Richard O'Sullivan - The man about the kitchen...

The history of this still great nation is littered with the works and endeavors of many a great rennaisance man: Pepys, Evelyn and Johnson can all be said to have made their contributions to the furtherment of human culture, pushing the boundaries and quashing the dogmatic beliefs of of their time, but none can be said to have had the same impact as O’Sullivan. 

Richard O’Sullivan was a true shining star, in fact the great Russian writer Lermontov might have gone so far as to call him a hero of our time such was his influence on the collective zeitgeist during the latter half of the 20th Century. 

Actor, writer, social critic and culinary genius, there was a time when O’Sullivan held great influence in this country, from 1974-1982 he was an unmistakeable face on ITV finding fame playing the cookery student, latterly chef, Robin Trip in two of the country’s best loved sitcoms: Man about the house and Robin’s Nest. Playing these roles with a Falstaffian precision he charmed both young and old with choice turn of phrase and bawdy antics as his character tried to get off with either of his house mates (played by Paula Wilcox and Sally Thomset). 

However, of all O’Sullivan’s accolades he should be remembered for a landmark achievement in the world of cookery writing, and one which is rightly placed up there in the pantheon with Apicius, Soyer, Escoffier, Glasse, Adria and Blumenthal. Published in 1980 Man About The Kitchen: A book for people who can’t cook - much was to overturn everything that people previously thought possible in the kitchen. 

Risque chapter titles like: ‘Richard’s Roast’, ‘Birds I Fancy’, ‘Some like it hot’ and ‘Carry on cooking’ make the reader chuckle with their naughtiness, fully capturing the cultural melting pots that were the Italian bistros of the late 1970s where I imagine O’Sullivan and his fellow dilettantes held court. Long before Keith Floyd introduced the UK public to the delights of relaxed cookery, O’Sullivan was advocating a more leisurely approach, as his introduction states: 

‘I like to be on my own in the kitchen, hearing my friends enjoying themselves in the next room. A glass of wine in my hand, something good to cook, and I’m in my element...’

The book beginnings with the bare essentials and handy tips with which to get the most of the cooking experience, such as the importance of investing in a fish slice: 

‘This is essential, used for turning over pancakes...also good for scraping burnt bits off the bottom of pans, and swatting flies.’ 

Before-hand, as many culinary historians I am sure will attest, home cooks had never been enlightened as to the many alternative, practical uses of kitchen implements which would be opened up by this work, another, clever passage references the modern wonders of a kitchen timer: 

‘with this ticking away in your pocket you can watch Match of the Day, or go to the pub, knowing you’ll be reminded when the meal is ready.’

Just brilliant, why bother with Jamie’s 30 minute meals when you have this book? O’Sullivan also realised that most people wouldn’t have been aware of the plethora of exotic herbs sampled on the ‘Grand Tour’ he did of Europe during his youth, and much like the great architect, Sir John Soanes, he sought to educate us with the delights of Tarragon, Basil and Coriander. Furthermore he was embracing the continental taste for coffee, only just reaching the shores of 1970s Britain: 

‘How to cheat at making coffee... and impress your friends. Make instant coffee and serve it in a Cona jug. Put a couple of coffee beans on the hot-plate to give that freshly roasted smell.’

As on of the great, classically trained actors of his day he knew that stage-craft was essential to the perfect meal, as demonstrated in this passage: 

‘there’s a knack to making a good omelette, you’ll soon pick it up, but in the meantime, don’t be too discouraged by your first efforts. Soft lighting, or better still, candlelight, covers a multitude of sins...’ 

Olivier couldn’t have put it better himself.

The whole book is punctuated by fantastic vignettes from a life well lived, from the young O’Sullivan’s daliances with a female sergeant in the Israeli army (evoking scene’s of Turgenev’s First Love and Taylor Hackford’s An Officer and a Gentleman - for which this tale, I have heard, was the driving influence) inspiring such dishes as: ‘Ladies Thighs’ and ‘Legs Fair and Fowl’. He also references his love for Italian cooking, referencing the great honour bestowed on him by Richard Burton, Elizabeth Taylor and Rex Harrison in the 60s when he was known as ‘Spaghetti O’Sullivan’ from which he advises the plucky Brits to cook their pasta for 12-15 minutes: 

‘once done you can get away with leaving it in the water in which it has been cooked for up to about 5 minutes, but once drained it must be rinsed to get the starch off it... so put in a colander and hold it under the hot tap for a minute.’

I am sure that Marcella Hazan would not disagree! 

But it is his metaphorical and philosophical musings that really bring this tome together (concisely comprising of 93 crisp pages), as he warns the reader:

‘Decide on the menu first. Make certain that the dishes go well together: Don’t have rice soup followed by creamed chicken and rice, followed by rice pudding. Good flavours perhaps, but a bit pale and uninteresting - like taking an ash blonde our on a foggy day.’ 

It is this wit and verve that set this book above the rest and give it the rightly deserved titles as one of the most important cookery books of the 20th Century, if not all time. Let me leave you with another fabulous tip and strongly urge you to pick up a copy where you can: 

‘One of my favourite flambé dishes is Omelette Surprise, when you flambé an omelette with whisky... don’t forget to drink the gravy!’

