29 December, 2005 | Comments

As you may know (and how couldn’t you, given that I blather on about it so much), I abstain from eating dairy (and lots of other things) because of food intolerances that cause me problems. But it’s not like I have a deadly allergy or anything, so I can consume dairy at my own risk. Going dairy-free in Paris is, well, a near-impossible task. If there are any vegans in Paris (doubtful), I pity you, you poor anorexic bastards. And if you’re actually allergic to dairy? Well, you probably didn’t reach the age of five.

Even in an English-speaking country, it is a huge pain to order dairy-free in restaurants because surprisingly, most people really don’t know what “dairy” products are. Do eggs count? Mayonnaise? Without being fluent in French (or having the willpower to just eat very bland food) I couldn’t be uptight about my eating. I did the best I could, but it was inevitable that I’d consume some bovine sludge. And I willingly ate crepes. I threw caution right to the wind because I couldn’t resist those little delights, though I did skip the Nutella filling because that was just asking for trouble. Then I ate an almond-filled croissant type thing. It was the best pastry I’ve ever tasted. Why does French pastry taste so much better than pastry made anywhere else on earth? Perhaps it’s best I don’t know the secret. One night I ordered roast chicken in a cafe and it was divine, like chicken from another planet.

I do wonder about something, though. With the exception of ethnic cuisine and fast food joints, virtually every restaurant I saw in Paris was a café, brasserie type establishment that had almost the exact same menu. Not much variety, n’est-ce pas? Not sure what’s up with that. How many omelettes and plates of coq au vin can one nation eat? And what about all those damn French fries? I ate so many fries I almost barfed. I would have killed for a baked potato or even some steamed veggies. I mean, come on, people!

By the last day of my trip, I was feeling, not surprisingly, quite ill. My body was in shock from all the rich food. It’s not that I’m some kind of health-food fanatic at home. Far from it! But I’m very careful about the kinds of food I eat. On the last day, I went all day without eating and finally discovered a glorious Chinese restaurant near the train station when I was killing time before my departure. I had hot and sour soup, steamed rice and chicken. My body breathed a sigh of relief. I think I am now recovered – I’ve been eating oatmeal and bananas and hard-boiled eggs since I returned from France. But I don’t regret my crepe and pastry eating. I have the memories and they’re sweet.

28 December, 2005 | Comments

While in Paris, I saw two films, Match Point and King Kong. Movies in Paris are cheaper than in London! And the theatre I went to sold snacks (including popcorn) in self-serve vending machines. How adorable. We saw a preview for Brokeback Mountain. At first it seems like just a regular cowboy movie, but as soon as it became clear that it’s a gay cowboy movie, the audience burst into laughter. Not a good sign!

Woody Allen’s Match Point, set in London, is very dark. I’m not a huge fan of Allen and I went to the film having no clue what it was about. I was expecting a comedy. Nope! It was quite grim. But London looks gorgeous in the film, from Covent Garden to the Tate Modern. And the flat with the view of Parliament and Big Ben was fab. Visually, the movie was like perusing an issue of Condé Nast Traveller.

In the film, Jonathan Rhys-Meyers (who might be gorgeous but looks dead inside) is an average Irish bloke in London, an ex-tennis pro who through a bit of luck and social-climbing becomes part of a very privileged English family. Scarlett Johansson plays an American hussy/aspiring actress (What? A one-dimensional slut in a Woody Allen movie? You’re kidding!). I don’t want to give anything away, though I guessed what was going to happen and I felt gutted when it actually did.

Today I read two reviews of Match Point, both of which offered a different take on the film. From Salon:

And maybe that’s why “Match Point,” a movie made by a poor little rich boy who’s perpetually on the outside looking in, gazing forlornly at this privileged world to which he’s always wanted to belong, is so phony. “Match Point” is a fatally neat exercise in detached craftsmanship, and maybe that’s the best we can expect from Allen at this point.

From The New York Times:

But it is the film’s brisk, chilly precision that makes it so bracingly pleasurable. The gloom of random, meaningless existence has rarely been so much fun, and Mr. Allen’s bite has never been so sharp, or so deep. A movie this good is no laughing matter.

