Yes

Tis the season

to go to Book Festivals.

Over at Edinburgh there are still a few days to go.  I haven’t been through yet, and probably won’t make it.  One of the problems I have with Edinburgh is it’s just too big, the BookFest that is, not the fine city.  Once upon a time you could pick up a copy of the programme, browse through at leisure and plan an afternoon or two out.  Not now.

For the only catalogue of events is the one you can bring to your screen.  Browsing at leisure then becomes more problematic, for printing is ruled out at close on one hundred pages.  So for those precious few minutes of peace, when the homework’s done and the tatties are boiling, to consider what’s on and when, you then need to crank up the old computer and remove yourself from the dinner preparations.  Ditto browsing later in the evening when the gogglebox fails to grab your attention.

Now it might just be me but reading 96 pages onscreen, all that scrolling and clicking and trying to get back to where you started, is just not fun.  And for those of us travelling from afar a day in Edinburgh needs a bit of planning.  There may well be several hundred events at EdBookFest, but the chances of finding even a couple of talks that grab the attention on the same afternoon, maye not be easy.  And I’m not making the trip for only a single event.

But another catalogue arrives in the post.  A real one, on paper.  There’s a website too and an online booking facility.  But for Wigtown Book Festival I can browse when the tatties are boiling, even take it to bed, or anywhere else I feel I may have a few spare minutes.  And suddenly a day out can take shape.

Mind you Wigtown, being in the armpit of beyond, does take a bit of planning.  For a one day trip it is exhausting, needing an early start and dictating a late finish.  Overnight would be better, though that brings other issues and life makes it less easy to fit in.

However I see a number of names that draw me closer, two on the one day at that.  Anthony Sattin is on at the end of the day, talking on his latest work, on Lawrence of Arabia.  It’s been a while but I’d love to say hello once again, to reminisce about people and places, and blether about books and writers.  He’s an expert on North Africa, all of it.  The lure of antiquity, I can hear him now, velvet tones.  If he could sing he’d be like Nat.

That same day begins with Linda Cracknell, another to say hello to again, a book to have signed.  Splendid writer.  And between the two there’s a discussion on Kidnapped, one of RLS’ finest, Erraid and Alan Breck, one of The great adventures.  Looks like a good day to me.

Earlier in the event there’s a visit from Rory Maclean, talking of his recent book on Berlin.  I’m still waiting on his work on Transnistria, with Nick Danziger, from Unbound, though that should arrive before Wigtown in a month’s time.  He’s another I’d like to catch up with again, paths having crossed in Dublin and under Lloyd George’s roof.  Good times.

Being Wigtown there’s always some Gavin Maxwell related activity, and this year is no exception, with Ring of Bright Water Unbound and some promised unseen archive material from the Eilan Ban Trust.  Chris Stewart’s along as well, a born raconteur in any company.  Then there’s Laurie Lee, his 100th anniversary, and a chat on his life.  Oh and I see John Sessions is on that day too.  I’m drooling now, and tatties aren’t done yet.

Hmm, Wigtown’s looking good this year.  If only Edinburgh could have sent a catalogue.  Oh and in Wigtown there’s a town full of bookshops to browse too; as well as the tent of the speakers’ works for that day.  Now where’s that diary?

Fermor and Bouvier, Together

A real treat this one, courtesy of the PLF blog which I dropped into the other day.  It’s not just footage of Paddy, it’s footage of Paddy AND Nicolas Bouvier.

PLF may need no introduction, and the regular reader will have come across reference to Bouvier in these pages.  If you haven’t yet read his brilliant The Way of the World, then you should, now.  In the 50s he headed off in a Fiat Topolina, through Turkey, across Afghanistan, into Pakistan where he lost the notes from which he intended to write a book, before scrabbling across the council dump looking for scraps, of his notes that is.

This is the first footage I’ve seen of him – he died far too young.  One drawback, it’s all in French.  But you get to hear Paddy singing, the Cretan national anthem, and see him failing miserably with his microphone.

