Civil disobedience - a new olympic sport?

Dear reader,  the regular one, the one sort of upset after reading my previous post on civil disobedience but lacking the energy to write in and tell me off, wait until you read this one! Because events the world over constantly overtake me, making me angry and disappointed in equal measure at different times, I want to say a bit more on this subject while I'm still upset in one way or another (I wrote all this some time ago, but only decided to burden you with it now...!).

Let me get the olympic sport bit out of the way first : if civil disobedience can be regarded as a sport, it could be a new form of pentathlon, more up-to-date and ready to appeal to current young people. It contains everything, from throws (ah, those lovely molotov cocktails, just need to get a couple of standard sizes and we're there) to modern combat (batons and thick staves needed, again a standard needs to be established and shields outlawed), adding running with two groups (one running ahead and a chasing group a few seconds behind), weightlifting in the form of ripping out and lifting above shoulder level paving stones and other things, progressively heavier (and hopefully causing more and more damage to adjacent buildings and whatever else handy), a wrestling contest completing the challenge, perhaps similar looking to an arrest by security forces, even ending with a handcuffing to signify a winner.

The modern Olympic Games have become a multi-cultural money festival, where multinational companies compete to pour in money and showcase their name to the world. They bear no resemblance to the Olympic Games that dominated life in Ancient Greece, rooted in competition for glory and a laurel wreath, but involving no money. Today the Games are all about a show - live, as well as the hugely valuable television coverage - and all that goes with it, so that many different new sports seem to be considered all the time in order to add viewers. The main justifications I hear for proposing a new 'sport' is that it involves great difficulty in its execution - wow, like eating an ice-cream cone while hanging upside down from a chandelier, say? - and that it has a 'following'!

That's where Civil Disobedience can step in, natty yellow vests everywhere - or, indeed, the preferred sponsor's colours - adding a splash of much needed colour, not to mention the odd explosion! Think about it: the Olympic Games will get a wonderful new sport, adding variety, the streets can return to their previous peaceful existence once proper training facilities are built and, as an extra bonus, we get to see the people involved without hoodies, as they will want to claim their prizes and things. And more and more young people will want to take part, keeping them off the streets but having fun and, potentially, winning Olympic medals!

A winner plan all around, me thinks!

A lost sole!

In the middle of the countryside, on a quiet lane somewhere in the Sussex Downs I came across this sole, clearly lost. My feel for the ridiculous allowed me neither to pass on taking a photograph nor on writing this post. You will, my loyal reader, have recognised this proclivity of mine some time ago; here you may enjoy it in all (some?) of its glory. And yes, you are allowed to hate it, too.

There has been an ongoing debate going back hundreds if not thousands of years about whether we humans have souls or not. Many a time have we heard someone described as being 'a lost soul', other times we hear about the desired salvation of a person's soul and how to go about it. Souls have been talked about for thousands of years, prayed for, discussed and revered, yet we cannot for sure know whether they exist at all.

What is not under debate, I trust, is that most of us wear shoes and these shoes have soles. These soles are undeniably real, they are normally attached to shoes and hardly anybody has ever prayed for their salvation, though plenty of us have gone out of our way to repair ours so that they continue to function, fulfilling their goal in life and covering our needs. But it seems that sometimes a real, physical sole - shown clearly in the centre of the photograph - can get stuck in mud somewhere (and why is there always filth involved?), to be lost probably forever, with no redemption in sight.
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So there you have it, ladies and gentlemen(old-fashioned, straight out of the Ark and absurdly, it seems, polite!)/people (trendily gender neutral!)/boys and girls (patronising!) - a very tangible, existing, visible, the real thing - a true lost sole.

Winter is coming!

Brockwell Park in summer is a riot of verdant lushness, its trees heavy with leaf, a green paradise, much loved by local people; I have written glowingly about it in the past, dear reader, as you clearly remember. In mid-November, however, the picture is completely different, if equally beautiful to my adoring eyes.

