Saw the brilliant Simon Mulligan Quartet at Club 606 on Wednesday night. www.606club.co.uk It was my first visit and it reminded me of jazz clubs of old. Which is a good thing. Not that I am an authority. I think we stopped going because of the cigarette smoke. I'm glad to see the smoking ban hasn't affected numbers - the place was full to bursting. I hope I get another invite soon.
While in London I went to the Nordic Bakery http://www.nordicbakery.com/. I had a cup of excellent coffee and a Karjalan piirakka (Karelian pie) with egg butter. I managed to resist the Korvapuusti (cinnamon bun), a fresh pile of which was delivered hot from the oven as I paid for my coffee. How I managed to be so good I shall never know - I'm regretting it now. I'll go there again although I felt a little overpowered by the media types frequenting the place.
In the table next to me two men dressed in black with thickly rimmed glasses were talking loudly about press releases and worldwide rights. First I thought it was all a PR stunt. It could be that I'm just jealous because I wasn't there to meet a high-powered agent myself...
While there I read an article in the Independent on how healthy the Nordic diet was. That was PR for a new Scandinavian restaurant in London, the name of which I've forgotten (the PR didn't work on me...). Apparently all the oily fish, fresh berries and rye bread consumed there is good for you. The article didn't mention the mount of fatty sausages, meat stews and mashed potatoes that people in Northern Europe eat too.
Last time I was at Babington I sat next to a nutritionist who had just come back from southern Sweden. She'd been setting up a clinic to try to change eating habits. The Swedish diet of fatty meats with creamy sauces combined with cooked veg has increased the cancer rates there. (Sounds all too familiar)
'People are surprised to find that the Scandinavians eat really unhealthily', she said. I bet she hadn't been asked to contribute to the article in the Independent.
Friday, 27 March 2009
Monday, 23 March 2009
Female friendships
If you read any chick-lit or other type of fiction on the subject, or watch any number of more or less sickening TV programmes about a group of female friends, you are led to believe female friendships are the most wonderful to be held.
I loved SATC, and as witnessed by long suffering partner, will even sit in front of the UK attempt at the successful series, The Mistresses. The women in the programme have affairs with good-looking men while enjoying high living standards and good jobs which require very little effort and time. These women also take motherhood in their stride while the men come and go. The important relationships in their lives are with their female friends who are supportive and loving (unlike the men).
While I've had and have several good and loving female friends I've also known many awful, vindictive, controlling, jealous and bitter women who have called themselves my friends. The latter group has been by far the most destructive. By far more destructive than any men I've known.
True, if the world was populated by wonderful, kind and loving people it would be a pretty dull place and I would have nothing to write about.
I'm a feminist and believe women are more complicated which makes female relationships sometimes crash and burn in a spectacular fashion. When men fall out they just leave each other in peace. When women do, they go to a war or words. So why, when it's so difficult for women to get along, we harbour the rosy ideal that we are all understanding and honest and prefer each other's company to that of men? Do we really believe that if the world was populated by women alone everything would be better?
I'm a woman hating feminist at heart I guess.
I loved SATC, and as witnessed by long suffering partner, will even sit in front of the UK attempt at the successful series, The Mistresses. The women in the programme have affairs with good-looking men while enjoying high living standards and good jobs which require very little effort and time. These women also take motherhood in their stride while the men come and go. The important relationships in their lives are with their female friends who are supportive and loving (unlike the men).
While I've had and have several good and loving female friends I've also known many awful, vindictive, controlling, jealous and bitter women who have called themselves my friends. The latter group has been by far the most destructive. By far more destructive than any men I've known.
True, if the world was populated by wonderful, kind and loving people it would be a pretty dull place and I would have nothing to write about.
I'm a feminist and believe women are more complicated which makes female relationships sometimes crash and burn in a spectacular fashion. When men fall out they just leave each other in peace. When women do, they go to a war or words. So why, when it's so difficult for women to get along, we harbour the rosy ideal that we are all understanding and honest and prefer each other's company to that of men? Do we really believe that if the world was populated by women alone everything would be better?
I'm a woman hating feminist at heart I guess.
Thursday, 19 March 2009
Ski helmet
A couple of years ago I went skiing with friends to Åre in Sweden. Though not with me, my partner made me promise I'd wear a helmet. Had he not insisted, I'm sure I would have declined as the thing really didn't flatter.
As you can see from Exhibit No 1.
Two weeks ago in Lapland I knew I wouldn't get away without one, but again I put up a fight in the ski hire shop. My partner reminded me of the first time we went skiing.
It was twenty or more years ago, again in Lapland, but on a much smaller mountainside near Rovaniemi. I'd only skied cross country since childhood, but by the end of the day, I'd got the hang of it, and was happily making my way down the nursery slope. Then a guy coming out of nowhere ran me over. He was on a pair of cross country skis and had no means of turning or stopping and was at the bottom of the hillside before I pulled myself up.
Since then I've been careful not to fall, or ski very fast, arguments which I now put forward to avoid the bloody headgear.