Both reviewers have a point – it’s that kind of movie. I tend to agree more with Salon. Overall, the movie left me feeling conflicted. Did I like it? I’m not sure. I might go see it again.

The next movie I saw was King Kong. I like my fair share of cheesy Hollywood flicks, believe me, but special-effects-laden “event” movies are not my thing. So perhaps it’s unfair of me to review this film, but I’m going to do it anyway. I never intended to see Kong, but one night I craved a movie. I’d already seen Match Point and my only choices were Harry Potter, Narnia or the big KK. Slim pickings.

Peter Jackson (who should really go back to making films like Heavenly Creatures, in my opinion) must be given credit for at least attempting to impose a meaningful human-driven story on this ape epic. Nice try. The cast, all men except for one, are an interesting choice of character actors, led by Jack Black and the quirky-cute Adrien Brody. A formulaic “hunk” like Nicholas Cage or Orlando Bloom (excuse me while I wretch) would have made the film unbearable. Sadly, the lone female in the film is blond starlet Naomi Watts. Snooze. Peter’s brave casting choices don’t extend to the ladies, apparently. Too bad.

In the film, our scrappy gang of characters leave Depression-era NYC for the undiscovered Skull Island to make their own movie. The looooong middle section of the film is set on the island, which is loaded with dinosaurs, giant insects and King Kong himself. Kong is the only giant ape in town, so how on earth did he get there? Where are his ancestors? Who gave birth to this ugly beast? We never find that out.

In an early cringe-worthy scene, the dark-skinned island natives offer up the blond goddess Watts to Kong as a sacrifice. The majority of the film sees Watts – in a nightgown, of course – alternately running from and bonding with Kong. What if she had been wearing overalls and a long-sleeved work shirt? Hmmmm. Kong totes Watts around Skull Island in his giant hand like a Malibu Barbie. It goes on. And on. And on. We get the point, Jackson. Kong loves Watts but will rip to shreds any other human being who crosses his path. How cuddly and cute. And what a loyal pet!

By this time I’m looking at my watch, wondering when Kong will get to NYC and pole dance around the Empire State Building, which is all anyone wants to see anyway. Kong does eventually land in the Big Apple, though how they transport this giant genetic freak halfway around the world is never explained. He runs amok in New York, which was actually quite funny to me. He even ice skates with his bitch (er, starlet gal pal) in Central Park. Awwwww.

You see, I never should have reviewed this film!

27 December, 2005 | 2 Comments

I’ve travelled to Paris numerous times but this recent trip is my first in seven years. It’s easy to forget just how beautiful Paris is. The monuments, the grand boulevards, the majesty of the city. It really took my breath away.

If you want to travel to Europe during the holidays, Paris is the ideal place to go. Everything stays open, hotels are very inexpensive at this time of year and though there were a surprising number of tourists, it’s nothing compared to the crowds in summer.

Christmas in the French capital was, in a word, different. To me, it didn’t look like Christmas, smell like Christmas or sound like Christmas. Other English and American travellers I met felt the same way (there were hordes of tourists there from all over the world). There weren’t as many decorations as you’d find in London or New York; the picture of the tree in front of Notre Dame that I posted yesterday was one of the only decorated trees I saw. There were lots of lights though – mostly white lights on trees, but I think many of these lights are up all year. In the lead up to Christmas, there was not the same sort of manic frenzy of shoppers in the stores that you’d see in the U.S. or England (not that this is a bad thing). The only Christmas-related show I could find on television was It’s a Wonderful Life and mass from the Vatican on numerous stations. There was a lack of general holiday kitsch – images of Santa and his reindeer were absent, the stores played techno instead of Bing Crosby or other Christmassy tunes. And on the holiday itself, the city didn’t miss a beat. I was on the Champs Elysées on Christmas Eve and Christmas and there were massive traffic jams and hordes of people. Most of the shops were closed on Christmas (though not all) but most restaurants and cafes and crepe stands stayed open as usual.