With winter on the way, late autumn is abuzz with colour; some leaves remain on the trees but many are on the footpaths, the grass, everywhere. The trees are starting to look naked, stark and austere, beautiful in an entirely different, slightly haunting and daunting way. This is not, of course, exclusive to Brockwell Park, as some of the photographs of my Sunday jaunt a few days ago would have shown, with trees denuding all over Britain in preparation for the coming of winter.

Some people I know would be happy to always live in a place where the weather stays mild and summery all year around, with little variation. Whilst I sympathise with their feelings I am a firm lover of the changing of the seasons, quick to put on my warm clothes for winter and equally keen in my anticipation of summer heat. Change provides a beauty that is not static, colours coming and going with the dimming or brightening of sunlight, clouds providing a fluffy background, rain (ok, not all the time, please!) refreshing everything and feeding crops for the farming community, though lately it has seemed as if the rains have been overdoing it a touch...

Nature is amazing, awe-inspiring, beautiful; occasionally it can also be destructive, harsh, deadly. Human beings are, perhaps unwittingly, engaged in destroying nature's balance which, scientists suggest would ultimately so upset the balance of the natural order that our world as we know it may cease to function and will no longer exist in the form that we recognise.

I am hugely grateful that I am still able to enjoy the colours, the textures, the feel of the seasons, in Brockwell Park or elsewhere. Rejoice now in the beauty, yes, but let's do something to keep it for our children and their children, for the future.

Great food, great wines, expertly paired!

I wish I could take credit for all the wonderful wines I have beed lucky enough to drink and all the lovely food I have been fortunate enough to eat; alas, most of the time somebody else has either been guiding me, or has invited me to stuff my face with delights that they had prepared for my appreciation. Still, I've done well.

And one night three weeks ago I was 'forced' by the friends of Dionysos to attend a dinner at a special little Athens, Greece restaurant called CTC, which is a clever play on the greek word for nourishment. Only a few years ago and in the middle of the worst economic crisis that Greece has seen for many a year, a young chef called Alexandros Tsiotinis decided, having trained alongside some of the giants of world gastronomy, to open his own seriously ambitious restaurant - CTC urban gastronomy was born.

Young Mr. Tsiotinis is not playing at this and has learned well, with his food being innovative and exciting, making us think but giving pleasure at the same time. Amazingly detailed presentation, spectacular textures and small but intense portions were the name of the day on 22.10.19, with tastes that were subtle and at the same time strong, complex enough to knock your socks off. Every course was different - even the bread was unusual - with most being spectacularly successful, and one perhaps less so, but they all showed individuality, good technique and an abundance of passion, that most important of cooking ingredients. CTC is a very special place that engages the mind as well as the stomach, not perhaps cheap but worth every penny, a treat for any food lover as and when they can.

The Friends of Dionysos, that busy little band of wine fanatics that I am fortunate to be a part of, put forward some stunning wines to accompany the food, starting with a cracking white from Savoie, Un Matin Face au Lac 2016, Les Vignes du Paradis. Minerally yet floral, sweet on the finish with lychee and ripe pear overtones on the palate, complex and long, this was a stunning wine to start with and accompany the first two courses, a cream of lobster infused with bergamot and corn, and cod with a burnt leek mousse. Both courses were produced with a delicacy of touch often lacking in Greece, both were very well executed in taste and texture, just yummy!

The rose that followed was a big, big wine from 2017 that was closer to a red than a rose from the Tatsis winery in the north of Greece, and a grape variety called Negoska. This is not your light, summery, wispy light pink stuff, this is a bone dry heavyweight, almost a light red with a hint of tannin, good deep rose colour and plenty of taste. Reminding me of some of the old-fashioned, delectable rose wines from the South of France of years gone by, before angels started whispering, it was able to stand up to and accompany properly the 'paella' of potato with calamari and octopus, all infused with hints of chorizo.

