(attributed to dovima_is_devine_II)

Since we last spoke, I’ve done a lot of thinking…a heck of a lot of thinking…and quite a bit of housework…but mostly thinking…and my conclusions? It’s time for a few changes around here (pause for a Larry Davidesque peer).

The whole point behind St Bernard’s Bluestocking Club is ‘to try to be more’ – to learn more, see more and do more with our lives. If we could speak Latin, that’s what the club’s motto would be. It’s a desire borne out of standing in a thousand great rooms and always feeling like, somehow, you shouldn’t really be there. That you’re not smart enough – intellectually or sartorially – to make the grade, even if you are. We all sometimes feel it…it’s that nagging doubt you can never quite run away from and which intensifies when you hear Boris Johnson quoting classical Greek somewhere. If any of this sounds familiar, St B’s is the place for you.

Let’s be as smart as everyone thinks we are. Let’s make 2012 about more than just shot-putting in Stratford. Let’s dress how we want to dress. Eat new food. Ignore everyone’s ones to watch list and find some new stuff ourselves. Let’s enjoy being ourselves and most importantly, let’s have an opinion about stuff and blog about it in a semi-amusing way.

It’s time to get cracking. Are you with me?

If they were covering up corruption, absolutely. If they were covering up a crime, definitely. But mostly, this is all about people making stupid decisions in the pursuit of sex and hurting their families. Their screw up has no impact on my life.

Freedom of the press is always important, but I’m struggling to see how any of this stuff is actual news in the first place. Also as everyone scrambles to find out the names of those involved, innocent people are getting dragged into this mess.

Every five minutes, it’s “I saw Goody Khan dancing in the moonlight with Goody Clarkson.” Well actually, you didn’t. Yet it doesn’t seem to matter as in the blink of an eye links are tweeted; rumours become “facts” and the hate mail descends.

Previously, I just used to worry about what I would have done if I’d been around in Nazi Germany. Would I have had the courage to stand up and speak out, or would I have just followed everyone else? Now as part of this feeding frenzy, I also have the worry of what would I have done during the Salem witchhunts.

This whole debacle also raises a thorny etiquette issue. What is the correct way to behave if you’re the friend of someone with a super-injunction? They haven’t told you about it, but you know, because apparently everyone knows and despite not wanting you to know, they know that you know.

As a friend, you want to offer your sympathy, but you have to pretend like you don’t know that they know that you know what they didn’t want you to know, but the whole world if they so wish already knows and wants to tell everyone else about it.

This could be a chapter in Debretts all of its own.

The facts are these, super-injunctions are a major problem that needs legal clarity, but an even bigger one is what a lot of our media now considers to be news in the public interest. As for me, I try to be a good person but curiosity makes me evil’s bitch sometimes. It isn’t big or clever and often it hurts innocent people.

I can trace this back to thespians I have encountered. My English teacher- who liked to  describe how Wuthering Heights gave her hot flushes – made me dress up as a cockney barrow boy in her production of A Christmas Carol. Her husband – with long shaggy curls and ‘tache in accordance with his wife’s Heathcliffe fantasies- made assemblies his one man show and once smugly set fire to a five pound note to add flair to an anti-smoking monologue*.

Later on, at King’s College Uni, it became clear that I had overlooked the demographics of studying English in theatreland .  A gaggle of flicky-haired and florally-named blondes demanded I list, reverse order, my ten favourite actors in the role of Hamlet. I failed that initiation test and they were actually ok about me being unable to name one, but I in turn couldn’t get over the fact they had never seen Neighbours. What the WHAT?!

This blog’s author Sara – a genuine theatre-buff – likes to say that I ‘have no fourth wall’ and it’s true. During the last play I went to at the respected Tricycle theatre in Kilburn I spent the whole time thinking “How can that serious actor be ok with all his friends and family seeing his flaccid willy?”

Given all this actor-hatin’ you wouldn’t expect me to enjoy Secret Cinema – essentially immersive theatre around the theme of a film, in a fitting location.

A Mosque installation at Secret Cinema

The last Secret Cinema was at Tobacco Wharf in Wapping and recreated 1930s Covent Garden complete with National Ballet’s rehearsal rooms, hair and make-up.  Around fifty actors stayed in character throughout – barracking you to take off your shoes and join the rehearsal or taking you through some vocal exercises. There were dancers and performers, a 1930s band in the bar and rabbit pie available in a period style cafe. The film was Powell and Pressburger’s The Red Shoes an absolute blinder of a film but one that you might normally rent at the local library rather than pay £30 a ticket for. Still we all felt the night was good value for money, considering the scale of the event and the presumably huge cost of hiring the venue.