Of course, I was in central Paris and I’m sure life outside of the hub was quieter. But I also live in central London. Today is the 27th of December and they’re still in holiday mode in the UK. Yesterday was Boxing Day, an official holiday. I arrived at Waterloo last night – a major international train station – and nothing was open except for one small coffee shop. You couldn’t even buy a newspaper! And today is a bank holiday, though I’m not sure why. Still no bank and postal services, etc. Most of the shops and restaurants in my neighbourhood are closed and the streets are deserted. On the main thoroughfares about 80 percent of the shops have resumed business and there are people out shopping. But it’s still rather quiet.

My observations about Paris at Christmas are entirely anecdotal. And I discovered on my trip that my French is very rusty, so I was observing the culture at quite a remove because of the language barrier. I can’t possibly encapsulate all of my thoughts in a blog posting. What I can tell you is that my experience of Christmas is entirely Anglo-American, though I never thought about it in this way until now. A few days ago I posted excerpts from the Times’ Dickens special. Upon my return to London, I’ve been thinking about how much modern Christmas rituals in the English-speaking world have been influenced by Dickens and the Victorians. In the end, my French Christmas taught me a lot about my own culture.

Still to come this week: French food round-up; my love letter to the Eiffel Tower; reviews of two movies I saw (Match Point and King Kong); and more! Don’t miss it!!!

View of the Ile de la Cité.

Christmas trees for sale on the Left Bank.

View of the Arc de Triomphe up the Champs Elysées on Christmas Eve.

Decorations on a street near the Eiffel Tower. I was so happy to see these that I asked the taxi driver to stop so I could take a photo!

26 December, 2005 | 2 Comments

I had a fabulous, magical time! I hope you all had a nice Christmas as well. I’ll be posting photos and news from my trip all week on the blog. Must go soak my feet now…

It’s A Wonderful Life playing on my hotel TV, Christmas Day

Guess who?

22 December, 2005 | 3 Comments

Johnny Damon, you make me sick! You deserve the Yankees and they deserve you. A pox on you and the most evil team in baseball!

Though I do not live in Boston anymore, I must invoke the Beantown mantra: Yankees Suck. And now, Johnny, you do too. I have a jersey with your name on it, which just became a very expensive rag. Good riddance.

22 December, 2005 | Comments

Fourteen years gone today. Miss you. Hope you’re having fun, wherever you are.

21 December, 2005 | Comments

I’ve had a lovely birthday today. Thanks to everyone who sent well wishes! I feel so loved – on two continents!

I ended up staying in London and going to the theatre. Everyone I know in London (other students, mostly) has fled for the holidays, so I ventured out alone – but not lonely, if that makes sense. If I feared being alone I wouldn’t have moved to a foreign country where I knew a total of two people. I needed to be alone today. It was a day that called for that sort of introspection.

I saw As You Desire Me, starring Kristin Scott Thomas and Bob Hoskins. It was wonderful. The play was written by Italian writer Luigi Pirandello (1867-1936). I’d never heard of him, but he won the Nobel Prize in 1934. The play was made into a film starring Greta Garbo in 1932. As You Desire Me is drama with a capital “D” – lots of screaming and the waving of pistols. I expected to be entertained but not moved, so I was surprised when the play spoke to me in a real way. The play is about identity and memory. Only a few days ago I wrote that I sometimes felt like a tabula rasa, and this is exactly how Thomas’s character – who has amnesia and doesn’t know who she really is – describes herself in the play. It gave me chills.

After the play I walked along the Golden Jubilee Bridge and saw Big Ben, Parliament and the London Eye all lit up (I was still too terrified to ride the Eye). It was lovely to walk along the pedestrian bridge on such a mild winter night and hear the Thames splashing below. If you must know, it felt like a dream.

I walked through Trafalgar Square, Leicester Square and Piccadilly Circus. I had dinner at Mildreds, a veggie place in Soho. I had a very English dinner – mushroom, porcini and ale pie with fries and mushy peas; for dessert, fruit crumble with lovely English custard. And all of this was vegan! I normally can’t eat traditional English food, so this was a real treat. People who eat in vegetarian/vegan restaurants are so wonderfully dorky – great fun for people watching.

Now I’m home. Will curl up with a good book. It’s the longest night of the year. Enjoy!

