Black Watch

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It was moving. Shocking. Gripping. And emotionally draining.

The National Theatre of Scotland brought their production of Black Watch to Los Angeles this month. 1. There wasn’t a chance in hell that I was going to miss it. And I dragged P along so he didn’t have to be the only Perthshire accent on campus for once.

Black Watch is a masterfully crafted piece of theatre. You’re sucked in instantly: fascinated by the potty-mouthed neddish lads and their casual sexism and sexual harassment. But they soon become more than stereotypical soldier-types. The playwright, Gregory Burke, didn’t feel the need to throw in the usual human-interest wife and kids angle to get us to see these guys as fellow human beings. None of the crap that the Sun and its like put out whenever they run those “our lads in Iraq” pieces. There’s not much point in putting in some spoiler space here. After all, this is inspired by recent history. There’s no need to explain to you that the media interest in the Black Watch started with the poor timing of the announcement of their regiment’s disbandment, which coincided with its deployment in Falluja. Poor PR by Her Majesty’s government on the one hand, but without which the world would be poorer by an excellent play. If anything, the loss of the Black Watch as an independent regiment has given us the chance to hear the collective voice of the soldiers who were interviewed for this to happen.

Political statements aside, the direction was superb. The choreography was unexpected and the fighting in balletic fashion somehow made it all the more poignant without romanticising the aggression. The physical nature of the acting somehow brought home the realisation that these are people who live their lives through brawn.

Among the reviews posted on the UCLA page and echoed elsewhere on the interwebs, there are opinions that viewing Black Watch should be compulsory. I would add my voice to this. It not only helps you start to understand why some men/women (but mostly men) enlist, but also some of the disillusionment that they must feel. As said several times in different ways, the “Allied” forces in Iraq had already “won” the “war”. It’s the peacekeeping that’s killing everyone now.

Funniest line of the night: [Description of what life in mortar-filled Iraq is like] “It’s like Perth Road [in Dundee] on a Saturday night.”

Slightly awkward moment in a mainly American audience: [When the squad was ambushed and stranded] “If we were Americans, we’d have been fucking airlifted out by now.”

1 And they’re taking it to New York after this weekend. Where it joins their production of Wolves in the Walls, which is as opposite a piece of theatre as I can imagine. Not that I wouldn’t enjoy it; being based on a Gaiman and McKean collaboration.

Gene targeting ruined my life

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While we’re blathering about science, the recent award of a Nobel prize to Mario Capecchi, Martin Evans and Oliver Smithies made me remember how much I used to curse their blasted brains during the PhD years. You guys deserve a Nobel prize for making 3 years of my nascent scientific life hell. Then again, without your pioneering work, there’d be no work for the skill-less people in the world like me.

Intelligent female scientist seeks solution

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I’ve been thinking about the future1, my place in it, and my place in scientific research. Having bored myself silly with self-centeredness, I looked further afield. Back in July2, Professor Greenfield was deploring the lack of female scientists in the higher echelons of her profession. She makes a few fair points, but, as can only be expected with such a complex problem, has no solutions. I’d only add that many male scientists face the same problems as female scientists3: publish or perish, wave farewell to a life outside the lab, bid your aging reproductive organs good day and goodbye4, watch all peers ascend on the property ladder while you slum it out, suffer from intense self-doubt5, blah, blah, moan, whinge, whine. Oh, we’re back to self-centeredness again. Regardless of the problems and lack of solutions, I got a darn good laugh out of this comment to Prof. Greenfield’s article:

“Maybe women scientists are that much more intelligent so they realise that as a career, scientific research is a joke?” –WinstonTheChair

So true.

1 And no, it’s not orange.
2 When my head was so far down a microscope there was no light input save that of the very expensive laser. And no, it wasn’t orange either.
3 I should know; I live with one.
4 Granted, this is more a problem for XX than XY. But without XX, XY in a partnership with a scientist XX can’t do much about it.
5 Believe me, even the most arrogant of scientists has moments of self-doubt. There is perhaps, though, a reciprocal relationship between success in science and self-doubt.

Dawkins in the Doghouse

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As a sign of how little I read outside science these days, it’s taken a full week for this debacle to reach my consciousness via the sharpener. And without launching into is-he-or-isn’t-he 1, the Sharpener article’s comment about prevalent mud-flinging attitudes reminded me of a recent Doonesbury comic [clicky the linky; I don’t want to break copyright law and reproduce it here]. LOL all you want. It’s sad but true that we are headed towards an era of smear2.

1 For what it’s worth, I really don’t think Dawkins can be accurately named and shamed as an anti-semite. If anything, as a devout atheist, he’s just anti-any-religion-you-care-to-name. Call him an anti-religionist if you must. Anti-semite has overtones of picking on a particular racial and religious group that we all know has been very badly treated by the world in general lately. Bad choice of example. But then again, can you choose any example of religious dominance in state-run affairs and not offend anybody? Hell no.