But back to Bouvier.  More recently I read of his time in Sri Lanka, where he had arrived from Pakistan to recover his health and work on his book.  The Scorpion-Fish has also recently been published by Eland, the work of the same brilliant translator, Robyn Marsack, as The Way of the World.  His Japanese Chronicles is also on The Bedside Table, unread as yet.

I’m keeping an eye open for another Bouvier volume, which I don’t believe has yet been translated.  He visited the Aran Islands, and wrote about them.  I want to read that, if possible, to compare what he found with Synge, and others.  And to read more of his prose, for there is not enough of that around.

There’s something in the air right now

I wasn’t intending saying anything, so I won’t, but, whilst you’re getting to know the Wee Ginger Dug, click on this link, be amazed at what opens up before your eyes, and enjoy.

http://yesbecause.net/

And if you happen to do that twitter hash-taggy thing, join in. Let the world know why. If not, just Vote Yes. You know it’s the right thing to do.

The Declaration has just received the one millionth signature, which was the target when the campaign began.  Have you still to add yours?

PS Get over to Bateman Broadcasting right now, where Derek has been chatting with the redoubtable Dr Philippa Whitford.

PPS  Don’t forget your Wee Blue Book – sundry downloadable and printable editions from Rev Stu right here – share it far and wide.

 

I’m going to keep quiet

so for your enjoyment I’ll simply suggest that you spend your reading time in the company of The Wee Ginger Dug.

He’ll have you nodding in agreement, perhaps frowning in puzzlement, laughing, and crying; perhaps all at once.  Go on, you won’t regret it.

http://weegingerdug.wordpress.com/

Back soon.

 

Freek Out

Well that recipe was a huge success.  There’s a big pot of chicken stock in the kitchen, so there should better be some soup later.  And there were enough pickings off the bones to keep all the cats quiet.  I’ve yet to meet a cat that doesn’t view a hot, cooked chicken as some sort of catnip therapy.  Mind you it’s a different story out in the garden, with the feathered ones.

That said those feathered ones have, I hope, had a dirty stop-out; for their bed was empty last night.  One had gone a-wandering on the previous night, to who knows where, returning safely for breakfast and a quick lay in the morning, which is not a bad routine at all.  But both went off yesterday, last seen working over the freshly-cut grass, for the first time in a fortnight.  They may or may not return, but we have plans…

Anyway, the freekeh, that’s what we were going to talk about.  Well we had to make do with bulgar wheat this time round – though I have a freekeh source for next time.  There was a big thumbs up all round and, if it hadn’t been so filling, clean plates.

The freekeh, which is green, cracked wheat, may make a difference – certainly it takes a little longer to cook than bulgar, but I’d be inclined to increase the allspice, coriander and pepper that goes into the wheat.  That’s not to say it was lacking in flavour, but I’ll take a wee bit more.  The chicken itself fell off the bone.  And those toasted almonds, mmm scrummy.

Can we have that again dad?  When are you going to make pistachio soup?

We eat at the kitchen table, with cutlery.  But really a large bowl on the mat, cushions on the floor, and rolling the freekeh into a ball with one hand, would treat this dish with due respect.  For it was an occasion to think of others; others who perhaps were having difficulty sourcing any food in these difficult times.  Remember it comes to you from an Israeli chef and a Palestinian chef, working together, from an old Palestinian recipe.

You’ll enjoy every mouthful.  Spare a thought for the people of Gaza.  One day there may be more Israelis and Palestinians working together.  One day.

Gaza

What a mess.  And the conversations I have vary, hugely.  My Jewish friends abhor Hamas, and back Israel in killing women and children.  They shouldn’t use them as shields, they say.  The people should be in the tunnels not the weapons.  No one says anything about Syria. I hear familiar voices on the radio phone-in, aghast as Palestinian flags are run up city flag-poles, others not so blinded to the plight of the people of Palestine.