P.S. Same-sex civil partnerships became legal in England and Wales today. Unlike when same-sex marriage became legal in my former state of Massachusetts, people in this country haven’t become unhinged. Mazel Tov to Elton John and his new hubby.

20 December, 2005 | 1 Comment

Only three more hours until I turn 33. I feel sad to say goodbye to 32. I’ve felt bummed out all day. 32 is a nice even number. 16 x 2. But it’s not just that (really, I’m not that idiotic.) It’s not that I’m getting older that bothers me either, though a birthday always causes one to stop and think about ageing, mortality, crow’s feet, etc. This has been a big year for me. Lots of changes. Good changes. 32 was an instrumental year for me. It’ll be hard to say goodbye to it.

Hold the phone. I was born in California so technically, I won’t be 33 until 8:00 a.m. tomorrow London time. Whew.

20 December, 2005 | Comments

Beginning January 1st, food labels in the United States will have to disclose – in plain language – whether products contain any of the following problematic ingredients or derivatives: milk, eggs, fish, crustaceans, wheat, tree nuts, soybeans and peanuts. It’s about time!

I am on a dairy-free diet because of an intolerance. In England, food labels clearly state whether dairy or other common allergens are present. It’s easy to figure out what’s actually in the food you’re buying and there is no need to get out a magnifying glass and study a giant list of bizarre ingredients. Given that many people have life-threatening allergies, this law is good news for Americans. The FDA is one of the most incompetent and politicized government agencies, so it’s about time they did something worthwhile.

19 December, 2005 | Comments

Miss me? I needed to take a few days off. End of the term. I had a lot of essays to grade.

This little news item from the Associated Press caught my eye. We all know that celebrities (and the rich in general) have prenuptial agreements. After all, their “marriages” are more like corporate mergers. But who knew these legal pacts were so detailed?

Some agreements stipulate ridiculous things, like requiring a man to pay his wife $10,000 every time he is rude to her parents. Other marital contracts include provisions for random drug testing, while others (like the one between Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta-Jones) include a fidelity clause. However, this wins the prize as the most nauseating: One celeb agreement actually limits the wife’s weight to 120 pounds. If she gains, she gives up $100,000 of her private assets. Now wouldn’t you just love to meet the sorry excuse for a woman who signed that?

16 December, 2005 | Comments

So I’m in a cab this morning. I have a chatty driver. He asks me where I’m from and I say “Boston,” even though that’s not really true. I lived in Boston for the last 4 years before coming to London but that doesn’t mean I’m from Boston, does it? I grew up in California and Utah and as an adult lived in New York and New England. I have the sensibilities of a Northeasterner but I was born and bred in the West and that always colors my perspective. Still, I don’t feel that I have strong connections to any of these places. Perhaps that’s why I felt I could come to London and start from scratch. I’m a tabula rasa! Help!

[Note to self: Must figure out where I’m from.]

Back to the cab driver. He says his favourite passengers are Texans because they’re the friendliest. He says New Yorkers are the least friendly. No news there. Then we discussed how to pronounce Marylebone, which I find very confusing. He then began to quiz me on the pronunciation of other London place names, such as Leicester Square. But having lived in New England with Worcester and Gloucester, etc., he really couldn’t stump me.

As we drove through Notting Hill, he asked me if I had ever seen the movie of the same name. I told him yes and that I thought it was lame. He then took great pains to assure me that there are no real-life English men like Hugh Grant. At first I didn’t really understand what he meant. My cabbie said: “Well, you know, he’s…” He was trying to describe him in a way that wasn’t offensive, apparently.

“Girlish?” I ventured.

“Yes!” He then went on to explain that English men are tougher than Mr. Grant. Why he felt the need to dwell on this issue is beyond me. Perhaps I don’t know enough about English men yet.

15 December, 2005 | 6 Comments

I decided rather last-minute to embark on this adventure. I’m très excited! Hotels in central Paris are offering amazing deals over Christmas. I’m not sure why. Perhaps tourism is suffering because of the recent rioting, looting and killing. That’s a possibility.

I’ll be away for four days. I’m staying in Saint-Germain-des-Près, which is right in the center of everything. C’est bon, oui?