2 And I don’t mean PAP smears. No, those are good things. If we were headed into the era of free PAP smears for all women, that would be much better…

Sober up; bottled Brown ale all round

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Curious Hamster is back to posting1, and as usual, I’m nodding my head in agreement with much of his observations on the state of British politics. I’ve been thinking recently, what with the deification of Boris Johnson. Oh, what’s that? He’s just running for mayor? Oh that’s alright then. Anyway. It got me to thinking about the damage the Blair era of lies2 had done to politics, let alone the state of the nation. And how it needed a shake-up of sorts. A way of focusing on workable policies instead of false promises. Ah ha ha ha. How naive. Cameron’s rehearsed speech did nothing for me. Quite like the inquisitive hamster, it had me in stitches instead. But the comparison of Cameron to Blair with the pronouncement of accompanying doom was sobering. There is no alternative to Brown. Whatever the News of the World‘s poll says, Labour is still pretty much in power and will be at least for another general election. Whenever Brown has the guts to call it. Sobering.

1 He’s been back for a while, but I haven’t. So it’s taking me some time to get through his recent posts.

2 Oops. Sorry. It’s this broken keyboard of mine. I meant spin of course.

Alisher Usmanov vs Bloggers wot dare to tell it like it is

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I switch the computer off for a few days1 and this happens. WTH? Did I side-slip into an alternate dimension? Is my interwebs pulling a fast one on me? This type of shit you can expect from countries with dictatorships, not the UK. Oh, hang on…

1 OK, a few weeks.2

2 And it’ll be a few weeks more if this type of shit keeps happening to our freedom of speech (bar libel, wot is a tricky area).

foodies gather, ludo bites

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Cheeseboard

Has it really been 4 months since I updated this blog? That’s a lot of unreported interesting meals in and out. The events of July escape me, largely because I worked like a dog so I could take time off in August. The story of August will have to wait until I work out where all my photos have got to. September was catch-up month, but one where Santos came to town and twisted the arms of her food-loving pals to check out what chef Ludo Lefebvre was up to in his special engagement at the Breadbar on 3rd St: ludobites. An engagement so special they branded some chopping boards especially for the occasion. Something like branding cows for a dowry, but not quite.

It was the third week of Ludo @ the breadbar, and the first night they had tables right up against the food preparation area (looked somewhat like where the sandwiches are prepped of a normal work day). Having shrunk from a party of eight to 6, we were able to partake of the atmosphere within. An astute Susan chose the table right by the chef himself. And for the rest of the night, she and Santos were transfixed by the hairy chef.

MarshallTM kept us supplied with bread (specialty of the house) with Beurre Echiré (from Poitiers; I have friends in Poitiers, and it’d be a hard call to make between them and a slab of this “crisp” butter). I had my heart set on a few of the rarer fromages (e.g. Abbaye de belloc and Epoisse, the latter of which I’ve loved for years but never found outside France), and by subtle manoeuvering (i.e. saying nothing) had my deepest desires fulfilled when the table plumped for the large cheese platter with condiments (above photo), some trademarked Brocamole and heirloom tomatoes. The tomatoes were a revelation; I’ve never eaten tasty large tomatoes. I’d always thought the term large tomato was something of an oxymoron (think back to beef tomatoes and you’ll get what I mean). These old-school tomatoes were pleasantly sweet, probably helped along by the shreds of red onion.

Heirloom tomato, feta mousse

And from there, the evening turned… weird/strange/fantastical/magical. It started with some poor attempts at butter photography and ramped up with chef and maître d’ mapping our complex cheeseboard for us. But the straw on the proverbial camel’s back was the staring at chef Ludo. Guilty parties: you know who you are… You are responsible for the plates of Fourme d’ambert (creamy cow’s blue chees with medium intensity), Tonneau (semi-soft cow’s milk Swiss cheese with a nutty finish) and the unforgettable Santerre/Sanitaire(sp?) Saint Nectaire (bitter beyond belief; like a Morbier gone ash-crazy).

Subtle flirting with chef Ludo pays dividends. Ogling at his quenelling skills leads to a plate of apple cake and mashta ice cream gratis. Noticing the note of spice (of the Jalapeno variety) in his LUDO chocolate mousse results in his pushing bowls of avocado soup (with almonds and grilled bananas) on your table. Only for him to be horrified that he’s done so to a table with an avocado allergy. No matter! Chef Ludo to the rescue with his sublime coconut pannacotta drizzled with passionfruit and basil seeds. Oh yes, noticing the basil seeds makes him happy too. Ah… An evening to remember. Never have I eaten so richly for so little money. The guilt made us tip heavy; lucky Marshall!

Update: The sexed up and exciting version of events is up here at Santos’ LaLaBlog, and I’ve finally after a couple of years, made my way to Susan’s place, where she has an account of LudoBites: Redux.

Summer in California

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D+K again, originally uploaded by framboise.

We poottled up to North California for a week in Sonoma County (north of San Fran for you non-Californians). And spent a week poottling back down the coast. The photos are slowly being uploaded and when the dog has some time, she might contribute a post or two about her holiday.

Update: First attempt to upload a video clip. Apologies for the poor lighting, direction, sound quality etc. And do pay heed to what happens around 15 seconds in. No trick stones or hired stuntpersons were used.