This time we met at Waterloo, dressed according to a quiz that predetermined our group. Mine was urbane 1950s French, sunglasses, scarves and bold prints. Some of my friends were in ‘pale whites, faded by the sun’. While filling out carte d’identitie on the tube the puzzle pieces fell into place. As the run as ended I’m now permitted to say that the film is Battle of Algiers, I was dressed as a Parisian expat, my friend as an Algerian insurgent.

The venue was Waterloo’s Old Vic Tunnels, transformed into a souk, a mosque and even a gritty prison where guards interrogated actors and punters alike, in a fairly terrifying manner.

The 1960s film itself was stunningly prescient and its timing at Secret Cinema highly topical  considering the recent Osama killing. As before, I was stunned by the scale of the operation, transported fully to another time and place.  Saying anything remotely negative about such a grand operation feels a bit churlish, but let me just get it out there – there was something a bit icky about people role-playing Arabs and their abusers.  It felt like a cross between Abu Graib and an activity Max Mosely might enjoy.

The ticket price had gone up again to £35 and not one but THREE of the people around me’s cinema seats collapsed during the film, something that wouldn’t be a biggie if the tix had been cheaper. I noted that on this occasion there were more food stalls than installations.

Maybe it being Saturday afternoon I was just being a tough audience, maybe I’ve got no stomach for fake torture, regardless of the political point it underlines or perhaps it just felt like a lot of money. Whatever my niggles, I await Secret Cinema’s next grand endeavour with interest. As long as those actors stay in character, we’re all good.

*Given that I strongly disapproved of this gesture, imagine how cross I was when the KLF burnt £1m as “art” a few years later.

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It feels like every magazine and newspaper you pass has the same stories week in, week out….Nick and Dave, George and Dave, Ed and Ed, Kate and Wills. But, no matter how hard they try to get me worked up I just can’t get interested.

Here are just a few of the media’s current obsessions that I’m trying, but failing to ignore…

1. Who will be the new X Factor judges?

This should actually be two entries: one for the UK and one for the US. But really, who gives a flying f***.

Every day, it’s Cheryl’s got it. No she doesn’t. Cheryl needs to change her accent. Nobody knows who she is. Everybody loves her. Does any of this stuff have any basis in fact?

All it proves is what everyone knows already – that Simon Cowell is a phenomenal business person and now, an unrivalled publicity machine. He pretty much spews column inches.

It doesn’t even end, when the bloody programmes start. Then, it’s all who hates who? Is Paula Abdul conscious? Why, Oh why did [insert name here] get eliminated? It’s a Cylon conspiracy! I’m outraged! God help us.

2. Jordan’s horrific car crash…

I’m not referring to the terrible accident Katie Price was in a few days ago, but her love life. First we had the split from Peter André. Then we had the quickie romance and marriage to Alex Reid. Now we have her Argentine romp.

It’s boring, and it’s everywhere you look. Basically an entire industry have built their business model around who is, who was and who could be shagging Katie Price. It’s also gone multi-media with twitter, reality shows, books, fashion and so on and on and on.

I find the whole thing depressing and meanwhile a whole generation of young girls grow up believing this is a successful career – when really it’s selling your soul.

3. Absolutely, every single, minute detail of the Royal Wedding

Now I’m actually looking forward to watching the ceremony and I’m excited to see Catherine Middleton‘s dress and what everyone else will be wearing. In particular, I can’t wait for the E! Fashion Royal Wedding Special.

But really, do we have to know every single thing that’s planned for the wedding? This morning’s story is that trees will line the aisle of Westminster Abbey. Why is that exciting? Let’s just focus on the important stuff and play celebrity bingo – ooooh there’s Posh and Becks. House!

4. Ed Miliband‘s marital status

Let’s ignore the fact that Ed Miliband seems to have given into the pressure and proposed to his long-term girlfriend. And really, doesn’t that add a whole new layer of tension to the painful merry-go-round of love…”Are you really marrying me because you love me, or is it just because of the Daily Mail?”

How is any of this our business? There’s no scientific proof that this will make him a better leader or a better person. What matters is that his family is happy and he loves his children. The rest is just a sideshow. A non-issue whipped up, because at the moment there’s not really that much to say about the Opposition except “How’s David doing?”

5. Donald Trump for President

The guy’s a d***. Admittedly that’s never stopped someone becoming a political leader, but flogging the dead horse that is “Was Obama born in the United States?”, when there’s untold evidence that he was, is just malicious.

This isn’t Watergate, it’s pandering to prejudice and the enabling of an ego bigger than the world has ever seen.