Now I just have to decide how to celebrate my birthday on the 21st. I might visit Stonehenge for the first time ever. My birthday is on the winter solstice, which is a major pagan holiday. I’m sure there’ll be some sort of druidic activity at the ‘henge that day. Otherwise, I’ll stay in London and go to the theatre. I could force myself to ride the London Eye. I really want to try it but I’m afraid I’ll have a panic attack and I really don’t need any extra drama on my birthday. It’s stressful enough!

14 December, 2005 | 2 Comments

To follow up on my previous post about the execution of Stanley “Tookie” Williams, today British Prime Minister Tony Blair was asked during Question Time in Parliament whether “he was aware that 97 percent of the world’s executions took place in China, Vietnam, Iran and the United States.”

This question was clearly prompted by Williams’s execution and the recent milestone of the 1000th execution being carried out in the USA. Blair condemned the death penalty but refused to take the bait and lump the United States into the same category as China and Iran.

Members of Parliament can condemn the judicial system in the United States if they wish, but I urge them to review their own sentencing laws, which are, quite frankly, a joke.

Last weekend, the Guardian newspaper’s weekly magazine featured a cover story on women killed by their partners. The cover of the magazine was filled with tiny snapshots of women who in most cases had been abused, tortured and eventually murdered by the men who were supposed to love them. The article featured profiles of women (and a couple of men) killed by their partners over the past year. The shocking part was not that many women are abused and killed by their partners, because sadly, this is a fact of life around the world. No, the shocking part was the sentences handed down to the killers.

From the Guardian: Time and again, men who kill their wives get short sentences because courts believe a woman’s infidelity, or even her “nagging”, is bound to provoke a husband to commit murder. A recently reported example is Paul Dalton’s killing of his wife, Tae Hui. Dalton punched her, she died, then he cut up her body with an electric saw, and stored the pieces in a freezer. He was cleared of murder on the grounds of provocation; the judge said that he had suffered “no little taunting on her [his wife's] part”. Dalton received just two years in jail for her manslaughter, but got three years for what many might consider the lesser crime of preventing a burial. He is appealing against the sentence.

This is the kind of punishment I’d expect a man to get in Saudi Arabia, not Western Europe. Read through the article if you’d like to see similar examples.

The execution of a murderer and co-founder of a violent street gang may outrage politicians in Europe, but I’d like to see them save that outrage for innocent women like Tae Hui.

13 December, 2005 | 8 Comments

The execution of Stanley Tookie Williams today has been big news over here. Clearly, it’s the kind of event that allows Europeans to feel morally superior to Americans. The media has been full of the predictable outrage and disgust. I watched a news report on Williams’s death on ITV News this morning and I honestly thought the two reporters were going to burst into tears.

Williams, a convicted murderer and co-founder of the Crips gang, has been championed by Hollywood stars and nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize. He and his supporters (including Jesse Jackson) appealed to Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger for clemency, to no avail. (Opposition parties in Austria are calling for Ah-nold to be stripped of his Austrian citizenship as a result.) Behind bars, Williams spoke out against gang life through children’s books and memoirs. We are supposed to believe that he redeemed himself on death row. I have no way of knowing whether Williams’s redemption was legitimate or just a ploy to garner fame for himself as he rotted in prison. None of Williams’s supporters know this either.

Williams’s execution has been condemned across Europe, by Amensty International, the Vatican, etc. Whether a person believes in the death penalty or is disgusted by it, it is dismaying to see the media, particularly in Europe, gloss over the crimes that landed Williams on death row in the first place. He didn’t get sentenced to death for being a swell guy. If people want a poster boy for death penalty reform, they should look elsewhere. Perhaps those outside of the U.S. are not familiar with the Crips, which Williams co-founded, and their rival Los Angeles gang the Bloods. Both groups are responsible for death and destruction and the ruination of generations of young people, particularly black and Latino men. How does a person redeem himself in light of this?

From the BBC: “Some believe that Williams’ execution could spark violence in some black communities in California. Stanley Williams himself has said any such outbreaks would tarnish his legacy.”

His legacy? These sloppy attempts to canonize Williams are distasteful and an insult to his many victims.