The Spirit of Radio... Permanent Waves (1980) - Rush

I vividly remember a former colleague of mine walking into the office one morning and declaring that Rush were one of the worst bands he had the unfortunate luck to have listened to in recent years. Granted, a large volume of their early catalogue I find rather impenetrable – although die hard fans would strongly disagree. However to mind they had some flashes of brilliance which certainly deserve some mention on this blog. One such one is their commercial breakthrough, Permanent Waves (1980).

Rush are a Canadian band largely forgotten by modern audiences until the hit film ‘I love you man’ with Paul Rudd and Jason Segel brought them back to the attention the public through their rollicking 1981 hit ‘Tom Sawyer’.  An aggressive drinking tune with hard lyrics and a pounding bassline make this one of the gem’s in their treasure chest of hits, but not – to my mind- their peak, which came a year earlier.

As soon as you hear the distorted guitar intro to ‘Spirit of Radio’ and the drum collapse of the legendary Neil Peart you know you have made the right choice with this record. The tune is inspiring, backed with heavy hard rock sensibilities, it was – and still is – a real favourite of mine when I am limbering up for a night out, and I am always surprised when I find that it is never on a DJ’s list at a club (though why this should come as such a shock I am not sure).  Peart’s insistent vocal keep the listener hooked and then, to make it even more appealing it drops into a faux-reggae bridge 2/3 of the way through the tune almost like something from a Police album!

The second track, ‘Freewill’ with its punchy guitar riff is another gem harvested from the album. If you can look past the rather prog driven lyrics you get to experience a powerful tune full of soaring synthesizers and overdriven guitars. This is a perfect example of the direction that rock music was to take going into the early 80s, whilst still keeping with Rush’s signature brand of music and breaking down into a Stranglers-esque bass riff and dirty guitar solo.

‘Jacob’s Ladder’ is sadly not the same as the power-pop classic written by Bruce Hornby and performed by Huey Lewis and the News but an extended work-out which allows each musician in the band to flex their musical muscles. As pompous as it is confused, this is definitely the weakest track for me on the album.   

Things thankfully pick up again with ‘Entre Nous’, another pleasant slice of rock complimented by some space-age synth that would not be out of place on a Manfred Mann Earth Band record. Unlike many of the other compositions, ‘Entre Nous’ is much simpler in structure, bringing in some welcome acoustic guitar to the mix.

Rush wasn’t all about thrashing guitars and strutting drum licks, they could play it slow, and ‘Different Strings’ exhibits this well, sounding like a Genesis tune (Heathhaze from Duke (1980) for example), it’s subdued, stripped down and Peart doesn’t over-dramatise his vocals as he is prone to do on many of the band’s other songs.

The final track on this short album is ‘Natural Science’ which starts slow but builds into a frantic conclusion and is easily the heaviest number on the album with a really dirty guitar riff punctuated by tape-effects adding something of a sinister air to the recording. ‘Natural Science’ has an ever shifting tempo and there are a number of bizarre twists and turns in the tune which makes it all the more compelling. Finally the album reaches a natural conclusion and tail off with the sound of waves crashing against the shore.

Whilst not the best album I own, this one is a real monument to the time of its release and shows a band fast approaching their commercial and (some would say) creative peak. A solid 8/10 methinks…

Some kind of wonderful… a paean to a guilty pleasure

Mass hysteria seems to have gripped the food world, capturing the imagination of the general public. First it was the horsemeat scandal, now it’s the scientific discovery that processed meats shorten your life expectancy. I can see the smug food police looking down their noses at people like me as I tuck into a Saturday morning breakfast of streaky bacon, buttery scrambled eggs, fresh orange juice and black filter coffee. I am sure if they had it their way I would be eating a bran cracker, a few slices of apple and a cup of hot water with lemon peel! Granted I do not have the former for breakfast every day but it gives me a grim satisfaction to stick two fingers up to a profession that has systematically sought to take enjoyment out of the kitchen and reduce the consumption of food to a mere fuel which ensures our survival on earth. 

In this piece I want to focus on a food that has become stigmatic in recent years, a non-essential comestible, a poster-boy if you will for the food police... The Big Mac. I am sure that anyone reading this has watched Morgan Spurlock’s amusing but ‘MIchael Moore-ish’ documentary Supersize Me where he embarks upon a month of eating nothing but MacDonald’s products. At the end of the documentary (surprise, surprise) the nutritionalist finds that his liver and kidneys are almost shot and his weight had increase.

Stop press! Who would have thought that fatty foods with questionable nutritional value could do this. But it was propaganda to the masses, who demanded healthier options from their fast food establishments and opened up the franchises to every happy-go-lucky regular who thought they could launch litigation on the back of their porkiness. The Western media - who sometimes have far too many column inches to fill as well as time on their hands started to hound out any stories they could to tar fast food establishments with a negative brush.

