’s most ethical companies
by the Ethisphere Institute, is silent on her contribution.
There matters would have remained but for an American economics
professor from San Francisco University, Ralph Anspach. In 1974 he launched a
game called Anti-Monopoly and was immediately sued by Parker Brothers for
breach of copyright. In preparing his defence, Anspach uncovered the history of
the Landlord’s Game, Lizzie’s role in developing it, and how Darrow had been
economical with the actualité in explaining his how he had come across
Monopoly. After a ten-year legal battle, Anspach prevailed and Lizzie has now begun
to receive the credit she deserved, at least in some circles.
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If you enjoyed this, look out for Martin Fone’s new book, The Fickle Finger, which will be published in April 2020. For details follow this link https://martinfone.wordpress.com/the-fickle-finger/
In the meantime, to get your fix of unfortunate inventors,
try Fifty Clever Bastards by Martin Fone, details of which are
here https://martinfone.wordpress.com/fifty-clever-bastards/
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November 3, 2019
Old Codgers Of The Week – Part Ten
Now that I have reached the age that once would have
entitled me to a state pension and a bus pass, I have renewed my interest in
the derring-do of my elders and betters.
I take my metaphorical hat off to Tony Bowman, an
84-year-young grandfather from Leeds, who won a gold medal, representing Great
Britain, in the European Masters in Venice in September. He completed the 80
metre hurdles dash over hurdles two-and-a-quarter feet high, in a sprightly
16.8 seconds to secure first place. Some feat.
The indefatigable Tony didn’t stop there, securing a silver
in the 400-metre relay, a bronze in the decathlon, and finishing fourth and
fifth in the 100-metre dash and 200-metre sprint respectively.
What is even more remarkable is that Tony has had trouble
with his ticker. With that sangfroid I am learning to cultivate, he said, “if
that’s it – curtains – when I’m running, that’s a great way to go”.
I’m sure, with that track record, when it’s his time to go,
he will be the first to the queue for the pearly gates.
November 2, 2019
Hair Salon Of The Week
I have my hair cut about every six weeks and the one thing I
can’t abide about the whole process is being saddled with a crimper who insists
on striking up some inane conversation. The only thing I want the opportunity
to get off my mind when I am in the chair is the surplus hair on my head.
I gave three cheers, silent, of course, to an initiative launched by the hairdressers named with some irony, no doubt, Not Another Salon, to be found in Brick Lane in London’s Shoreditch area. When you book an appointment, they are too exclusive to cope with walk-ins, you are given the opportunity to request a conversation-free hairdo. The only words uttered during the process, owner Sophia Hilton promises, relate specifically to the haircut itself.
If more salons follow this commendable lead, the curse of
the chattering crimper may soon be a thing of the past. More power to their
scissors, I say.
Still, the opportunity to listen to a hairdresser’s mindless
chatter may be a matter of some consolation to those who have thinned out on
top. A piece of research in South Korea, conducted on 13,000 men aged between
20 and 59, has found that those men who work more than 52 hours a week are
twice as likely to lose their hair than those who don’t. It is all to do with
stress, apparently, that causes a change in hormone levels in certain parts of
the body, including the scalp.
And there was me thinking my full head of hair was all down
to genetics.
November 1, 2019
What Is The Origin Of (255)?…
To play gooseberry
One of the things I enjoy when I investigate a word or
phrase from a wonderfully rich language is to see how through the ages the
meaning has changed, often subtly, sometimes turning a full 180 degrees. Take
to play gooseberry, for instance. We use it these days to denote a person who
is interrupting the course of true love by hanging around when a couple want to
get to know each other better.
In more genteel times, it was difficult for couples who had
fallen in love or anticipated that there was likely to be some form of romantic
attachment development to spend time together. Reputations and the woman’s good
name had to be preserved at all costs. The more headstrong couples would find a
way to conduct their trysts but over time a system developed which met the
couple’s objectives, or at least some of them, whilst satisfying the parents
that the youngsters had behaved with modesty and decorum. This involved someone
who acted as a chaperone, keeping at a discreet distance to allow the lovers to
chat but close enough to ensure there was no hanky-panky.
Such a person was known as a gooseberry. The term was referred
to in a definition for the word Gubbs in A dialogue in the Devonshire dialect
of 1837, compiled by Mary and James Palmer, thus; “a go-between or gooseberry.
To play gooseberry is to give a pretext for two young people to be together”.
Although this seems to be the first appearance of the phrase in print, the
Palmers were sufficiently confident that the reader would understand the term
to leave it hanging there without a gloss.