'It's not what you do, it's what others can do to you. All it takes is a tip of someone else's ski on your head...'
I conceded and put the thing on.
'You'll see - I won't fall once all week!'
This comment got just a glance. Men are so infuriating sometimes. Especially when they are right.
Suddenly on our last day after lunch (with only one beer) I started falling over. Nothing serious, just a tumble of two. I put it down to having relaxed and increased my speed at the end of the holiday.
But my helmet had been bothering me all week. It was uncomfortable and I looked like a Soviet astronaut wearing it. The strap at the bottom was strangling me and as I adjusted it the thing broke. Not bothering to tell anyone (my friends held the same opinion about helmet wearing as partner and would have marched me into the ski shop to change the damned thing), I left the straps undone.
Our friends, who had the cabin in Lapland, had gone home. It was late afternoon and our last run. My partner wanted to do the 'fun piste' and we parted, me deciding to take one last run down my favourite piste in Ylläs. Half way down I lost control of my right ski, tried to correct myself and fell awkwardly back against the mountain. My head hit the hard surface, and my helmet flew down the piste. I lost one ski. My head hurt but my first instinct was to check if anyone had seen me fall. Cursing, I hobbled towards the other ski and helmet, managed to put myself together and gently, my legs shaking, made my way down to the lift. All I could think was what would have happened if I'd lost the helmet before I hit my head on the ground. Or if I hadn't been wearing one at all.
Recounting the accident to the waiting partner I had to eat humble pie, or Baked Alaska.
Falling over on a skiing holiday is almost part of the fun. I wouldn't even have thought about it, had it not been for poor Natasha Richardson's fate. Of course we do not know if she was wearing a helmet or not.
Wednesday, 18 March 2009
Supermarket flirting
After my meeting with the nice man from Business Link, I decided to do some food shopping. In these credit crunch times I try to cook the fridge empty, but partner and daughter complained last night that a thousand ways with left over meat loaf which had followed my million ways with minced meat phase was getting a little too imaginative (or not I guess). Personally I think a slice of the aforementioned meatloaf on top of a piece of rye bread (only thing left in bread bin) with an egg and cheese on top nicely cooked on the grill was a stroke of genius.
The man from Business Link had given me such a lot of optimism for my brilliant new career that I smiled as I dropped stuff into my trolley. I didn't even do my usual growling at slow, old people (I know I will be there at some point too, but then I'll be deaf and blind and will get in the way of other people on purpose). Instead I smiled at a man on the opposite side of the oldie obstacle in the tinned vegetables aisle. When he let me pass he smiled sweetly back at me.
A couple of aisles further on, he crashed into some packs of rice and I said in passing, 'You're creating a lot of havoc today, aren't you?'
'Yes, wherever I go,' he said and game me the look.
Oh, my God. He thinks I'm coming onto him!
I remembered someone told me a long time ago how supermarkets were the places to flirt. At the time I thought it was a stupid notion. I hate food shopping and usually go through it wearing a frown.
But not today.
Of course I bumped into him in every aisle from then on, even ending up in front of him at the tills. I was so embarrassed I kept my head down until I was safely inside my car.
The man from Business Link had given me such a lot of optimism for my brilliant new career that I smiled as I dropped stuff into my trolley. I didn't even do my usual growling at slow, old people (I know I will be there at some point too, but then I'll be deaf and blind and will get in the way of other people on purpose). Instead I smiled at a man on the opposite side of the oldie obstacle in the tinned vegetables aisle. When he let me pass he smiled sweetly back at me.
A couple of aisles further on, he crashed into some packs of rice and I said in passing, 'You're creating a lot of havoc today, aren't you?'
'Yes, wherever I go,' he said and game me the look.
Oh, my God. He thinks I'm coming onto him!
I remembered someone told me a long time ago how supermarkets were the places to flirt. At the time I thought it was a stupid notion. I hate food shopping and usually go through it wearing a frown.
But not today.
Of course I bumped into him in every aisle from then on, even ending up in front of him at the tills. I was so embarrassed I kept my head down until I was safely inside my car.
Tuesday, 17 March 2009
The real work starts
While waiting for any news about my latest literary efforts, I have decided to try to earn some real money. (My partner is delighted) So I spent last week setting up the all new Halme Accountancy. I am enjoying going back to the day job so far.
My intention is to leave a day or two ( and weekends) to writing while the rest is dedicated to my former career as an accountant. I'm going to help a couple of businesses with cash flow and financing issues, as well as Tax, VAT and so on. I have a good track record in setting up new accountancy systems from scratch so here's hoping this kind of work will come my way too. It seems a shame to let my MAAT qualification and 20 years experience in the field go to waste. (My partner again wholeheartedly agrees)
I can hear your yawns from here so I'll stop now. But the point is, variety is everything and you could not have two careers more polar opposite than mine...
