With friends like that....

It’s such a shame for those poor Tories and Ukippers who want the UK to leave the EU. There they were twenty two months or so ago, all happy that Barack Obama had intervened in the Scottish independence referendum to tell those uppity Jocks to get back into their shortbread tin and to close the lid behind them. It was a statesmanlike intervention on a matter of international security, they sagely nodded. Only now he’s intervened in the UK Brexit debate, and all of a sudden they’ve discovered that it’s really not on for a foreign head of state to interfere in an internal UK matter. To which any self-respecting supporter of Scottish independence can only say: "ha ha ha"

I’m just being honest, said Obama, in what was something of a departure for an American politician, as he slapped down Boris Johnson, Michael Gove, Liam Fox and Nigel Farage. Obama hasn’t just intervened in the Brexit debate, he’s not just weighed in with a shovel. He’s weighed in with a JCB. He’s delivered a strong statement that if the UK wants to leave the EU then the USA will relegate it to the back of the queue when it comes to negotiating a trade deal. Only Americans don’t use the word queue, they stand in line. And a post-Brexit Britain will be standing in line with Bolivia, Belarus, and Bhutan waiting for the USA to get around to allowing us to import Hershey bars. Although why anyone would want to import Hershey bars is a bit of a mystery, because Americans don’t just not use the word queue, they also make some seriously awful chocolate. Be that as it may, there will be no Hershey bars, Oreos, Twinkies or Cheerios for a post-Brexit Britain. Well, yes there will, of course, but you got the man’s drift. Brexit is bad; very, very bad.

It’s unlikely that people are going to be swayed in their view on how to vote in June by what the American president says. But it’s still funny to watch the discomfort of Tories and neo-conservative Little Englanders who were quite happy for him to intervene when he was on the same side as them during the Scottish independence referendum but now they’re upset because he doesn’t share their opinion on Europe and are discovering that their so-called special relationship with America isn’t really that special after all. The USA only has a special relationship with the UK in as much as it's in the USA's interests, and the USA sees its interests being best served by a UK that’s a member of the EU.

The only people who ever speak about a special relationship between the USA and the UK are British politicians. I bet it doesn’t even figure on the radar of the average American, most of whom are not of British descent and have no particular emotional or historical ties to the UK. The idea that Britain can leave the EU and form some sort of close relationship to the USA is a fantasy. Few in America are interested. On the rare occasions that the UK impinges on the consciousness of the average American, they think of bad teeth, Princess Di and driving on the wrong side of the road.

For the USA the value of the UK is as a part of a strong and united Europe. That’s what they’re concerned about, and a UK which left the EU would result in a weaker Europe and a weaker UK. But they don’t care that much whether that united Europe consists of the current 28 member states, or if it increases to 29 with the addition of an independent Scotland, as long as it stays united.

Lemon Curd and Blueberry Loaf Cake

"Given up baking then?" was the taunt from afar. Nah, still at it with a cake every week, more or less, for our local Pop-up Café. Here's my latest offering: Lemon Curd and Blueberry loaf cake. It meets all my baking criteria: a simple recipe to follow, easy-to-get ingredients and just a little bit different. Although the quantities listed are for a single 2 lb loaf tin, I always double up and put one in the freezer for later. Blog readers are always welcome to come around for a slice or two - provided you can answer this simple question: who links Piblokto, The Battered Ornaments and Cream? Clue: it's not Eric Clapton. Now, to the recipe.

Ingredients

• 175g softened butter
• 100 g Greek yogurt
• 3 tablespoons good quality lemon curd
• 3 eggs
• Zest and juice 1 1/2 lemons, plus extra zest for the topping
• 200g self-raising flour
• 175g golden caster sugar
• 100g blueberries
• 140g icing sugar

 

Method

• Heat oven to 160C fan.
• Line a 2lb loaf tin with greaseproof paper.
• Put yogurt, lemon curd, the softened butter, eggs, lemon zest, flour and caster sugar into a large mixing bowl. Quickly mix with an electric whisk until the batter just comes together. Scrape half into the prepared tin. Sprinkle half of the blueberries into the tin, scrape the rest of the batter on top, then scatter the other half of the berries on top. Bake for around an hour until golden and a skewer poked into the centre comes out clean.
• Cool in the tin, then carefully lift onto a serving plate to ice. Sift the icing sugar into a bowl and stir in enough lemon juice to make a thick, smooth icing. Dribble over the top and sides of the cake and sprinkle some lemon zest over the icing on top.

Taste Test

 

I enjoyed the half slice that came my way. Feedback from the Pop-up Punters says that it tasted very good and is definitely in the 'one to do again' category. If I do, I'll try replacing the yoghurt with buttermilk and perhaps stir in a couple of tablespoons of lemon curd into the top before the final sprinkling of blueberries.