Chateau Carras is a wine created entirely from scratch as a whim of John C. Carras, Greek shipowner extraordinaire and visionary, who in the 1960s fell in love with and bought a large plot of land in Sithonia, the middle of the three Halkidiki peninsulas, in order to create a world-beating tourist complex. At the same time he wanted to create new vineyards in order to make a greek wine that could compete with the best in Europe, which for him meant the wines of Bordeaux; amazingly he did just that, with the help of experts, a lot of money and patience. Porto Carras was the overall property, including hotels, marinas, bungalows, with Chateau Carras its flagship wine.

A Bordeaux blend with a touch of the greek variety Limnio as a filler, the Carras wine soon established itself as a wine of class and quality. At CTC we were able to show the 1997, all big red fruit, spices, balance and finesse, still young and drinking supremely well, long and impressive, matched if nor exceeded by the bigger, chunkier 1990, still vigorous, tannins lurking, ripe fruits. Two superb reds to partner our main course of beef with hazelnut, black garlic and jerusalem artichoke (topinambour) puree.

The CTC crew surpassed themselves with the dessert, made to look like a miniature handbag, full of chocolatey and red fruit tastes, and textures that varied from the chewy to the crunchy. To accompany this an ethereal eau-de-vie was served, made from wild rasberries by Gilbert Miclos in Alsace, clean, delicate and strong at the same time, just superb and eminently gluggable.

The Friends of Dionysos have staged many extraordinary dinners, with this being one of the best. And CTC, with its artistry and passion, is carving a niche for itself in the inhospitable scene that is Athenian High Gastronomy. I'm just grateful to have been a part of a delightful evening, to have presented the Chateau Carras wines, to have broken bread with fellow Friends of Dionysos, to have enjoyed the fruits of Greek passion in CTC and Chateau Carras, to deeply appreciate and love food and wine, making my life immeasurably richer.

Autumn in the English countryside.

'I'm back, I'm back', I said to exactly nobody, as after an absence of approximately six month I returned to the UK in the middle of the most toxic political climate possible. Excited I most certainly was, but hardly anyone seemed to share this, with the weather deciding to rain heavily just to show its disdain. Still I coped admirably, even if I say so myself, especially as my good friends B & C - yes, avid reader, you do know them - invited me to spend the weekend at their welcoming home in the Surrey countryside. The weather, however, shared none of our enthusiasm and continued wet, cold and fairly miserable.

What a difference a day makes! Sunday was cold, yes, but sunny and glowing, with Mother Nature showing off her amazing autumnal colours. My kind hosts - or should I label them torturers - had, as is their wont, arranged for a long and arduous walk up and down a portion of the South Downs, slipping and sliding in the abundant mud, only made bearable by the thought of an excellent lunch to follow in a country hostelry of their choice.

So up we went, slipping and sliding, in the company of their neighbour and friend L., whose husband had just jetted off to the other side of the world, seemingly to avoid seeing me again, a sentiment which I sometimes share, especially in the morning. Despite B&C's apparent penchant for getting lost - their claim, not mine - and some rather unusual moments full of mud and doubt - down another hill we went to successfully reach our destination. I must admit that taking off my by now extremely muddy borrowed Wellies (wellington boots to the uninitiated) in order to join civilised people for lunch, then pulling them back on, was at least as hard as the walking for me, though a constant source of amusement for my friends. Oh how I appreciated their encouraging (!) comments!

The hostelry was indeed welcoming, pleasant and stylish, though rather quiet for Sunday lunch, which suited us just fine. What suited me not at all was the fact that I couldn't over-indulge, especially on the wine, as we had to make our way back to the car over a similarly challenging route, not something doable with a bottle or two of wine in the system; so, alas, I was relatively abstemious. The food ranged from excellent - check out the photo of the lovely artichoke soup - to ok as far as the roast of the day went, with a pleasant chocolate mousse for me to finish with, ensuring no calories were lost on the day; a pleasant glass of white Gascon wine - Domaine du Tariquet Classic - allowed the food to slip down sweetly, though I yearned for further glasses that were destined to never appear. The company was excellent, relaxed and interesting.