All of these stories are emblematic of today’s celebrity culture, where every idiot with a microphone or camera pointed towards them gets a platform and where no area of anyone’s lives is off-limits.

It’s depressing, boring and most importantly of all, detracts from news that really matters. Y’know war, hunger, famine…but then again, where’s the Simon Cowell fun in that?

Image via Wikipedia (I hope you enjoy the only related to the article by a tenuous link)

At the moment, visits to the cinema are a rare and wonderful treat so I must admit to being slightly over-excited as I sat down to watch Little White Lies earlier this week.

Written and directed by Guillaume Canet (whose earlier film was the fantastic Tell No One, its plot focuses on the loves, dramas and obsessions of a group of close Parisian friends.

Every year, they stay for several weeks at the holiday home of Max, a wealthy hotelier and control freak. The film starts with Ludo, one of the leading members of the group, being horrifically injured in an accident. And a lot the film’s tension comes from everyone else’s decision to still go on the annual holiday, while he recovers in intensive care.

The pressure then builds as the friends, distracted in many ways from the plight of Ludo by their own lives, question themselves and their relationships and ultimately lie to each other.

You may already have spotted here echoes of The Big Chill, but I think this film is beautiful and French enough to stand up against that comparison. Far more so, I think than Peter’s Friends.

The characters are well-drawn and enjoyable company, which is important when the film runs to over 2 hours. The comedy and drama here feel genuine and organic. The cast are relaxed in each other’s company, smoking and drinking like there’s no tomorrow.

The two stand out performances for me are Francois Cluzet as Max and Laurent Lafitte (an oyster farmer in real life) as Antoine. Jean Dujardin as Ludo, also manages to cast a huge shadow over the film despite appearing in just a few key scenes.

Not every question raised by the film is answered at its end, and in many ways I wanted to know what happened next. But this was an enjoyable group to spend time with, however self-obsessed they got, and I was a little sad to see them go.

Related Articles

• Little White Lies – review (guardian.co.uk)
• Little White Lies, Guillaume Canet, 154 mins (15) Red Riding Hood, Catherine Harwicke, 100 mins (12A) (independent.co.uk)
• Lies and friends (bbc.co.uk)
• Little White Lies (notreallyworking.wordpress.com)

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This is the week, I mostly…

1. Mulled over the thoughts of one of my heroes, Tina Fey

2. Wondered why the Daily Mail hates Kate Middleton so much

3. Finally got myself a Breton t-shirt. Now I’m French too!

4. Was underwhelmed by the last film in the Millennium Trilogy, The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest

5. Tried to learn more about China’s foreign policy

6. Figured out how to watch The Daily Show in the UK. Jon Stewart, how I’ve missed you!

7. Sorted out my CDs and DVDs

8. Signed up to Vote Yes to AV

9. Donated to the Poppy Project, the source of work too good to be lost

10. Got excited about The Game of Thrones on Sky

Related Articles

• Tina Fey On Fresh Air (videogum.com)

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I’ve had a pretty tortuous relationship with U2 over the years, blowing as hot and cold as a boyfriend you can’t get to commit.

At school, I would rail against their perceived worthiness not really knowing much about their music. Then I heard the Joshua Tree and fell in love with Larry Mullen Jnr. I became such a fan I even went to see Rattle and Hum and read books about them.

But it wasn’t destined to last. The beginning of the end came when I saw them on the Zoo TV tour at Wembley.

Now, I want to be very clear that I still love Achtung Baby. Every song on that album stands up today despite the embarrassing memory of me once reciting the lyrics of “One” down the phone to an ex-boyfriend. My teens and twenties were mortifying times.

But this gig was excruciating.

First Bono was inhabiting his alter ego “The Fly”, which I hated. It’s  like those people who pretend they’re being ironic about sexism and racism, but ultimately are still saying sexist and racist things.

Take Loaded magazine – no matter how funny you are, you’ve still got a girl with her breasts out on your cover. So whatever the joke this mad rock star persona made, ultimately it was just Bono acting like a wanker. It also made me realise how short he was…

Second, they did a live link up with people in Sarajevo to highlight the horrific war still happening there. This was an important idea. Just a few hours away from us, people were getting bombed every night. Atrocities such as ethnic cleansing were happening every day. Yet this war had become just a nightly news item for many people. A place which now seems like a quick hop away on Ryan Air seemed a lifetime away then.

Through the video link these people pleaded with us to remember them and help however we could. So it jarred slightly when Bono had to cut them off for his next song and everyone got their lighters out for a ballad. I was devastated that I had spent my £40 getting to Wembley instead of sending it to the bloody Red Cross.