Me and my old college mate, Charlie Windsor

I can trace my interest in photography to when I started at Aberystwyth University in September 1966. I shared digs (Sunny Side, Sea View Place, just in case you were wondering) with, amongst others, a very keen photographer, Howard Bagshaw (currently chair of the Royal Photographic Society), who took me through the basics of do-it-yourself developing and printing. I honed my skills through hours spent in the Photography Club's darkroom buried deep in the cellars underneath the then Theology College on the seafront. Much of what I did is a lifetime away - a technological lifetime as well as a human lifetime. Apertures and shutter speeds, ASA ratings, hard and soft papers; it's all the stuff of museums today. For some reason in early 1969, I ended up taking a series of photographs of those who had put their names forward for election to the position of Lady Vice-President of the Students' Union. I suspect I was the only one they could find at the time who had a camera and who could process the films quickly. I've just come across one of the shots I took almost fifty years ago and, as a bit of portraiture, I don't think it's too bad. The hairstyle, dress and casual cigarette are all dated but have a nice retro appeal. Sadly, I can't remember the subject's name but I do remember that she wasn't the winner. That honour went to Jo somebody or other and all I can recall about her was that she had short-cropped blonde hair and wore an impressive Afghan coat. It's funny what sticks in the mind, isn't it?

I mentioned that they wanted the photographs of the candidates processed quickly and there was a good reason for this. In the spring of 1969 the future Prince of Wales spent a whole term at Aberystwyth as part of a plan by officials to make him seem more in touch with the people of Wales before his actual investiture. During his time in Aber, not only did he learn a bit of the Welsh language but he also managed to irritate a lot of people by the intrusive security that accompanied him. Granted that this wasn't down to him but we felt that he didn't have to go along with all of it. Come on, commandeering the entire beach at Borth so that he could enjoy a dip in peace? Moans aside, the interest in the Lady VP's came from the fact that the winner was going to be his official partner at formal college events. Lucky Jo, we all thought. Sometimes it's best not to be the winner. And, for historical interest, here's a clip of Charlie's arrival at Aber. How times have changed: the cars, the fashions, the students... Don't bother looking for me in the welcoming crowds, I was taking part in a protest sit-in at the time.

A few comments about the Panama Papers

You have been warned: immoderate rant alert. And before you ask, no, I haven't got any money tied up in an off-shore account. Never have and never will.

We’re supposed to believe that our government is going to be the most transparent ever, that it’s going to crack down on tax avoidance by big corporations and rich individuals, whilst the head of that government has himself been a beneficiary of tax avoidance schemes set up offshore by his dad, and most probably will be a beneficiary in the future. Asked a carefully worded question about whether his family had benefited in the past or will benefit in the future from his father’s offshore holdings, Posh Dave obfuscated and answered a different question that he wasn’t asked. He smiles and waves and tells reporters his father’s Panamanian dealings are a private family matter. And he’ll get away with it too, because this is Britain.

And because this is Britain, the ones who will be condemned, the ones who will be called haters and extremists, are those who point out the avarice and greed of the rich and the powerful. That’s because screwing over the little guy is central to the way that the UK works and the economy is structured. In the land of the robber the honest are despised.

None of this is new. None of this should surprise us. None of this should make us raise our hands in astonishment. We’ve all known for years that the powerful elite enrich themselves on the back of the poor and the marginalised.

British governments both Tory and Labour have bowed down before the might of the robber barons of the City of London and the Panama papers aren’t a story of the dirty dealings of foreigners, of bribery in far off places or of corruption in distant lands. They’re the story of how the British economy works, drawing in the ill-gotten gains of the corrupt and the dishonest and hiding it in British overseas territories that Whitehall doesn’t supervise. They’re the story of how Britain has become the money launderer to the world’s despoilers. They could be called the Square Mile Papers.

All over the UK people are as repulsed as the Icelanders about the rules for the rich that don’t apply to the poor, but unlike in Reykjavik there will be no political consequences for the British hypocrites who tell us that we’re all in this together. And there’s nothing we can do about it within the British state.
 
I don't want much. I just want to live in a land where the rich abide by the same rules as the rest of us. I just want to live in a country where politicians have to resign for hypocrisy and telling lies. I just want to live in a country where the voices of ordinary people are heard and the rich don't get even richer while blaming the poor for their poverty. I just want to live in a country where the super rich sheep are penned and shorn instead of the people getting fleeced.

That’s not going to happen in the UK, because the UK’s raison d’etre, as personified by Cameron and Osbourne, is robbing the poor to pay the rich. It’s only going to happen in a country where the government is close enough to the people so that it can be truly held to account. A country where, to repeat myself, it’s the sheep that get shorn and the people don’t allow themselves to get fleeced. Baa!