My battle with the wellies, however, soon recommenced and was equally unpleasant, but we were soon on our way with only a few snide remarks by my kindly group of friends. Luckily the route back was fortunately easier, less muddy and precarious than the way out, so in failing light we ended back at the car park. The colours that in bright sunlight earlier had been vibrant were now less bright but equally beautiful, darker and deeper.

And, would you believe it, I had to take the muddy boots off again which, while slightly easier than putting them on, was not fun. Soon we were cocooned in C's supercar making our way back to Surrey, tired, replete, happy.

Autumn in England's countryside is full of colour, mud, dead leaves and enchantment hard to equal. This green and pleasant land has beauty to spare whatever the season, but I find autumn especially alluring, the colours just gorgeous, the prelude to the starkness of winter. My love affair with the UK continues, thanks largely to the kindness and generosity of my friends that allows me not only to live the beauty at close quarters but to satisfy my foodie instincts at the same time.

Have I ever mentioned how fortunate I am for the existence of all these people in my life, especially now that I need their support so much?

No disrespect, but...

On reading my last post a less astute reader may have concluded that I am not favourably inclined to the United Kingdom and its inhabitants, nor their World or European views; they could not have been more wrong. I am, and to my dying breath will remain, a sincere devotee of UK-ishness, whatever that means for any and everybody. London was, is and forever will be for me the most magical city in the world for all its faults, the home my heart will always yearn for, as my regular reader already knows without a shadow of a doubt.

The Parliament of the United Kingdom should serve as an example of how modern democracy can and should operate for the world, independent and clear-headed, owing a debt to no-one. While this appears not to serve the short-term desires of incumbent governments, we must remember that exactly that is its role - to be a check on precisely those desires, to scrutinise, reject and offer alternative views on subjects. The issue of Brexit, or indeed any issue, cannot be allowed to render Parliament powerless or sidelined just because it may be convenient to getting things done. Parliament is a safeguard, an elected safeguard at that, and that is how Democracy - that least bad of political systems - works. For, alas, the alternative is far, far worse.

It may in an ideal world be true that enlightened dictatorship is the perfect system - a leader, male or female, who is so wise and well-intentioned that all their decisions are for the good of the populace at large, whose every breath is dedicated to ensuring that what happens is for the benefit of everyone - and one which allows for a world where everything functions perfectly and to everyone's satisfaction. But, astute reader, therein lies the snag, the problem.

To start with, no world inhabited by humans is perfect because we humans are not perfect. Rather, we are guided by passions, likes and dislikes, needs and wants that are often irrational and based on sentiment - objectivity and balance do not rule the day.

To complicate matters further our needs, wants, likes and dislikes often vary widely, even within social groups and families, making it difficult to find the perfect balance acceptable to all.

Finally, the enlightened leader, if human also (forget religious ideas of perfection, fatherly love, etc. etc.) may start on their journey with the best of intentions and massive approval from their peers - yes, in a democracy that is what we are all deemed to be, realistic or not - but along the way they seem to change and have always done, throughout history. The result is dictatorship and we end up stuck with a Despot - or dishpot, if like me you are devoted to the great P.G. Wodehouse's masterpieces.

So a parliament is imperfect, as Democracy is imperfect, as human beings are imperfect. In my view the parliament of the United Kingdom is as close as you can come to perfection in this system, for all its faults; it is due respect for being willing and able to force the government of the day into a contest, one that means the government needs to convince the House of the correctness of its position.

Perfection exists but it is not the rule, it is the exception. Parliamentarians the world over are human beings, generally reflecting the background they have emerged from and are imbued with those values; why when things get tough are they expected to be perfect? All we can demand is that they do their level best to represent the people who voted for them in the best possible way, even occasionally disagreeing with them, if necessary. They are, after all, our representatives and not our slaves, there to do what is best for us in their view and judgement; they do not or should not just follow orders.

The UK Parliament is most certainly not 'the enemy of the people', nor does it 'stand in the way of the people's will', not if one realises one lives in a democracy; this is how it is supposed to work. In the immortal words of one of President Trump's - yes, the orange one, The Donald - minions - 'Get over it!'