Finally, it was truly all over for me when Salman Rushdie wandered on stage. I realised a man living under a fatwa, actually had a better social life than I did. I didn’t feel enlightened, I felt like a hypocrite.

In the months and years that followed, I never really fell in love with U2′s music again. I also found out about the group’s tax status. Of course, it’s none of my business: but alongside Bono’s praise of George Bush Jnr and the fact that Larry Mullen doesn’t seem to have aged, it served to put me off them even more. So it was with some trepidation, that I listened to them again more recently.

It isn’t really surprising to me that The Joshua Tree, Achtung Baby and Rattle and Hum remain favourites.

In fact I think these albums contain some of my best-loved songs of all time and in comparison, All That You Can’t Leave Behind – one of their more recent albums, which I borrowed from the library – seemed pretty tame.

In many ways, I miss this band.

Alongside Simple Minds and John Hughes films, the U2 songs I love are hot-wired to some of the most important times of my life. Not because they were great memories, but because these were events and feelings that helped define who I am today.

U2 also made me a proud member of Amnesty International. Maybe that’s what matters most of all.

Related Articles

• Being Bono (bbc.co.uk)
• Bono compares Larry Mullen Jr. to Messi, himself to Tevez (sports.yahoo.com)
• U2, Bono Finish Up South American Tour with a Little Karaoke (wcbsfm.radio.com)

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Modern crime fiction is grim, but there’s no grimmer than the Scandinavians. And Norway’s Jo Nesbø is one of the grimmest and most popular of them all.

Translated into over 40 languages, Nesbø has become a literary phenomenon to rival Steig Larsson in international sales. The Redeemer is his sixth book in the critically acclaimed Detective Harry Hole series.

December in Oslo. A shot rings out during a Salvation Army carol concert and one of the singers falls to the floor, dead. Harry Hole and his team must find the killer.

The assassin is the book’s title character, The Redeemer, and when he realises he’s shot the wrong man so begins a bad week for everyone concerned.

Like other Scandinavian Noir, this books depicts the underbelly of Norwegian society – it’s junkies, homeless and desperate. In the UK, we’re used to our politicians lauding the social achievements of progressive Scandinavian politics, so this portrayal of what’s gone wrong, both fascinates and appalls.

As to our eponymous hero – it’s a truth universally acknowledged that every literary detective, especially the modern ones, needs some flaws. Nearly all are obsessive workaholics and drinkers, isolated from the rest of society and trailing an Eddie Stobart truck of emotional baggage in their wake. Harry Hole has a whole fleet.

The blurb for the latest book in the series, The Leopard, includes the sentence: “Inspector Harry Hole has lost himself in the squalor of Hong Kong’s opium dens.” Redemption or relief isn’t coming any time soon and I have to admit to finding his hang-ups a little overwhelming.

However, Nesbø is a great thriller writer supported by a strong translation from the original Norwegian text; something I miss when reading Henning Mankell‘s Wallander.

Tension builds as the book’s well-researched plot plays out. It’s filled with enough twists to keep even the most hardened of crime fiction fans guessing.

Nesbø‘s characters, many of them unlikable, are strong. You continue to root for Harry, even when he messes things up personally and professionally. His integrity is the one sure thing among the mess he regularly has to clean up.

Elusive to the detectives trailing him, the Redeemer’s background is revealed piece by piece to the reader. Each new insight gives us an understanding of how he ended up in Oslo with a gun in his hand. It’s a detailed portrayal that stands out against its peers in modern crime fiction, where killers’ foibles are too often explained away by domineering mothers and bad childhoods.

I also valued an insight into the workings of the Salvation Army. It’s the kind of insider knowledge and brilliant trivia, these kind of books can supply.

Unlucky in love and life, Harry Hole may be, but he’s definitely worth a read.

Related Articles

• A Dickens in a dark Disneyland (independent.co.uk)

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If someone could harness the energy, we spend making then breaking our New Year’s Resolution there’d be no need for oil, or nuclear energy. We could power the entire world with the stuff we commit to, then either forget or fail to do.

Back in January, I came across an article in the Guardian from Oliver Burkeman, author of the This Column Will Change Your Life.

Generally, I’m a fan of his writing, even though it sometimes feels like every article is saying the same, albeit true, thing – small changes can make a big difference.

This particular article aimed to set out some sensible and constructive resolutions people could actually have a hope of fulfilling. So in the interests of research, I’ve given some of them a go since January.

1. Abandon your New Year Resolutions today – Unfortunately willpower isn’t one of those things that the more you do it, the more you get. It’s a depleteable resource, with all the hopes of our better angels competing for its attention.