There was a phrase to play old gooseberry, defined by George
Grose in his Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue of 1796 as “a person
who, by force or threats, suddenly puts an end to a riot or disturbance”. Old
Gooseberry was an epithet for the devil in mediaeval times. Whilst it might be
tempting to think that the term gooseberry described the couple’s views of the
third party surreptitiously observing their tryst, the early incarnations of
the phrase suggest that the gooseberry was helpful to their cause rather than
otherwise. Despite the similarities, Grose’s phrase probably has nothing to do
with ours.
It may be that one of the ways the chaperone passed the time
was to pick gooseberries or engage in some other harmless pursuit. This comes
out in this passage from Edmund Yates’ Nobody’s Fortune from 1872 in which a Mr
Womersley, cast in the role of chaperone, exclaims, “I am never in the way;
and when I am with you, I betake myself to gooseberry picking or watch the
butterflies, with a discretion seldom to be found in an old gentleman so
situated”. Similarly, in Yates’ earlier novel, The Rock Ahead from 1868,
Lord Sandilands says, “I should think that you might find an opportunity of
speaking to the lady in private…and if you want an elderly gooseberry-picker,
you may command me”.
The problem with this theory, of course, is that
gooseberries are a seasonal fruit, ripe enough for picking in June and July,
and love making is an all the year-round affair. But it might just be an
example of what the chaperone may have got up to keep discreetly in the
background.
It was around this time, though, that playing gooseberry
picked up its modern connotation of being in the way or cramping someone’s
style. A story called Cousin Tom printed in the Banffshire Journal on December
20, 1864, contained this passage; “and it flashed upon me that I, like an
idiot, was playing gooseberry”. The obliging narrator made their excuses
and left.
Quite why there was this volte-face in meaning is unclear.
Perhaps it had something to do with a more liberal attitude towards courting
couples. Who knows? But it is this meaning which stuck.
October 31, 2019
Gin O’Clock – Part Eighty One
Such is the proliferation of gins that have emerged courtesy
of the ginaissance that it is well-nigh impossible to keep on top of what is
going on. I have long since abandoned as somewhat forlorn any ambition I might
once have had of sampling them all. In truth, there are many, particularly the
outlandish end of the flavoured gin spectrum, that I could live without but I
do enjoy exploring small craft, distinctly regional gins and this week’s
subject, Lantic Gin, from the Skylark Distillery in Lostwithiel fits the
bill perfectly.
The name Lantic is a tip of the hat to Lantic Bay, a
stunning stretch of coast with near white sand, turquoise water and lush
clifftops, running between Fowey and Polperro in south-eastern Cornwall. In
former times it had associations with smuggling but for distiller, Alex
Palmer-Samborne, it is today the source for some of the botanicals that go into
the mix. Whilst out walking with his dog, Alex gathers Rock Samphire, Gorse
Flowers, Water Mint, Heather, Lemon Thyme, and Apple Mint which give his gin its
distinctive flavour and play upon the solid base provided by the other nine
botanicals.
The base of the gin is a neutral English grain spirit,
diluted with Cornish spring water, into which the nine base botanicals
including juniper. They use a 150-litre copper pot still called Virginia into
which the mix is poured and left overnight. The six locally foraged botanicals
are then added the following day and reheated. The spirit is then diluted with
Cornish spring water to bring it down to its fighting weight of 42% ABV. The
use of Cornish water allows Skylark to designate their product as Cornish gin.
I bought my bottle at the excellent Constantine Stores, the
physical incarnation of drinkfinder.co.uk. It is bell-shaped, clear with a
synthetic stopper. The labelling consists of very light blue and white stripes
with the lettering in a dark blue (think Cambridge and Oxford). There is a bit
of a nautical feel to the label which informs me that it is “hand made by
the Skylark Distillery, the Spirited Company of Foraging Ginmakers”. Disappointingly,
there is no batch number or bottle number on the label. I know it must be a fag
to do that but if you are going to go to the trouble of presenting yourself as
a small, artisan distiller, it helps to make the point.
It seems Alex and his friends, it pays to be friends with a
distiller, had fun testing the various batches in an attempt to come up with
the perfect recipe. The initial gins were juniper-heavy but they decided to
move away from that to produce a more contemporary, floral, lighter, smoother
gin. To the nose it is clear that this is going to be distinctive with the
juniper downplayed and the floral elements to the fore. In the mouth it is a
complex drink with a nice balance of all the elements in play with a smooth,
lingering and none too spicy aftertaste. I mixed it with Navas tonic and its
lightness brought out the best of the spirit.
I enjoyed it, although I was missing the heavy juniper
notes, and I found it a good opener to the evening. Indeed, so moreish is it
that I am in danger of having to send out for some emergency supplies.
Until the next time, cheers!
