Reading Lists

I don't tend to do book reviews as I think there's a limit to how many detective novels you want to hear about and because, despite my love of reading, I'm not going to impress anyone with my reading list. Unlike this young man...


A dictionary, an encyclopedia, The Bible and Batman! Wow!

Bedtime Reading

So, thanks due to The Girl for lending me Sarah Walters wonderful book, "The Little Stranger". It's good that my reading habits are being expanded beyond detective novels set in Italy as I was in a bit of a rut. This book is set in the immediate post-war years in rural Warwickshire and narrated by a practical, sensible country doctor. The fascination of this book is how he reacts to mysterious goings-on at a decaying manor house.
Probably best not to read this in the middle of the night when you can't sleep (unless you enjoy scaring the beejeebus out of yourself I suppose) although my experience wasn't quite as bad as The Girl's...She'd got to a particularly spooky bit with tapping on walls when Maud tapped on the bedroom door and pushed it open. Not since the days of my late-lamented Harley has one cat caused such terror. Harley was an odd creature who used to go and sit in the bath when he wanted to be alone. One night I made my way down to the loo in the dark and on sitting down felt a touch on my shoulder. Harley had decided to sit on the cistern and was just alerting me to his presence with a paw. I wonder if he realised why I was screaming?

The Literary Gift Company

May I just draw your attention to this rather wonderful website? I don't think there's a single thing on here that I don't want to buy for me or someone I love.

http://www.theliterarygiftcompany.com/index.aspny.com/index.asp

The badge at the top of the page would be perfect for all those times on public transport or in waiting rooms that people presume you're reading because you're bored and lonely and would much rather be talking to them about immigration.

The earrings are delicate and elegant and I'd buy them now if I didn't know for a fact that I'd lose them in a couple of days.

The Dorothy Parker poster may still find its way to my study wall as she's one of my heroines.

And the bag inspires me to see if I can make something out of an old book or two (my apologies right now to The Girl for the mess I'm likely to make).
I'm also sorry about the weird positioning of the pictures on this post but I've spent blinkin' ages trying to sort it out and I've had enough; I'm hungry and I'm going to make myself some lunch.

Camp Coffee

I am a coffee aficionado. Hemingway first popularised that word outside Spain; it originally meant one who was a passionate follower of the bullfight. For me the passion is coffee. I love buying beans, talking about blends, grinding to a perfect softness; I love my Bialetti stove-top moka with it's blackened base that speaks of many scalding, devilishly strong cups of espresso. I love the bitter black silk on my tongue and the kick of the caffeine. I affect an air of sophistication in cafes as I sip from a tiny cup.

So how do I explain my love for Camp?

Yesterday I made fudge in my friend's kitchen (see below) and couldn't find the vanilla extract. Instead I found a bottle of Camp and made coffee fudge. Looking at the bottle brought back so many memories that I couldn't resist putting some in a glass of milk. Oh my Lord! It was delicious. And, if I thought the sight of the bottle had evoked nostalgia, the taste sent me straight back to my Mammy's pantry. No wonder I grew up to love espresso with sugar; Camp is strong and sweet and bitter -heaven in a bottle.

With my espresso I stake a claim to European cafe culture but with Camp I am tapping into the British Empire and the request from the Gordon Highlanders to Scottish Food magnet Robert Peterson to provide them with a coffee drink they could brew quickly whilst on campaign. The design of the label has been, quite rightly, changed so that the Sikh and Scottish soldier are now equals but I am sad that consequently some of the subtle undertones have been lost.

The label is supposed to show Fighting Mac, Major General Hector MacDonald, a crofter's son who rose through the ranks to be a national hero but committed suicide in disgrace following accusations of homosexual activity with servants and native boys. Camp coffee indeed. Clearly homosexuality was "the love that dare not speak its name" and, even in contemporary Britain, gay rights came later to the army than the rest of society but there is little doubt that, had he been part of the establishment, the whole situation would have been hushed-up as it was in other cases.

Jake Arnott, author of The Long Firm trilogy and Johny Come Home (which contains an odious character he named after my brother), has written a book imagining a meeting between MacDonald and Aleister Crowley called The Devil's Paintbrush. As with all his books, but especially The Long Firm, it is highly recommended.



Thanks to www.schemamag.ca/ for the image.