“Better to aim for one new habit every couple of months, or, better yet to manipulate your surroundings so as to harness the power of inertia so you needn’t spend your precious reserves of willpower at all.” Basically, if you want to spend less on your credit card, get rid of it.

So far, I’ve tried to write every day whether it’s a blog post, journal entry or random scribblings. It’s incredibly easy for life to get in the way of anything you want to do, and I have to remind myself constantly that a bit of writing every day can add up to something huge whether, it’s improving my frame of mind; creating a blog worth reading or finally writing “that novel/play/film”

I’ve also tried to be a better member of Amnesty International and am pleased to say that last week I sent a letter to the President of Afghanistan. Not many people get to say that.

As activism seems to breed activism, this was quickly followed by a letter to my MP about stopping sex-trafficking! Small, generic steps I know.

2. Overhaul your information diet, but don’t starve – schedule your email checking and web surfing to specific times of the day.
This is a simple thing that can radically improve your life, freeing you up from constantly checking or sending emails and texts to actually er…live.

It’s not easy. The blinking siren light of my blackberry is always calling, but very rarely is it something that couldn’t wait.

And the freedom and focus to be had from checking all things online just say three times a day far outweighs any desperation I may have to find out what Simon Pegg has to say on Twitter RIGHT NOW.

3. Track your personal data
The more you monitor, the more you know. I haven’t had the enthusiasm to start this one yet. Surrounded by reality shows that take self-absorbed to a whole new level, this feels a bit too Channel 4.

I’m going to try to dispel my fears, by thinking Housewife 49 and giving it a go in the next few weeks.

A desk of one's own

4. Make one small space to your workspace.
I wouldn’t say I’m a sad geek, but this was something I loved doing! As Virginia said “Give me a room of my own…and I’ll knock one out about a lighthouse” or words to that effect.

There’s nothing so exciting as sorting our your stationery stash. Please see the results of my labour here. It’s no attic room in which to weave dreams. But it’s my bit of space to create and there’s very few things more precious than that.

Despite the full extent of my fancy pen addiction being revealed, I feel I’ve grown from following Mr Burkeman’s suggestions. The real hard work of course – keeping this stuff going in the long-term – starts here.

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There’s no finer thing to be than a classy dame. And there’s no classier dame than Audrey Hepburn.

Her life – survivor of the Nazi occupation of Holland; Oscar-winning actress; and Special Ambassador to the United Nations UNICEF fund helping children in Latin America and Africa – makes the rest of us look like part-timers.

But such examples of survival and success seem few and far between in a 24 hour news cycle that likes its celebrities a little trashier.

Leaked sex tapes lead to reality shows and best-selling ghost-written memoirs. Fashion lines, perfumes and centre-spreads quickly turn into million dollar empires.

For many girls now, fame isn’t an incidental by-product of using your intelligence and talents to do something well, it’s an end in itself. Their ambitions start and finish with marrying a footballer, or sharing every detail of their lives with a TV crew or celebrity magazine. It’s increasingly a zero-sum game with little respect on either side.

How to Be a Hepburn in a Hilton World – The Art of Living with Style, Class and Grace is Jordan Christy‘s attempt to reclaim the self-respect of the generation of women, whose heads are turned by Hilton, Lohan and the hundreds of other starlets to follow.

It’s no Female Eunuch, but more a fun guide to living with ambition and class – a kind of feminist tract for women who fear feminism. It covers everything from fashion, food, friendships, communication and self belief.

All in all, it’s an easy and enjoyable read and its central premise “be true to who you are and value that ” is positive. It’s suggestions are also simple to integrate into your everyday life.

There’s no storming the barricades here, more stuff like improve your word power and intellect through non-fiction and crosswords. Work hard at your job. Don’t stalk potential boyfriends or sell yourself short with random displays of nakedness.

It sounds patronising to cite these examples, but it’s easy to ignore the fact that such simple, important stuff often gets lost in a world, where women are surrounded by Nuts magazine, pole-dancing classes and wall-to-wall coverage of Jordan.

Only two things slightly jar within the text, first the thread of Southern sensibility, which runs throughout the book (exemplified by an obsession with mid-length pencil skirts.) and second, the description of Thelma and Louise as a bad relationship! But that’s down more to my Britishness and love of Susan Sarandon than anything impossible to overcome.

Three weeks after reading this, I’ve got better at the Guardian crossword and admitted that my manners need work (more later…). Here’s hoping this book inspires more women to follow Ms Hepburn’s example. Lets, let her have the last word…

“It’s that wonderful old-fashioned idea that others come first and you come second. This was the whole ethic by which I was brought up. Others matter more than you do, so don’t fuss, dear; get on with it.”