13 December, 2005 | 1 Comment

The Whitbread Book Awards, one of Britain’s most prestigious literary prizes, may soon become extinct. Since 1971, Whitbread PLC – a company that used to produce beer but now owns fitness clubs and a bunch of crappy restaurants like Pizza Hut (UK) and TGI Friday’s – has decided that books are just too boring for their image. The official excuse is that Whitbread no longer produces anything under its own name, so it doesn’t make sense to sponsor the awards. Yeah, right.

According to The New York Times, a Whitbread PLC spokeswoman said: “‘After long consideration, we decided our sponsorship was no longer commercially sensible, even under one of our other brand names…We are not about to let the awards just disappear and are certain we will find a sponsor, as there are very few opportunities like this.’”

The nominees for the next – and perhaps last – Whitbread Book Awards in January include Salman Rushdie, Ali Smith and Nick Hornby.

John Sutherland of the Guardian wonders why Whitbread is giving the ax to what has become an important literary award: “It can’t be the meagre cost of running the awards. It’s just that literary prizes don’t fit with what Whitbread now does. Reading is not a sexy leisure activity, like banging a squash ball about in one of the company’s David Lloyd clubs. It’s slow, private and often difficult…Books themselves, one foresees, will soon join the Whitbread pub ashtrays…that are being touted as plastic collectables on eBay. Charmingly retro.”

10 December, 2005 | Comments

I went to Portobello Road Market today for the first time in my life. It was a brilliant idea. Only about 2 million other people thought to do the same thing.

O, the crush of humanity! I can’t remember the last time I found myself trapped in such a mob of people. For some reason, the majority of browsers were French, Spanish and Italian tourists, many of whom engage in the lovely habit of stopping in the middle of a crowded sidewalk to have a casual conversation with their companion, thus sending the hundreds of people behind them crashing into one another like a string of dominoes. Really, the EU should impose severe penalties for such behaviour.

Despite the European invaders (and the handful of Americans who, in keeping with the custom of Americans abroad, must talk at a decibel that is at least 20 times louder than anyone else in the vicinity, thereby enabling a peasant in central Ukraine to hear their conversation), I had a marvellously fun day! I found the elusive Christmas presents I had been searching for. Hurrah! There’s tons of junk for sale so you must really have patience and search for what you want. I didn’t buy anything in the stalls but found plenty of goodies in the shops on the side streets. One street had a bookstore devoted to cookbooks and another devoted to travel books. Bliss! Along the way I passed a building with a blue plaque that said George Orwell had once lived there.

Christmas shopping (and let’s be honest, Christmas in general) is rather stressful and sometimes just a big pain. But this year has been different for me. During the fall I got into a bit of a rut. The spring and summer, as I prepared to move abroad, were so stressful and exhausting that by the time I got to London in September, as excited as I was, I just collapsed. I stayed in my little comfort zone and got lazy. I hibernated. So Christmas has been good for me. The city has a different energy at Christmas (and it looks gorgeous all lit up). I’ve spent days traipsing all over Notting Hill, Kensington, Knightsbridge, Chelsea, Fulham and even Cambridge. The more I explore, the more I want to keep exploring. My feet hurt, certainly, but I’m not done yet.

8 December, 2005 | 2 Comments

Did you know there’s a new movie adaptation of The Chronicles of Narnia?

Obviously, I’m being cheeky. Everyone knows about the movie event of the season. It’s being crammed down our throats. Sick of it yet? I liked the C.S. Lewis story when I was a wee lass but I don’t know if I have the stomach to brave the crowds and submit to the hype of the new film. However, the controversy surrounding Narnia is interesting. Guardian columnist Polly Toynbee really ripped the film apart recently in a piece titled: “Narnia Represents Everything That Is Most Hateful About Religion.”

A few select quotes:

It was JRR Tolkien who converted CS Lewis to Christianity during one long all-night walk that ended in dawn and revelation. Narnia is a strange blend of magic, myth and Christianity, some of it brilliantly fantastical and richly imaginative, some (the clunking allegory) toe-curlingly, cringingly awful.