This will not be the case here, for I want to draw your attention to one of my favourite of guilty pleasures. Nestling amongst a bed of crisp chicken nugget and apple pies shimmering with vegetable oil you will find this beast – the ever-faithful Big Mac.

The flagship product, the mother-lode of the franchise has been both the company's most proud product and its most vilified. Towering as it does over the diner’s tray, crammed with all sorts of unhealthy and anemic goodies and additives that literary melt on contact with the mouth as shreds of lettuce and ‘special’ sauce spatter the paper tray guard.

To the uninitiated the anatomy of the Big Mac is simple enough. First you take a burger bun base, add burger, add American cheese, add lettuce, slices of gherkin, ‘special sauce’; then another bun base, repeat the previous process, add chopped onion and more ‘special’ sauce; this is all finished with a sesame seed bun top. They say that the simplest things in life are sometimes the most pleasurable and there is certainly nothing simpler in this construction (if you can look past the myriad of chemical processes and reactions behind the creation of its component parts).

Some people augment their burger with fries and a soft drink, a waste of time to my mind, the best thing to have with a Big Mac is a glass of Champagne or a crisp pilsner and a Gitanes cigarette sat outside in St James’s Park - like a posh hobo! How strange, yet so appealing. This should always be followed, if able to manage one, by another Big Mac (only joking!).

Given the controversy that surrounds them, and looking past the health implications, what is it that makes this ‘delicacy’ have such appeal, at least to me? It is probably down to the fact that I only eat it twice or so in a year, a treat to myself when I am feeling ever so slightly debauched. Whether it comes after the ballad of the ‘one-too-many-pints-at-the-pub’ or the remorseful yarn of ‘I-had-one-too-many-the-night-before’, perhaps it might be passing a service station on a long journey or spying one (as I did the other day) in a train station on the way back from a trade show. Whatever it is, it is once in a blue moon and tastes all the better for it.

This is not about justifying their consumption as your whole diet but as something to be enjoyed from time to time, like a good English breakfast or a hotdog laden with mustard, onions and sauerkraut. But I sometimes fear that the food police merely see scapegoats and pounce on them, vilifying those who enjoy them in moderation. I for one will say that it will be the start of something very worrying if the Big Mac disappeared from our high streets, for first the Big Mac why not the Full English and so on.

However, foodies fear not. For those of you who cannot agree with me, nor even countenance the idea of stepping through the twin golden arches, I have devised an alternative with lovely, homemade burgers, to give you that same experience at home! So tune in next time to get my exclusive recipe…

Cordon Du Chap: Sand's End

135-137 Stephendale Road

London 

SW6 2PR

Cordon Du Chap: ❁❁❁❁❁

The Harwood Arms garnered a lot of press last year as the first Michelin starred gastropub in the UK (if not the world) with its inventive menu combining esoteric ingredients like oxtail and snails, cold chicken and candied hazelnuts and bringing old classics like brawn back to the attention of the nation’s palettes. However its sister restaurant, The Sands End, is as good if not in many ways better, and well worth a visit if you are in the area.

Tucked away in a residential street just off Wandsworth Bridge Road, The Sands End looks like any other better-than-average pub, but wait until you see the menu! Unlike the Harwood arms the team here have not tried to be too over-ambitious in their combinations. There is much to be admired about a menu which matches tried and tested ingredients effectively, while keeping them contemporary and entertaining. 

The flair and skill in the cooking really shines through the well considered portions, the excellent cooking and the balance of flavours. This is the sort of place you could take the fussiest of eaters and I guarantee that they would find something they want to eat on the menu. 

There is a fabulous daily menu choc-full of hearty dishes such as: braised ham hock with parsley sauce and root vegetables; Loin and belly of Middle White pork, braised cabbage & bacon, crushed potatoes and a daily home-made pie. For those with less of an appetite they have a range of tasty bar snacks, such as plaice goujons, steak tartare, duck rillette and sharing boards of artisan charcuterie. Puddings range from green apple & Aspall cider trifle to fresh waffle, pistachios, honey, yoghurt ice cream. 

On a recent trip I sampled their reasonably priced set menu which really shows off the skill of the kitchen. the wafer-thin rare roast beef topped with watercress and a mustard dressing was followed by the most delicious homemade linguine and silver mullett (pan-fried with a caper laden buerre noisette). All this was finished off with a delicately poached pear with honey and mascarpone ice cream. 

Yesterday I was treated to a delicious smoked salmon tartare with a fresh pickled cucumber relish followed up with a truly spectacular chestnut gnocchi topped with delicately cooked chanterelle mushrooms and roasted salsify. Every component was masterfully cooked and there were certainly no complaints from this corner. 

There is a substantial drinks menu and some very nice ales on tap, in particular I was please to see Black Sheep bitter (a favourite of mine from university days) as well as a jug of some homemade bloody mary mix. There were also some nice looking magnums of Provencal Rose chilling in an ice bucket on the bar counter.

The service is very friendly if a little sporadic, so make sure you are in no hurry over your lunch and avoid taking impatient friends or relatives. However this is a mere quibble when compared to all the positives that this establishment has going for it. In any case I thoroughly recommend you make a trip to Stephendale Road and discover this great place for yourself. 

