An Important Primer On A Degraded Profession

Before I became a lawyer I had failed in my initial desire to be a hard-bitten, truth-searching, investigative journalist. My heroes were Woodward and Bernstein. You might think that there is something wrong with a boy/man who had successive ambitions in the loathed professions of journalism and the law. You would be wrong. I will argue the toss with anyone about the social value of ethical lawyering and I hope you would agree that good journalism is as important now as it has ever been. This latter sentiment is all the more important in the age of that loathsome toad Donald Trump.

All of which leads me in a roundabout sort of a way to a good film that makes a hero of the objective journalist. Mr. Jones is not up there with All the President's Men but it is a worthy bit of cinema all the same. It tells the story of Gareth Jones and his heroic exposing of Stalin's Holodomor, the deliberate starving of millions of Ukrainians, sacrificed on the altar of Communist orthodoxy. In addition to a fine central performance from James Norton there is a nicely chilling portrayal by Peter Sarsgaard of the real-life villain (he won a Pullitzer on the back of untruthful reporting of Stalin's 'miracle') Walter Duranty. Look Duranty up if you want to get a measure of this particular creep. Fake news is not new.

 Back to the film - it has a slightly clumsy framing device that brings George Orwell into the picture and it wanders around thematically on occasions but, overall, this is godd film-making. 69/100.  

The Rest Of The South-Western Odyssey

I abandoned you, I admit it. I was having such a good time in Cornwall last week that I could find neither time nor inclination to give my usual tiresome running commentary. Well, I'll just list a few more highlights in support of my conclusion - that Cornwall is bloody brilliant.

First up. Stein's Seafood Restaurant - the place where the benevolent capitalism of Padstein has its roots. Top draw. The Groupie was perhaps not bowled-over by her turbot but Big Fat Pig was a very happy camper with the Fruits de Mer. Picture of the actual portion below -and bear in mind that the Pig had eaten a load of it before this was taken.

A final word on the restaurant. It has no pretensions about Michelin stars - it obeys Stein's own mantra, fresh fish well cooked. It's good.

We weren't yet finished with the Stein empire. On Friday we attended (yes both of us) the Cookery School to learn how to prepare fish dishes. I was a tad worried that I wouldn't enjoy this but, pleased to say, that this was, I repeat myself, bloody brilliant. We filleted fish, we fried, grilled and cured any number of species. We got to eat what we prepared and were kept full to the gills with wine. Try it - most excellent. You could become, as BFP now is, a bore about the value of good kitchen knives.

However, the true beauty of Cornwall lies not in the culinary delights of Padstein but in its scenery. Camel Trail - excellent. Even better, Trevose Head. Breath-taking. Good for the soul.  

 

And, as if we had not already been blessed, the M5 was clear for our return journey.
  

Big Fat Pig Gets Bigger And Fatter But Only After Feeling Younger

BFP is late-middle-aged. At least. However he and the Groupie have been indulging in the activity best suited to making you feel young again - visiting National Trust properties. On Monday it was Trerice and yesterday Lanhydrock. Both are excellent, Trerice a smallish Elizabethan manor house, Lanhydrock a grand Victorian estate which manages to feel liveable. In case you have missed the point, one feels younger when visiting such sites because of the general decrepitude of the other visitors. Works for me.

Trerice

 

 

  

Lanhydrock

As for getting bigger and fatter, well last night we went to Padstow's oldest pub, The Golden Lion. Beer was top draw - Doom Bar. The food was excellent and gargantuan. See below my plate of gammon, egg, pineapple (a seared wedge not some tinned crap), mushrooms, tomatoes, and onion rings (best ever - and when it comes to onion rings I'm a professional) - you can't even see the chips which came in a side dish. Highly recommended.

Today we are going to do some walking on the Camel Trail before resuming the weight-gain programme at Rick Stein's Seafood Restaurant tonight.  

The Trouble With Running Downhill

The trouble with running downhill is that, on the assumption that you are returning to your base, there is always a compensating uphill stretch. Back at Casa Piggy we are at the top of a hill so I always finish with an incline. Well we have decamped (Groupie and I) to drizzly (the forecast has it getting better as the week progresses) Cornwall, Padstow to be precise. And, what do you know, our accommodation (very nice) is at the top of the bloody great descent to the harbour. The think is that when you are on your hols and want to go running, you have to get down to the sea. There is no fun to be had in meandering around the sunlit uplands. Thus Big Fat Pig made his way down to the harbour this morning at his usual slow pace. That final push back up the hill was murderous and my thighs are protesting now. Do I feel righteous? Too bloody right. I view the whole process as generating an excuse to fill my face at every opportunity. It's my life, as Bon Jovi so rightly puts it.

Was Elizabeth Taylor the twentieth century's most attractive woman? Ava Gardner and Vivian Leigh might have something to say about that. And, yes, I do do know that the question itself betrays a shallowness on my part. It's my life. Anyway, the reason I raise the point is that I recently watched (for the umpteenth time) Cleopatra, a film that has long exercised a fascination for me, in fact ever since I read in my Christmas Guiness Book of Records about its status (long-since superseded) as the most costly movie ever made. As a spectacle it works. As serious art it does not. But who cares. Never mind Burton and Taylor, the best performance comes from Roddy McDowall as that mealiest-mouthed of mealy-mouthed pragmatists, Octavius. Best viewed at Christmas on the biggest screen you can find. 68/100. I eschew my usual  editorial practice and afford space for a larger edition of the film poster. 

In all seriousness, Taylor's physical allure raises a mildly interetsing academic point. Although the film owes nothing to Shakespeare's Antony and Cleopatra, the Taylor effect does have an effect on how a modern audience receives the play. The expectation of arresting looks (matching Shakespeare's poetry) is not a burden that Jacobean audiences would have to bear, the part of the matchless queen being played by a boy. I know, I know, I'm being all shallow again, But scratch back that shallow surface and there is a point that bears on reception theory. OK, I'll stop digging now.