Most children will never notice [the Christian overtones]. But adults who wince at the worst elements of Christian belief may need a sickbag handy for the most religiose scenes. The Guardian film critic Peter Bradshaw gives the film five stars and says, “There is no need for anyone to get into a PC huff about its Christian allegory.” Well, here’s my huff.

In the column, Toynbee makes a good point that Disney’s direct marketing of the film to born-again Christians in the U.S. and elsewhere is downright crass. She states that Gov. Jeb Bush is organizing a program for every child in Florida to read the book. If this is true, it is beyond outrageous.

As for the Christian themes of the film and the thought that it might brainwash young minds, I just can’t get too outraged. I remember loving the animated film of Narnia as a kid and I never even registered the religious overtones. But Disney’s manipulative marketing of the film to religious groups and the attempt by politicians to capitalize on it is distasteful and shameful to say the least.

7 December, 2005 | Comments

…for the very first time! Only in London could a girl find organic vegan mince pie. Absolutely scrummy!

7 December, 2005 | Comments

I took a ramble up to Cambridge yesterday. (And with apologies to my former colleagues at Harvard, the real Cambridge.) I needed to meet with my PhD supervisor, who lives there. I’ve never been to Cambridge before so it was a fun excuse for a daytrip. After my meeting, I wandered around the city without a guidebook or even a good map. I wasn’t interested in being a tourist, I just wanted to absorb the architecture and the vibe of the town. It wasn’t really a sightseeing sort of day anyway. My photos don’t look so great because the light was very grey. But the streets were jammed with Christmas shoppers and there was a festive bustle in the air. Most of the shops were the chains you see in every English city, so there wasn’t much exciting in that department. Still, yours truly managed to park herself in a giant three-story Borders downtown.

The best part of my trip (besides the stimulating conversation with my supervisor) was the train journey to and from London. After being in the big city for several months now, it was wonderful to look out the window at the green farmland and wide open spaces of the countryside. Being in the city you forget how big the sky is. The landscape was filled with a slight mist, which was just lovely. But I must admit I was relieved when the train pulled into King’s Cross and I was back amongst the crowds in the polluted metropolis. I missed it, even though I was only away for one day. I guess I haven’t been in London long enough to crave those trips away.

6 December, 2005 | Comments

Today I bring you the second instalment of my analysis of British Vogue, focusing on the interview with December cover girl Gwyneth Paltrow. (Who else?)

Gwyneth Paltrow

Gwynnie is a favourite target of mine but I’ll try to restrain my impulses. (Incidentally, I saw Chris Martin, GP’s better half, on Jonathan Ross’s talk show the other night. He seems so sweet and down-to-earth and normal. Why he married the vapid creature from Hollywood is beyond me.)

The interview takes place in a restaurant in TriBeCa, NYC. Gwyneth meets the hack Vogue writer in a restaurant and anyone who has ever read a women’s magazine will know what comes next: The writer marvels that the starlet before him actually eats – a lot!!! Gwyneth orders a tuna sandwich and a large plate of fries, followed by dessert. “Fears of Gwyneth Paltrow’s imminent death-by-macrobiotic diet can be safely laid aside,” he writes. As if she would order her usual celery stick and grape when she knows every morsel of food she consumes will be reported in a national magazine.

Why is Ms. P no longer on a macrobiotic diet? From Vogue: “‘It’s a different stomach now, a different compartment,’ says Paltrow, patting her midriff.” Of course she is referring to the birth of her daughter, Apple Brown Betty Martin. She also seems to think that fetuses grow in the stomach, but then we can’t expect her to be smart and beautiful. Like Saint Angelina (see earlier post), motherhood has transformed our Gwyneth in glorious ways. Now she can eat French fries!

Continuing on the mother theme, here is Gwyneth on life with Chris Martin: “He’s the daddy. He works. I’m the mummy. I’m at home trying to look after everybody.” And thank goodness Chris landed that gig with Coldplay, otherwise Gwynnie and Apple would be living in the projects.

Okay, I could go on. And on. And on. But I’ve had my fun for the day.

Anglofille’s Verdict: It’s cold outside. Buy a copy of Vogue and throw it on the fire.