Others will fly a banner with the DEC phone number as a contribution that barely registers on the protest scale.  Money, that’s what the West can provide.  And aid from the UK is hiked up, all the way to a trifling o.1% of the funds generated in arming Israel, providing them with the hardware to continue the carnage.  We cannot ignore the wrongs of the past, but the evils of today are another thing altogether.

Remember this is all done in the name of The One God/Allah, the one worshipped by the three Abrahamic faiths.  If such a beast existed would he not be looking down on the mess of Jerusalem and wonder what was this Hell of His Creation, done in His name?  He must be a tortured soul at what we have become.

So it’s easy to put some money into the aid find.  Action Aid are doing some good work.  And we can watch it unfold on the BBC, who my friends will say are anti-Israel, the rest complaining they are very much for the Israelites.  This is the same broadcaster that completely ignored the horrors of Cast Lead, the blockade of ports and much more beyond.  They’ll take criticism from both sides, wrongly, as evidence that they must be getting it right.

But I prefer the words of Craig Murray these days, the Ambassador whose principle meant he couldn’t ignore our role in rendition and torture.  And he keeps an eye on matters in the Middle East; much more so, it seems, than our much vaunted and Gof-Fearing Peace Envoy, but don’t get me started on that one.

So as the carnage continues, and as conversations become difficult, let’s turn to Jerusalem, and find a recipe, an old Palestinian one, and set an offering on the table.  Let me give you Poached Chicken with sweet spiced freekeh, coming soon on this table.

First the ingredients – 1 small chicken, free-range of course; 2 cinnamon sticks; 2 carrots, peeled and sliced; 2 bay leaves; 2 bunches flat-leaf parsley; 2 onions; 2tbsp olive oil (remembering the Palestinians have lost their ancient family trees); 300g cracked freekeh; 1/2 tsp allspice; 1/2 tsp coriander; 40g unsalted butter; 60g flaked almonds; salt & black pepper.

Place chicken in large pot, with cinnamon, carrots, bay leaves, 1 bunch parsley and 1 tsp salt.  Quarter one onion and add to pot.  Cover, almost, with cold water, bring to boil and simmer, covered for one hour, skimming froth occasionally.

Halfway through cooking slice second onion and place in medium saucepan with olive oil.  Fry over low heat for 15 mins, until golden brown and soft.  Add freekeh, allspice, coriander, 1/2 tsp salt and black pepper.  Stir well, add 600ml of the chicken broth.  Turn up the heat.  As soon as stock boils, cover and reduce heat, simmering for 20 mins.  Remove from heat and leave covered for 20 mins more.

Remove leaves from parsley and chop, roughly.  Add most to the freekeh, mixing in with fork.

Lift the chicken from the broth and place on cutting board.  Carve off the breasts and slice thinly, at an angle; remove meat from legs and thighs.  Keep chicken and freekeh warm.

When ready to serve place the butter , almonds and salt in frying pan and fry until golden.  Spoon the freekeh onto individual serving dishes or one big platter.  Top with leg and thigh then arrange the breast slices neatly on top.  Finish with almonds and butter and a sprinkle of parsley.  Invite friends to share.

So Jewish chef and a Palestinian recipe, what could be wrong with that?  Now I’m off to buy a chicken and see if my local middle eastern store(?) have any freekeh – a wonderful smoked green cracked wheat – if not maftoul or bulgar will do, but reduced stock and cooking for bulgar.  I’ll let you know how it turns out.

While stewing get the latest news from Craig Murray; add to the Action Aid campaign, and spare a thought for the oppressed, and the starving, as the juices run.

 

Not Long Now

… and a long overdue update on some of the things that have been happening of late:

Firstly song time:

Ah, you thought they only did 500 Miles, but there’s more.

So that got you in the mood, now a look at pensions, and the reason why we can both start earlier and pay at a higher rate in Scotland:

For we die sooner.  Life expectancy in some parts is as bad if not worse than some areas of the world we look down on, send aid to.  And that is why we have to grab this opportunity to do our utmost to improve our society.  I have already surpassed average life expectancy in some parts of Glasgow, and I’m going to miss out on £10k of pension for the same contribution, just by being in the wrong place, pies and deep fried mars bars aside.  Why would we want to continue with more of the same?  And remember we’ve still only seen 40% of the promised austerity.