Beauty and the Beast: Cupid & Psyche 85 (1985) - Scritti Politti

Many from my generation will probably be wondering who the hell Scritti Politti is, let alone his lone hit album Cupid & Psyche 85, but let me start by saying that this is a dynamite record, especially since it is one predominantly recorded on a synthesizer - albeit a very state-of-the-art one for 1985! One thing is for certain, and that is that this would be one of those albums I would cart off to my desert island exile should I ever be consigned there. 

Let’s start with a bit of back story though. Scritti Politti is basically the pseudonym of Gramsci (Italian Marxist philosopher) obsessed student Green Gartside, a one time art student who formed the group whilst studying in Leeds. A minor indie hit, ‘Skank Bloc Bologna’ on the burgeoning lable ‘Rough Trade’ soon came to the band in the late 70s and spawned an early eighties release Songs to Remember (1981) which appealing to new wave fans of the time. Then nothing...

There was not a sausage or squeak from Scritti for four years until the album under review, by which time Gartside (on his tod) had joined forces with programmer David Gamson, harnessing the fresh pop licks of the the mid-80s and combining it the sensibilities of Electronica to make for a veritable aural feast! 

Ironically it was as student at Leeds that I discovered the magic of this album as, bored on a Sunday afternoon, I took it down from the music bank in the Edward Boyle Library and listened to it on one of the institution’s functional DVD players. Needless to say I wasn’t filled with confidence by the album cover nor much else I had read about the band but I was in an open frame of mind - after all had this fellow not also received his education from the same fine bastion of learning? I’m so glad I did, from the first echo-reverbed drum roll of ‘The Word Girl (Flesh & Blood)’ I was hooked!

Coupled with the very catchy keyboard and drum machine licks, Cupid & Psyche 85 captures Scritti Politti (Gartside) at his lyrical best, seeing him using bizarre word constructs and abstract metaphors to deliver a concept album examining the intricacies of romantic relationships: The love, lust, power, deception, corruption and lies. Even at the darkest moments the album is eminently danceable and I would defy any listener not to find at least one tune on this album that did not get their feet tapping to the Gartside grooves! 

Listening to songs such as ‘Small Talk’  and ‘Absolute’ make you think of a grooving dancefloor in another time with their catchy keyboard riffs and overdriven guitar hooks. But it is Gartside’s acerbic and incessant vocals that really cut through the sheen to make these as ironic as they are enjoyable. The former (Small Talk) is a biting critique about sharing relationship issues with other people, and it both is served and amusingly undermined by the upbeat backing music - much like Phil Collin’s 1982 track ‘I cannot believe it’s true’. 

There are two standout tracks which I will draw attention to. The first is ‘Perfect Way’, a song which should have been much more of a hit than it was - hey, Miles Davis liked it so much he covered it! Capturing Gartside at his most acerbic. Singing about the unreasonable nature of his partner and how he cannot meet their expectations, 'Perfect Way' has some of the finest lyric around: 

‘I took a day, check amendment, I took a liking to you

I took a page out of my rulebook for you. 

You wanna message a confession, you wanna martyr me too

You wanna margin of error for two...’

Just one example of why this is more than just a pleasant listen, it has a bit of profundity - not something you often find in blog!

The other great tune and a deserved hit is the dance classic ‘Wood Beez’, playing to Gartside’s love of word play. A straightforward love song set to a very funky, danceable riff and dynamic drum machines, this really does capture the 80s at its zenith! Produced by the legend that was the late Arif Mardin it’s a flawless track which lets Gartside’s idiosyncratic, trance-like vocals come to the fore. I would also recommend a look at the bizarre music video which couples with this song, a precursor for New Order’s ‘True Faith’ perhaps? 

I could wax every more lyrical with more pomposity, much the same way this album struts around the speakers like an musical peacock, but I tire of lavishing such rich praise and now merely urge you to purchase this fantastic album for your collection.......9/10! 

Curry Night!

There are few funnier evenings than when you get some of your good mates together, cook up a curry, sink a few lagers and enjoy that banter which only rather immature fellows - of which I am one - think amusing! I used to watch Men Behaving Badly and think how fun their rather carefree life looked and, whilst I am not going to be building a sauna in my shed or drunkenly erecting a snooker table in a shopping precinct lift any time soon I think in my own special way that I can recreate something of that student dive feel with my curry and beer evenings.

I would be happy to entertain you should you be in the area, but let me just warn you that your drinking cap must be on and your capacity for crap conversation a very generous one!

Below I offer a simple recipe, but one which will certainly satisfy even the most boorish, booze-soaked friend...

My basic lamb curry

(A quick note from a former life!) You cannot survive working in Westminster if you don’t like eating curry, the political scene might as well be drenched in Madras sauce for the amount of times I went to the Indian Diner in Pimlico (incidently if you do find yourself at this establishment their sizzling garlic chili chicken is worth a try) after a day slogging it out in the corridors of power or latterly in Westminster Tower are innumerable. Once upon a time I happened to work for a larger-than-life Yorkshireman MP who, in his words, ‘loved a good curry’ and sparked in me a passion for the stuff that has lasted to this day.

