Archive for November, 2003

Inland Revenue Letter

If I worked at the Inland Revenue, I would spend my time writing letters like this one, apparently reprinted in the Guardian:

Dear Mr Addison,

I am writing to you to express our thanks for your more than prompt reply to our latest communication, and also to answer some of the points you raise. I will address them, as ever, in order.

Firstly, I must take issue with your description of our last as a “begging letter”. It might perhaps more properly be referred to as a “tax demand”. This is how we, at the Inland Revenue have always, for reasons of accuracy, traditionally referred to such documents. Secondly, your frustration at our adding to the “endless stream of crapulent whining and panhandling vomited daily through the letterbox onto the doormat” has been noted. However, whilst I have naturally not seen the other letters to which you refer I would cautiously suggest that their being from “pauper councils, Lombardy pirate banking houses and pissant gas-mongerers” might indicate that your decision to “file them next to the toilet in case of emergencies is at best a little ill-advised. In common with my own organisation, it is unlikely that the senders of these letters do see you as a “lackwit bumpkin or, come to that, a “sodding charity”. More likely they see you as a citizen of Great Britain, with a responsibility to contribute to the upkeep of the nation as a whole. Which, brings me to my next point. Whilst there may be some spirit of truth in your assertion that the taxes you pay “go to shore up the canker-blighted, toppling folly that is the Public Services”, a moment’s rudimentary calculation ought to disabuse you of the notion that the government in any way expects you to “stump up for the whole damned party” yourself. The estimates you provide for the Chancellor’s disbursement of the funds levied by taxation, whilst colourful, are, in fairness, a little off the mark. Less than you seem to imagine is spent on “junkets for Bunterish lickspittles” and “dancing whores” whilst far more than you have accounted for is allocated to, for example, “that box-ticking facade of a university system.” A couple of technical points arising from direct queries:

1. The reason we don’t simply write “Muggins” on the envelope has to do with the vagaries of the postal system;

2. You can rest assured that “sucking the very marrows of those with nothing else to give” has never been considered as a practice because even if the Personal Allowance didn’t render it irrelevant, the sheer medical logistics involved would make it financially unviable.

I trust this has helped. In the meantime, whilst I would not in any way wish to influence your decision one way or the other, I ought to point out that even if you did choose to “give the whole foul jamboree up and go and live in India” you would still owe us the money.

Please forward it by Friday.

Yours Sincerely,

H J Lee

Customer Relations

More Square Cars

Seems that I’m not the only one who likes things with corners. Three cheers for Chris Bangle!

Grinning in their Raincoats



Lola and Rowan
in raincoats and pyjamas

I am going to slam a 10cm ice pick into your left ear.

Well, personally I think Charles Booher had the right idea (scroll down to point 9, that’s where it starts to get interesting). I get the impression that he may have read one too many Charles Higson books though.

What Kind of Political Animal?

I'm a pragmatic leftist

Me and Charlie Kennedy, we got something in common according to this political survey

Thanksgiving

Strange, in all the years I’ve been online I don’t think I’ve ever noticed particularly the passing of Thanksgiving, despite swimming in such an American sea. But this year, suddenly, I’m noticing emails from friends, blogs (perhaps it’s just that I’m reading a lot more of them now), and even the BBC Radio 4 news getting in on the act. I haven’t been quite so Thanksgiving-aware since I was a kid: when the magazine Cricket and Company folded, and my subscription reverted to their American cousin Cricket (or was it the other way around?) then every November became an opportunity for a parade of insects to discuss their turkey-plans across the bottom of each page of that magazine.

Saffron Potatoes and Brocolli in Roquefort Cream

It’s been a long time since I got carried away with cooking, as regular readers may have noticed. There have been many reasons for this - I go through cycles of enthusiasm for cooking anyway, and for the last couple of months Gill’s been on an Atkins diet, something I’ve been meaning to blog about but never got around to. And I don’t know how to cook anything Atkinsish, other than fish, which we both got sick of within about a week of her starting the diet.