But the single most important item lately is not any debate, not even the endless media feeding frenzy on currency, nor is it the seeming jiggery-pokery over audiences at debates and the ordering of same by the broadcaster and/or the polling company; and it’s not even polling or dubious practices in selecting those to be polled, it’s this:

 

 

The Wee Blue Book, coming to you from the one and only Rev Stuart Campbell at Wings Over Scotland.  Packed full of facts, truths and myth-busting stats – the stuff you won’t find in the press.  Downloadable versions of the full booklet for pc and mobile available now from Wings.  Read it.  Share it.  Printed copies out soon.

Meantime we’ve been love-bombed, again.  This time by 200 of the rich & famous, the titled and the gentry.  Why, no one knows.  After all some speak with forked tongue, after uttering some vile stuff about Scotland and the Scots not so long ago.  Why is it they say Let’s Stay Together, and who suggested they sign up?  Perhaps we should send each one the Wee Blue Book, for they seem alarmingly bereft of knowledge, or perhaps they just know what we bring to their table.

And for those of you still to pluck up the courage to get out of the house and attend any of the events currently being held across the country, here’s just one speaker from one local event:

This one was from a Women only meeting, just down the road from here.  They’re a friendly bunch, so there’s nothing to be wary of, whether it’s under the Business for Scotland banner, Women for Indy, local Yes group or even Labour 4 Indy.  You’re all welcome, everywhere.  And you owe it to yourself to go out and find out more, to listen and talk.  But if you can’t get out that Wee Blue Book is fine place to begin.

As an example of what’s going on Yes Clydesdale have Rural Affairs minister Richard Lochhead speaking in Lanark this very night, a gathering for Farmers for Yes, and any other interested parties.  I might go along, but rather than preaching to the already converted my seat would be better occupied by you, if you’re still undecided.  Go on, get out there.

But watch this first, Fantastic:

 

Sauvignon Blanc

Citrus-y nose followed by a faint hint of diesel, so says one of the wine buffs.  He was reviewing a bottle I remember sampling many years ago.  It was back in the days when the wine lake was being filled with some big fruity stuff from the southern hemisphere; and Jilly and Oz were on the telly giving it big fruity words; and Australian wines were filling the rack, the French moved along to the end of shelf in the supermarket.  It might even have been around the time we all lost our taste for the sweet German stuff, and anti-freeze.

Anyway I was minded of those days and in particular a cunning piece of branding from the New Zealanders who put Cat Pee In A Gooseberry Bush on the market.  It’s still around, and indeed that is exactly what our man was discussing.

We had a similar experience at the weekend, but I’d recommend Cat Pee On A Feather Duvet to no one.  Little rogues, those new arrivals at The Towers, especially the youngster, boy kitten.  We’ve had a few episodes, though messages in the bath are easily coped with, if annoying.

But a sodden king-size feather duvet is not a good move; and seeping through onto family history papers went down even less well.  Why those papers were not on The Genealogy Room is not a subject best raised.  Let’s just not go there.

A quick visit to those wonders of MumsNet tells me we are not alone; kittens and feather duvets seem to have a mutual attraction.  But this is cat number five in this household over the years, and it’s a very unpleasant first for us.  The Law of Sod of course applied as well, coming as it did on a day when there was no chance of the washing line coming into use.  And today it looks as though the deluge may be set for the week.  Laundry is a problem.

Anyway, cats and littering, that’s what I was going to talk about.  Good old Jake always usurped the litter tray, preferring the great outdoors, which is just fine and dandy with me.  But we’ve had to install a tray for the new arrivals, and the same mix of wood-based litter and shredded paper they had at the sanctuary.  But they had a tray each there, not one smelling of another cat, even if it is a nano-second since it was cleaned and re-filled.