Contact helena@helenahalme.com if you cannot bear to even think about your business finances. I'll take care of it. (End of unashamed advertising)
My intention is to leave a day or two ( and weekends) to writing while the rest is dedicated to my former career as an accountant. I'm going to help a couple of businesses with cash flow and financing issues, as well as Tax, VAT and so on. I have a good track record in setting up new accountancy systems from scratch so here's hoping this kind of work will come my way too. It seems a shame to let my MAAT qualification and 20 years experience in the field go to waste. (My partner again wholeheartedly agrees)
I can hear your yawns from here so I'll stop now. But the point is, variety is everything and you could not have two careers more polar opposite than mine...
Contact helena@helenahalme.com if you cannot bear to even think about your business finances. I'll take care of it. (End of unashamed advertising)
Tuesday, 10 March 2009
Snow is beautiful in many different ways
Just back from a week in Finnish Lapland and boy was there a lot of snow. I forget how much I miss the stuff. As I huffed and puffed on the first cross country skiing trip in about 20 years, I wondered what it is about the stuff that makes me smile. Of course whizzing on snow down a mountain pretending to be cool in your hired helmet and skis, hiding the terror of the steep decent behind the latest in designer goggles that the teenage boy in Snow & Rock claimed would be 'great in flat light' (I didn't dare to ask what that was), is one thing. Although the old knees and thighs start to ache after a while, there's always a handy bar or mountain top cafe to hide out in or increase courage with a glass of something fortifying. As we were in Finland there was a lot of alcohol involved...
I, however, was more ambitious than that. The purest, deepest snow in Lapland demanded a more noble effort and cross country skiing seemed to fit the bill. But I had forgotten what a lot of effort it is. At primary school in Tampere I'd been quite good at the sport, so much so, that I won many prizes. (A missed career opportunity one thinks?) Now after many years spent going down a mountain I'd forgotten that there are no lifts on the cross country trails. Nor is it easy to go down a hill following a narrow trail. But I had sisu, (Finnish for endurance), and so bringing my poor old body to its limits, I made the first five kilometres without any major embarrassing falls or fits. My partner, the master of all sports, fell over a lot - but that's another story. I will only say that I enjoyed the cross country skiing so much I took him out the next day too, doubling the distance.
The cross country trails in Yllas, where we were, run through beautiful scenery. On the second day when we were both a little more used to the limitations of our narrow skis and light boots, and weary bodies, we spent more time admiring our surroundings, enjoying the many huts serving cinnamon buns and hot drinks, as well as the friendly fellow crazy people, many of whom were central Europeans and even Englishmen.
But the snow was the star of the week. It hung heavy on the dark branches of the fur trees, even forming high narrow piles on top of bare, seemingly thin willowy branches of the birch trees. The forest floor either side of the cross country track was untouched by human step. All you could see on the white snow where occasional faint marks made by birds or hare. Twilight, or the blue hour, seemed to last forever. The landscape became magical , then slowly the sky fell dark and the snow glittered as if covered by tiny diamonds.
'I guess at the end of the winter you must grow tired of the snow' I said to my lucky friend who half lives in Lapland. It was our last day and I was trying to look forward to our return to gray England.
'Never. It's always changing and beautiful in different ways.'
I'd forgotten Finns never lie. To them there's never a good reason to.
I, however, was more ambitious than that. The purest, deepest snow in Lapland demanded a more noble effort and cross country skiing seemed to fit the bill. But I had forgotten what a lot of effort it is. At primary school in Tampere I'd been quite good at the sport, so much so, that I won many prizes. (A missed career opportunity one thinks?) Now after many years spent going down a mountain I'd forgotten that there are no lifts on the cross country trails. Nor is it easy to go down a hill following a narrow trail. But I had sisu, (Finnish for endurance), and so bringing my poor old body to its limits, I made the first five kilometres without any major embarrassing falls or fits. My partner, the master of all sports, fell over a lot - but that's another story. I will only say that I enjoyed the cross country skiing so much I took him out the next day too, doubling the distance.
The cross country trails in Yllas, where we were, run through beautiful scenery. On the second day when we were both a little more used to the limitations of our narrow skis and light boots, and weary bodies, we spent more time admiring our surroundings, enjoying the many huts serving cinnamon buns and hot drinks, as well as the friendly fellow crazy people, many of whom were central Europeans and even Englishmen.
But the snow was the star of the week. It hung heavy on the dark branches of the fur trees, even forming high narrow piles on top of bare, seemingly thin willowy branches of the birch trees. The forest floor either side of the cross country track was untouched by human step. All you could see on the white snow where occasional faint marks made by birds or hare. Twilight, or the blue hour, seemed to last forever. The landscape became magical , then slowly the sky fell dark and the snow glittered as if covered by tiny diamonds.
'I guess at the end of the winter you must grow tired of the snow' I said to my lucky friend who half lives in Lapland. It was our last day and I was trying to look forward to our return to gray England.
'Never. It's always changing and beautiful in different ways.'
I'd forgotten Finns never lie. To them there's never a good reason to.
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