Anyway, she decided to come off the diet today (but go on a low fat one from tomorrow… another cooking opportunity foiled), and I’m trying to work out what I’m going to cook for the family when we’re all in Wales this Christmas. So I returned to The Vegetarian Bistro (recently, as I’ve tired of all my other recipe books, I’ve only grown more and more enamoured of this one) for inspiration.

So tonight, for one night only, we have… hmm, perhaps I ought to give them their proper French names, just like the Queen did when she wanted to piss off George W… OK, so firstly, Gratin de pommes de terre Côte d’Azur avec fromage de brebis. Take some potatoes, boil them whole for 15 minutes (I love potatoes boiled whole - they come out with such a nice texture compared to chopped water-logged ones) then rinse with cold water and allow them to cool off. Meanwhile, saute some onions until just browning, then add some minced garlic. Slip the skins off the potatoes and slice into 5mm rounds. Put a couple of layers of these on the bottom of a casserole dish, then spread some of the onion on top, then some chopped tomato, herbes de provence, sugar, salt and pepper. And repeat a couple of times. Finish up with potatoes, then top with some more tomatoes mixed with saffron. Pop the cover on and stick them into the oven for half-an-hour. Take them out and grate some cheese on top - the recipe says pecorino or another old sheep or goat’s cheese, but we made do with something Swiss and Emmental-like. Cook uncovered for another 15 minutes. The saffron gives everything a lovely warm flavour, pure comfort food.

And to go with it… Broccoli au sauce roquefort. First toast some cashew nuts in a little butter, until they have brown flecks on them. Put them to one side and saute minced shallots in oodles of butter, for about five minutes, then add garlic for a few seconds, then tip in some white wine. Boil rapidly for a few minutes until the wine reduces, then season with nutmeg, pepper and cayenne. Add crème fraîche and heat until it boils, then set aside. Steam some broccoli until it’s just done, then re-heat the sauce and crumble in some roquefort (well, we made do with dolcelatte, they don’t sell roquefort in the shop near us). Squeeze in a bit of lemon juice, then spoon some sauce onto plates, put the broccoli on top, and sprinkle with cashews.

And that’s what we had for tea. I could really get into this cooking lark again.

Ninja!

I’m off to turn myself into a Ninja.

PS. Wonderful weekend in Manchester. More soon…

How to be Antisocial

Some hints here on how to get a little more downtime into your life. I fear I may already be too good at this.

Amazon review of Light

Light, by M John Harrison
I just reviewed M John Harrison’s book Light for Amazon. They haven’t approved it yet, so here it is for y’all:

I’ve been a fan of Harrison’s since his later Viriconium books, indeed it was his writing that coaxed me out of my fantasy/SF ghetto and into an appreciation of more mainstream works, but I have to admit that in the past I sometimes struggled to make headway through his often-depressing prose.

Not so with Light. Admittedly (as other reviewers have mentioned) the reader is dropped in at the deep end: concepts are introduced, things named, without any explanation of what they mean. This can be disorientating, but at the same time it makes reading an adventure, hurling yourself into the unknown, hoping that everything will make sense sooner or later. It does. And while you’re waiting, you can always have fun spotting themes (how many quantum opposites can you find? I’m sure I missed plenty, a second read is going to be almost as much fun as the first) and enjoying the poetry and occasional absurdity of the names.

The story itself is dark, funny, playful, deep as space itself and, ultimately, has a happy (or at least hopeful) ending, something very welcome in an M John Harrison novel. And it’s got three separate threads. Just like James Ellroy. Cool.

Light has reminded me that you can read SF without living in a ghetto. It’s a wonderful, genre-busting novel, one that should delight any intelligent life form.

I’m already re-reading it, thinking of writing a somewhat fuller review here in due course. Meanwhile, I just discovered this interview with Harrison, which (if you’ll pardon the pun) illuminates this and other works, and life in general, definitely worth a read.