Now, when I talk about curry, I don’t mean that very chi-chi stuff they serve at The Cinnamon Club, Mumtaz in Bradford or the like. I personally like the British interpretation of curry and sod the authenticity, sometimes the cheaper it is the better it turns out (although my time as a student in Leeds taught me that often this wasn’t the case). As my naysayers cackle and crow at my lack of sophistication, all I can say to them is tough titties, if you want the real mccoy then scout out another blog, the curry below - which is a lamb one - is one of my favourite dishes to make in my repertoire full of prep work and gentle cooking. I have adapted it from a fantastic recipe from Rick Stein, but cut the quantity of aromatics including my bette noire - cinnamon. It’s a real crowd pleaser and freezes really well for those times you come home from work on a winter’s night and curry’s the only thing that will fill that grumbling hole in your stomach.

Ingredients

Groundnut oil
400g neck fillets of lamb cubed
1 medium sized onion sliced
6 tomatoes quartered
3 cloves garlic smashed
Knob of fresh ginger
1-2 chillies sliced
handful of parsley and chives roughly chopped
2 handfuls of coriander chopped 

Mug of chicken/veal stock
Mug of plain yoghurt

For Curry Paste
2 tbsp medium curry powder
1 tbsp ground cumin
1 tbsp mild chili powder
1 tbsp ground coriander
1 tbsp garam masala
1 tsp groundnut oil

Method

1. take a large saucepan, sweat onions in oil until soft and translucent, add curry paste, garlic ginger, chillies, chives and parsley mixing thoroughly until the curry powder is cooked off. 
2. Add the lamb and cook for five minutes, then add the tomatoes and cook for a further ten minutes on a medium-low heat. 
3. Add the stock and the yoghurt incorporating thoroughly, turn the heat low and cook uncovered for roughly 1hour until the sauce has thickened and the lamb is soft and tender. 
4. transfer into a serving platter, scatter with plenty of fresh coriander, perhaps a dash more yoghurt in the centre. 

Serve with plenty of basmati rice, naans, chutneys and pickles.

Freedom Overspill: Episode #3

The plot is about to thicken for our daring duo when the mysterious and sinister presence of Niven arrives on the scene. To recap, Hall and Lomacks have been called to a massive house explosion in Wimbledon where a woman, by the name of Mrs Niven, is believed to have been killed. We join our daring duo as they try to make some sense of the whole situation...

Inside the pub, Lomacks brought over three pints of Youngs Special,  ‘Who said I would’ by Phil Collins played distantly in the background as the bar began to refill with those who had rushed out to see the commotion caused by the explosion. Lomacks was the first to break the ponderous silence that had engulfed the table. 

‘I Don’t like this at all boss, back in Leeds they’d serve these to you in proper mugs.’

‘Economics Lomacks’ his guvnor replied, ‘it’s simply economics, washing machine space, electricity bills, no lawsuits from someone assaulting with a heavy piece of glassware and all that.’

‘No respect for tradition, only under Thatcher!’ retorted the young upstart.

‘that’s as maybe, but save it for later, I want to hear what the constable has to say’ Hall turned to the slightly nervous policeman who was sitting with them. ‘Now son, what can you tell me about this Digby Niven?’

‘He’s a businessman, in the city, what you might call a ‘fat cat’. Made all his money in commodities and hasn’t look back. According to his neighbour he’s got fingers in a number of multi-national pies and has been recently brokering a number of deals in the Middle East’

‘Prime spot for investment sir. Studied it at University.’ Lomacks boasted. 

‘All very interesting… I’m looking forward to meeting this Mr Niven. His Wife?’ 

‘Society girl, socialite, spent much of her youth at country house and all the right parties. Family felt she married beneath her, Digby ain’t common but he’s certainly not landed gentry.’ the constable continued.

‘A proper Brideshead then?’

‘Shut up Lomacks!’ He was getting bored with his partner’s sarcastic interjections, he gestured to the constable, ‘Go on.’ The policeman nodded in thanks. 

‘Well sir, there’s not much else to tell other than what I already told you about the son and daughter.’

‘And the boyfriend?’

‘The boyfriend?’

‘of the daughter?’

‘Oh right, I didn’t catch his name, but apparently he’s in technology of some sort, but that’s all I really know.’

‘Don’t worry yourself about it, thank you constable, you’ve been very helpful. Now drink up that pint whilst it’s still warm.’

It was a couple of hours later and back at Police Station, Hall and Lomacks were sitting across from each other at their desks’

‘Nothing, not a fucking thing at that house and yet it was clearly a professional job.’ Said Hall, all his frustration coming to a head. 

‘Mrs Niven didn’t stand a chance...’ Lomacks lamented wistfully. 

‘No… poor woman.’

‘I didn’t know you to be so sentimental?’

‘it’s not that, it’s just I can’t imagine a worse way to die. Incidentally, has anyone been able to reach Mr Niven?’

