Tag Archives: Iceland

Viva Jamie


We like playing Pre-recession, Post-recession in this household. It’s all subjective, of course, but it’s fun once you get into it.

For example, Pre-recession destinations include Ibiza and Iceland.  Post-recession places include Norfolk and Paris (so un-trendy for so long, but now oddly desirable again).

Jordan is Pre-recession.  Fiona Bruce is Post.

TV shows in the Pre-recession category include everything associated with Gordon Ramsay, Grand Designs and Top Gear.

Jules Holland is Post-recession.  As is Glee.

You get the idea.

And I think, on balance, Jamie Oliver comes out as Post-recession too. And this is from a girl who rails against the cult of the celebrity chef.    Yep.  Hands up. I’ve done a U-turn about Jamie.  And I don’t think I’m the only one.

When he first came out and did that whole moped malarkey and became Sainsbury’s whipping boy, everyone got sick to the back teeth of him.  He was called a ‘fat-tongued ****’ if you remember.  A lot.

I never really believed he had all those ‘mates’ in his trendy loft apartment.  I always thought they called him the fat-tongued thing behind his back.

Nobody liked him.  In fact, I can recall a drunken night back in the last century when we burnt Mr O’s first cookery book in the garden.  Sacrilege for writers to burn books, I know and very mature, however our vitriol knew no bounds.

But credit where credit is due.  Jamie does so many thinks right.  Not least of all, his latest cookery show, where he’s been doing a whistle-stop tour around Europe and bringing us the best recipes.  And contrived though it all must be, many of the situations he gets into seem very real.

Most admirable of all, however, to my mind, is that he actually eats what he’s made on the show.  He’s not waiting for the lowly public to taste his creations, he actually shoves the just-cooked food in his own gob.  Inspirational.

We live around the corner from Jamie’s Recipease shop.  It’s pink.  Being a Dad of girls, I suspect one of his kids chose the colour.  But as a shrine to all things Jamie, it works. The staff there are uber-friendly, the food is delicious.  It’s also very handy for birthday and Christmas pressies.

They used to have pizza stations where you could take the kids to make a pizza and they’d wrap it up for you and you could cook it at home, but mercifully, the kids have been banished, such is the demand for cookery lessons.  Jamie, it seems, is not only good at putting his ideas into practice, he’s happy to adapt them too.

Perhaps Jamie should do courses in how to be successful, as well as how to cook the perfect risotto. Dave and Nick could pop along after work with the new cabinet. After all, Jamie survived the last government and came out on top with shed loads of wonga.  Wouldn’t it be nice if the new government could say the same thing too?

1 Comment

Filed under Jo Rees

TV debate

Mr Clegg's confident performance and mastery of the debate format was credited with giving him overall victory

So we managed to get the last flight out of Mallorca yesterday morning, before all the planes were grounded.   Gutting or what!  The weather was fabulous, we were right in the middle of painting the shutters on the house and holiday mode was fully upon me.  What a brilliant excuse, if ever there was one, for legitimately missing the Brighton marathon on Sunday.  ‘Er yeah, like, I did all the training, but couldn’t fly back for the marathon. Bummer, man.  Volcanic ash.’  Cast iron.

But we made it, much to Emlyn’s relief.  He was looking forward to a sofa moment with an Indian take-away and the TV debate between our oh-so-charismatic political leaders.  I settled down too.  I’m officially in carb-loading, so  extra popadoms and nans for me.

I’m all for watching TV history.  I was a new-born when the first man landed on the moon, glued as a teenager to the OJ trial, plonked the kids in front of the inaugoration of Obama, but last night I couldn’t help feeling we were being short changed by the whole debate being  on ITV.  Call me a snob, but the Beeb are so much more professional at this type of thing.  Everyone seemed very nervous – let’s face it, gurning Alistair Stewart is no David Dimbleby, or John Humphreys.  Was I the only one who thought the whole thing was too long?  I lost concentration after about an hour or so and I’m an interested party.  I bet loads of people switched it off.

I have to say that Nick Clegg was pretty charismatic, but at the end of the day, he’s  a cheap salesman.  He was using the same techniques I learnt at my first crappy job selling ad space.  Make eye contact, use the questioners names, keep it personal.  Hmmm….dubious.   He tells us he’ll find all his policies by scrapping our nuclear programme, but that sounds a bit dodgy to me.  It was clearly something the other two were keeping out of.

I’m not a fan of Gordon after all his nuissance calls, but when he started talking, I must admit, I did start shouting at the TV and throwing popadoms.  “You’re cutting buerocracy, but now we’ll have the right to sue the police?  Duuuuh! How will we get more bobbies on the beat, when they’re all in court clearing their names with the chavs?  Ahhhhh!”

As for Gordon trying to rile Dave about the campaign posters?  How  embarrassing was that!  Mandy had obviously suggested he have a dig and get some mud slinging going, but it backfired.  I can’t stand it when Gordon smiles.  He looks like an aligator with toothache.

To my mind it was all just a bit tame and staged.  When they were discussing reforming the Houses of Parliament and the voting system, why didn’t either of the others point out that none of us have voted for Gordon as PM?  A missed opportunity if ever there was one.

So David Cameron gets my vote, although I can’t help feeling that his ‘cutting waste’ theme was rather scuppered by Nick’s pot-plants and paperclips comment.

The whole evening ended in a triumphant moment of comedy, however, when Reeta Chakrabarti on the BBC news talked us through the silly squiggly lines generated by the floating voters and their handsets.  A bloke who looked like a serial killer was sitting directly behind her staring at the camera.  We couldn’t hear the analysis as we were rolling off the sofa in stitched.  Hilarious.

Leave a comment

Filed under Jo Rees, Uncategorized