Flitting around the pictures

 

In my last post, I mentioned the spectre of a visitation of pestilence when taking a book out of the library in the Workmen's Hall. But that wasn't the only place in the building where the first Horseman of the Apocalypse cast his shadow. To explain this, let's move upstairs to the cinema or, as it was better known to us, 'the pictures' or 'the flicks'.

I won't go into how often I went to the pictures but I will mention something that happened in almost every performance I sat through. In the interval, usherettes would walk up the aisles with their Flit guns, covering everyone in a sickly flowery spray. It was bad news if you were sitting next to the aisle as there was a very high probability of getting enveloped in a cloud of vapour that covered everything - ice cream, crisps, your body...The formulation used contained, in addition to some perfume, 5% DDT, at least until the mid to late 1950s, when the negative environmental impact of DDT became more widely understood and its use was phased out to be replaced with a 'normal' disinfectant.

Why was it done? Two reasons: firstly, to combat any unwanted creatures such as fleas and other pests (why do you think old picture houses were also known as 'flea pits'?) and secondly, to get over the odours of the auditorium. Think about it: a confined space packed with smoking clients who probably only bathed on a weekly basis, the pictures would not have been a place for lovers of fresh air.

And the Flit gun? It was an adaption of the traditional garden spray and pumping the handle blew out an aerosol containing the insecticide dust. 

This practice certainly wasn't unique to the Workmen's Hall (although Mrs P never came across it in the Palace Cinema in Risca just 7 miles over the mountain) and it was commonplace right across the UK. Linked, or so it would seem, by the fact that the cinemas were located in working class areas. I don't know when it ended but it was going on locally into the early 1960s but after that, I can't say. Looking back, it does seem to be a very strange piece of sociological history but is probably still happening around the world. Thinking about it, I have been on flights where the plane, and its contents, have been sprayed with something similar. Plus ca change.

Take a book out at your own risk

Before the advent of bar codes, RFI tags or whatever technology is brought to bear on the task nowadays, borrowing a book from a library was a simple affair. You chose your book, took it to the librarian who then took an identifying card from within the book, stamped the card with the return date and put it into your 'holder' in the filing system. They also put the return date, typically two weeks for fiction and a month for non-fiction, on a frontispiece like the one above. All very civilised and a process many of us of a certain age (aka oldies) will remember fondly. Self service scanners and their like just don't have the same romance, do they?. But there was a time when I felt a frisson of anxiety every time I visited our local lending library which was, if you'd like to know, on the ground floor of the Bedwas Workmans' Hall, of which more at another time.

The cause of my anxiety? This was down to the rather sinister notice that appeared opposite the frontispiece warning of the dire consequences that could result from coming into contact with an infected book. We are talking of the mid-1950s when I was 7 or 8-ish and had no way of putting disease into a rational context. I remember being petrified that the book I wanted to borrow had just been returned from one of the more feral families in the village. In fact, I remember asking the librarian if anyone of the *******s or the ******s had taken the book out. Of course they hadn't (they probably couldn't read) and I was never smitten by one of the notifiable diseases listed below. I'm not quite sure how long such notices appeared in library books but they were a sign of those times. Things move on and we no longer have to risk life and limb to read Enid Blyton. Did she ever write one called 'The Famous Five visit the Isolation Hospital'?

 

Section 155 of the Public Health Act 1936:

(1) A person who knows that he is suffering from a notifiable disease shall not take any book, or cause any book to be taken for his use, or use any book taken, from any public or circulating library.

(2) A person shall not permit any book which has been taken from a public or circulating library, and is under his control, to be used by any person whom he knows to be suffering from a notifiable disease.
(3) A person shall not return to any public or circulating library a book which he knows to have been exposed to infection from a notifiable disease, or permit any such book which is under his control to be so returned, but shall give notice to the local authority, or, in the case of a library provided by a county council, to that council, that the book has been so exposed to infection.
(4) A person who contravenes any of the foregoing provisions of this, section shall be liable to a fine not exceeding five pounds.
(5) A local authority or, as the case may be, a county council on receiving such a notice as aforesaid shall cause the book to be disinfected and returned to the library, or shall cause it to be destroyed.
(6) A notifiable disease means any of the following diseases, namely, small-pox, cholera, diphtheria, membranous croup, erysipelas, the disease known as scarlatina or scarlet fever, and the fevers known by any of the following names, typhus, typhoid, enteric or relapsing, and includes, as respects any particular district, any infectious disease to which Part V of this Act or any corresponding enactment repealed by this Act has been applied by the local authority of the district in manner provided by that Part or that enactment.