‘Nothing Guv, I’ve been trying his office and his secretary says he hasn’t been back this afternoon. But she added this was nothing unusual if he had brokered a big deal in the morning and was out celebrating with his colleagues.’

‘Hmmm, it doesn’t add up. That secretary’s covering something. If your house was blown up, wife was killed and your kids were coming back to help mop up the debris you would surely have some concerns.’ Hall paused ‘…Anyway, we’ll pay him a visit in the morning. Go home and get some sleep Lomacks, I’ll tie it up here. Did you get that report in?’

‘Gift-wrapped and labelled.’

‘Good stuff Lomacks! Now get out of here. Anything planned this evening?’

‘Just taking Josie out, nice French place has opened up round the corner.’

‘Well, give her one from me… a kiss I mean.’

‘Will do Guv. See you in the morning.’

‘Bright and breezy.’ called Hall to his colleague as he passed through the door. 

The elusive Niven was sat at his desk in his City of London office, with a large glass of whisky in his hand. He was addressing another, well dressed fellow who was sat opposite and he was visibly angry. 

‘Jesus Codd! I told you to make it look good you fool! I’ve got tracks to cover, you arsehole!’ He screamed at the man. Codd - for that was the unfortunate mans name - went visibly white. 

‘But it went down just like you asked for, we got the guns out and killed the woman before we set the charges and then ka-boom!’

‘I suppose I cannot complain too much.’ Niven calmed a little, and was seemingly talking to himself,  ‘at least the cops will be busy investigating the death of my wife. I have an alibi, I was at the club, no phone allowed and all that…Sorry Codd, I just panicked.’

‘That’s your prerogative Mr Niven, now how about mine?’ Niven produced a Fendi briefcase, and flipped open the lock to reveal £250,000 in cash.

‘Here you are Codd, now I never want to see you again. Oh...’ he reached into his pocket and pulled out £50,000 in cash, ‘and here’s a tip to forget you ever saw me, should anyone ask you.’

‘You know how to do business Mr Niven, you’re an arsehole but you know how to do business.’

‘Thank you Codd, I’ll take that as a compliment, now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to mourn my wife’s departing.’

‘Nothing so sad as a death in the family.’

‘Indeed Codd, indeed…’

A few days later, at the Funeral of Mrs Valerie Niven, held at St Mary’s Church on Wimbledon Hill. The congregation were outside watching the body being interred. Niven has both his arms around his children. His son stoically watched whilst his daughter cried onto his shoulder. He looked drawn and haggard, a fantastic piece of acting, picked up from many years of high-stakes business negotiating. The vicar was still giving the ceremony when our two heroes turned up on the scene.

‘And we commit this body to the ground, Earth to Earth, Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust…’

‘Excuse me Mr. Niven, I know this is a bad time but could we ask a few questions?’ A red-eyed Niven turned to face the interlopers. 

‘Certainly detectives, If you will just give me a moment,’ he turned to his children, ‘You go along to the reception, I will catch you up.’ Hall gestured awkwardly to one side. 

‘Thank you Mr Niven, you don’t know how much we appreciate this and may I add how sorry we are for your loss.’

‘Thank you, but it is of little comfort. I just feel so guilty Detective…’

‘Hall, sir.’ 

‘Hall, yes... I feel so guilty because I was getting ready to leave her. I found out that she was having an affair with her tennis coach…but this, it comes as quite a shock to me.  I don’t think it would have happened had I spent a bit more time with her and understood her more. Now this, who would do such a thing? I know it was no accident.’

‘Really sir? And how do you know that?’

‘Well Mr Hall, you make a lot of enemies in my business and I’m sure you can guess that I’ve had to have dealings with some less than respectable clients over the years. It is not unknown for me to have received a death threat or two, but I never thought someone would go through with it. I’m afraid it was…was’ ever the thespian Niven dispensed with some crocodile tears. Hall looked slightly unnerved.

‘don’t worry about it now sir, go be with your children, would you mind coming into the station tomorrow and answering a few questions?’ Niven Sniffed into a handkerchief. 

‘Of course Detective Hall, anything I can do to help clear up this awful mess.’

‘Thank you sir, and once again, we are sorry for you loss.’

‘Until tomorrow?’

‘Until tomorrow.’ Said Hall shaking Niven by the hand on which he turned heel and walked back to his car with Lomacks.  Niven walked down to join his children who are waiting by his car, having decided to wait for their father before going to the reception. 

‘I don’t trust him one bit guv.’ said Lomack under his breath. 

‘That’s as maybe, but we can’t let him think that, he knows he had a Freudian slip when he surmised that his wife had been killed. We must tread carefully.’ 

‘Shall we call into the station, found if they’ve dug up anything on Niven’s client list, then we can go and take some statements from the Wimbledon locale?’

‘Sounds like a plan my friend. We can listen to this new cassette I brought on the way.’ Lomacks groaned.

‘Not more of that fusion jazz rubbish?’