This tray is on a daily cycle.  Back in the days when Penfolds and Shiraz were the go-to plonk No 1 cat was happy with a weekly clean and re-fill.  Modern cats seem to be a bit more particular.

The ironic thing is that little boy kitten, who is eating so much he won’t be little for long, is desperate to get outside.  He watches the birds in the gardens, the chickens sheltering under the hedge, and he wants out to play.  I’m pretty sure he will spend a chunk of his time in the great outdoors, using the litter tray no more.  But he’s another jag to get first and that can’t happen for another week yet.

But one more love-in with the duvet, with any bedding in fact, will soon see him discovering the joys of Scotland’s weather, jag or no jag.  Now, what’s the number of the dry cleaner?  Anyone got the corkscrew?  I don’t care how it is on the nose, I need a drink.

PS  There’s a kitty training package arriving soon; train them to use your loo is the modern way, no litter, no mess.  Fun times lie ahead.  I’ll be sure to let you know how we get on.  Sauvignon Blanc anyone?

A book to study, and to enjoy

I picked up a volume from a little bookshop in Beaumaris, and have reached the end after a  long and slow read.  It’s not a long book, but a careful one.  At the end is the bibliography.  I like these lists of sources useful for the author.  This is one of those I scroll down, mentally ticking off those that have crossed the bedside table.  In this case we find, amongst others, Alexandre Dumas; Negley Farson; Gurdjieff; Fitzroy Maclean; Phillip Marsden; Tolstoy too, all with some superb writing on the same area which I’m pleased to have gracing The Bookshelf.  And then it produces another list, the ones I should be looking for.  Neal Ascherson is there, John Baddeley, Laurence Kelly, John Steinbeck and many others.  The Ascherson volume I’ve picked up so many times, but never taken it to the checkout, yet.  It’s hard to believe that nearly 20 years have passed since it was first published.

What all of these authors have in common is an interest in The Caucasus.  And few would seem to have a deeper interest than Tony Anderson, whose Bread and Ashes – A Walk Through The Mountains Of Georgia, is the volume that has been keeping my attention for some time.

Anderson visited the area in 1991, just after various Soviet Republics gained independence from Moscow and borders began to open, though the main trip on which this volume is based took place in 1998, when travel was, supposedly, easier.  There is much more to this work than people and place, though it is rich in both.  Tony Anderson travelled, in some part, with Chris Willoughby, and it was his great-great-uncle, John Baddeley who was their literal guide, having published The Russian Conquest of the Caucausus ninety years earlier.

But it is much more than a walk in the hills.  We are taking high passes through the peaks, to lands whose names have been appearing before us in recent years, after forgotten decades.  South Ossetia, Dagestan, Chechnya to name but a few, and peoples of past times, Circassians, Albanians, Khazars, might be some of those that are familiar; others may be unheard of.  Anderson was interested in the tribes from different areas; in their histories and their troubles.

Using local guides, far from what we may call civilisation, we enter a different world.  And we learn some of the history of the people and the places of those worlds, the evolution of their journey to the here and now.  But history is one thing and there are times you want to set it aside and get back to spending time, in the here and now, and in the homes, of Mindi and all those others we meet on the way.  This is much more than a book on travel, just as Ascheron’s Black Sea is, (which may be why I’ve put it off for all those years, though times and tastes change and I’ll read it soon, at last).

So together we progress slowly through the Dzhuta Pass, along the Arkhotis Pass, and to many places beyond, on horseback and on foot.  The accompanying maps are filled with  names resonant of dangers, and sacked cities, lost empires.  We are in the badlands, between the Black Sea and the Caspian, rugged peaks and hard men, bandits and mountain hospitality, historic times and hard times.

Anderson clearly has a keen interest in the area and this comes out in his writing of the people who share various parts of his travels.  His work is superbly researched, and that enhances the experience for the reader.

At first glance it looks as though I may have trouble tracking down a copy of Moses Dasxuranci’s History of the Caucasian Albanians.  But I’m glad Anderson has put it on my list.