‘No’ Hall puffed out his chest with visible pride, ‘it’s the new Genesis album, It’s cracking, I heard some of it on Simon Bates the other day.’

‘Invisible Touch? I bet it’s still shit.’

‘well I’ll let you be the judge, my car, my music. I put up with that awful Christopher Cross album when I was in your Punto the other day.’

Join me next time for another thrilling instalment of Freedom Overspill...

My very own ‘Moon Under Water’

George Orwell once wrote a brilliant essay about his perfect pub, full of Victorian fittings, porcelain tankards and an upstairs dining room servings British classics. Well I feel it is high time we kicked this old beast into the 21st Century and if I were to give my own take on the ideal pub it would go something like this...

For a start this would be a London pub, situated on the banks of the Thames, much like The White Swan in Twickenham or The Dove in Hammersmith, with a small garden on the banks of the Thames which would invariably flood in times of adverse weather or tidal inconvenience. In the spring a bitter festival might be held on that sodden lawn  and summer Barbecues, Pimms parties and would populate the parched turf. 

Concentrating on the building, it would be late Georgian/Regency - not in keeping with Orwell’s Victorian obsession - with lovely latticed windows, slightly warped from age. the walls, whitewashed every year, would have heard a few stories in their time from a few merry locals wending there way home. Heavy flagstone steps would lead up to the oaken door which creaks gently on the opening of both regular and stranger, from whence you are greeted by a few strange coves. Who are these fellows to you but faceless goons and one-time bar pundits who tell you about the quality of the pork scratching or the provenance of the beer you are supping from a brew tapped at Modwen’s Well? They are my regulars who come to the bar day in and day out to make merry at this very traditional pub. 

The floor would be of polished, herring-boned wooden tiles, leading up to a heavy oak bar populated by six sturdy stools topped with stuffed Kilim cushions. Light would pour through the large bay windows during the day and in the evening low lighting would add a convivial air to the place.

In the main area there would be no armchairs just squat stools topped with Kilim surrounding low tables where people could huddle in to wax lyrical about all manner of nonsense - as all great pubs should offer the freedom to do. In one corner would be a dart board and in another a traditional game (not-oft seen outside the pubs of East Sussex) called Toad in the Hole, there would be no fruit machine in sight. This is the first room and it is here we shall first concentrate our attention. 

The next thing that would strike the ears would be the earthly tones of murmuring conversations, non of that loutish shouting and crass language heard the length and breadth of every Wetherspoons up and down the land. Rather like the Sam Smith’s franchise there would be no music other than a live band every fortnight who played such diverse things as covers of ‘The Darts’ and ‘Squeeze’ and finished promptly at 23:30. 

We now approach a well stocked bar, including:

• A few regular bitters: Youngs Special, Sambrooks Junction (the first two as an SW19 native), Black Sheep Ale, Old Peculier (As an alumnus of Leeds University) and Adnams Broadside (one of my favourite drops) as well as two guest ales.
• Lager would be a couple of pilsners and sold as they do on the continent in presse and demi-presse measurement from glasses washed and doused in cold water in front of the customer and could be taken with shot or shot-less - There would be no bottles. 
• Whisky: There would be one blended whisky (either J&B or Canadian Club) and a couple of changing single malts: one peaty and one smooth. 
• Vodka: There would be Chase, Sipsmith (given the pub’s location in West London) and Grey Goose’s delicious Orange Vodka. 
• Gin: This is an easy decisions as Sipsmith’s would have to feature in addition to Blackwoods 60% and Plymouth Naval Strength for the hardier customers. 
• Rum: No white rum on the premises! This would be the reserve of golden rums like Angostura 8 year old, the peerless Diplomatico and Montecristo’s (as in the cigar) own offering. 
• Brandy: Dare I say it, in addition to the vintage Armagnac there would be a bottle or two of 10 year old Vecchio Romagna a mild and eminently drinkable brandy. 
• Eau de Vie: Some Gilbert Holl Eau de Vie as a fiery nightcap or a brisk kick start to the morning. 
• Premium liqueurs and bitters: Cointreau, Aperol, Campari, Dubonnet, Drambuie, Cherry Brandy, Khalua, Gran Marnier, Kamm & Sons. 

Premium mixers and some well priced soft options would be also be available. Like any pub worth its salt there would be no wine on the menu, that, after all is what a wine bar is for. All drinks would be served in appropriate glassware including glass mugs for the ale! 

In terms of snacks there would be a very basic choice of Walker’s crisps: Ready Salted, Cheese & Onion and Salt & Vinegar. To keep them company there would be Bacon Fries, Mini Cheddars and KP salted peanuts. On the bar there would be a large, home-made pork pie from which customers could purchase a slice with a dab of grain mustard furthermore there would be: a bowl of cold sausages; a truckle of cheddar; a jar of gherkins and a jar of pickled onions again to be apportioned on purchase. This would be the only food available in the pub. 

Did I mention that no children are allowed in the bar? No? Well let me make it quite clear. In this pub of mine I have provided a family room with door leading from the bar but also a separate external entrance door so that drinkers at the bar are not disturbed as they sup their pints in peace by the kids. The family room would be well equipped with board games, card decks, story books and other such entertaining things - of course adults would come through to the bar to get theirs and their offspring’s drinks but that’s as far as it goes. Children could use the beer garden and as such there would be a swing set and a slide. 

Stringent, but a necessary rule to emphasise the purpose of the establishment as a place where ‘adults’ come to relax, escape and make merry. Moving to the garden, it would be surrounded by a large stone wall keeping the wind at bay. In the summer espaliered apple and pear trees would climb its height and length of the far wall. Other than that there would be a few benches, tables and the like for supping a light sunshine offering like Hopback’s Summer Lightning. It would not be an immodest garden and should have room for a sizeable ‘structure against’ the right hand wall - this would be the icing on the cake. 

‘The Smoker’s Shed’  a massive two-fingers to the smoking ban and might provide a haven in the cold for cigar and cigarette smokers alike - although I would prefer it were used by the former. Entry to this domain could be purchased for the price of a good cigar which would be provided on payment (£15-20) whence using a key card you at your liberty to use a snug room full of Chesterfields, Kilim rugs, an honesty bar (basic: brandy, whisky, gin, vodka and premium mixers) and a small hatch at wall adjoining the structure to the main pub where you ring through to purchase another cigar...

But sadly, the mists of my dreams clear and I am sitting in a dank pub in Covent Garden. It will never exist but the above, in short, would be my ‘Moon Under Water’, as naff as it sounds. I’d love to know what would make your perfect pub so please feel free to let me know your thoughts! 

She seems to have an...Invisible Touch (1986) - Genesis

What makes Genesis a great band? And more importantly what makes a guilty pleasure a guilty pleasure? Well, Invisible Touch answers all those questions in the first few stanzas of the title track with its clean, echoed vocals and sweeping pop riffs. Was this the same Genesis who had made the prog-classic Lambs Lie Down on Broadway but 12 years earlier, now a stadium pop act packing out Twickenham and Wembley Arenas? An alienated band who’s original fans had been bearded Tolkien readers, giving way to rolled up sleeves, slick haired yuppies who liked Miami Vice.

When all is said and done this is a great album made by a band at the top of their commercial peak. Let’s be serious, you are doing pretty well if you are topping the charts and packing the arenas, Phil and the gang were riding high on a mixture of the zeitgeist and a creative burst in their songwriting partnership. Genesis’s success hinged on the material written collectively by Banks, Rutherford and Collins and it is on this album that it truly shines. 

For me the title track is pretty throwaway, pleasant enough, musical sherbet that fizzes and melts as soon as it hits the ears. But things soon get seriously good with Phil’s almost follow-up to ‘Mama’ (not ‘In the air tonight’ and some might suggest), ‘Tonight, Tonight, Tonight’ starts peeling out across the speakers. A dark song about drug addiction with one of the catchiest choruses and some awesome playing from the lads this is definitely my favourite song from the album - even better it apparently features in a ruthlessly atmospheric episode of Magnum PI from the same era!

Next follows a song that takes me back to the holidays of my youth. ‘Land of Confusion’ was a real family favourite and obviously one for Michael Mann who used it in a gritty montage for the grand finale of Miami Vice. His setting might have had Crockett and Tubbs battling Colombian drug lords, mine was a gentler drive along the moist strata cliffs of the Lot-Garonne on a lazy August afternoon, the windows of the Saab down and noise of the cicadas just penetrating the backbeat of the drum machines. Of course, most will remember the tune for the fantastic Spitting Image video that went with it  - how 80s. It is a rollicking cut full of great hooks, some of Collins’s best vocals and some poignant (as poignant as Genesis could really get) lyrics. 

This was an era where artists put all their singles in a mad montage on the A-side of the album and ‘In Too Deep’ does not disappoint as a slow ballad, coming as it does after three more rock based tracks. This sugary piece used to sinister effect in American Psycho should not be written off lightly for it has a wonderfully romantic feel, hopefully not ruined by Bret Easton Ellis’s analysis of the song in the book. I am sure there were many hearts broken and won to this tune back in 1986/1987. 

‘Everything she does’ must have the most upbeat beginning I have ever heard to a song with a subject so dark, about a voyeur and a soft core porn star. The subject matter of 80s pop/rock tunes will never cease to amaze me! After that the album seems to get all a bit proggy to appeal to some of the old fanbase, but it just sounds a little dated as the technology doesn’t really suit the medium on the drudging ‘Domino’.

Thankfully there is one brilliant track on the second side, ‘Throwing it all away’ which makes up for it. A lilting, uplifting tune which warms the soul with its simplistic message. It has a very infectious guitar riff but even better it makes one of the best live tracks for Genesis as it encourages the audience to get involved. I am surprised though that Brett Easton Ellis didn’t think of this track as a useful comparison when Bateman was disposing of the bodies! 

The above should have been the last track but ‘The Brazilian’, a dull instrumental was tacked on the end for good measure... a shame, but who am I to question the wills of the holy triumpherate of musicians! 

Great album, need I say more: 8/10