Author: bigdunc09

(“If you want to keep a secret, you must also hide it from yourself”)

Blue Laocoon is an alternative subtitle for this blog, because it sounds similar to B’s first mocktail – that she had on a recent holiday – and because it nicely summarises recent events experienced by the present author; look up a laocoon if you’re unsure (as I was when I first came across the word (describing Scrooge in ‘A Christmas Carol’, no less))

“Most people get a fair amount of fun out of their lives, but on balance life is suffering, and only the very young or the very foolish imagine otherwise.”

https://youtu.be/5sKMkgp2y40

I start with the art, and the Venice Biennale, because my folk are off there soon and I’m well jel. I really want them to take me some pictures of the refugee boat docked there, not just because it’s refugee week and that this exhibit has caused lots of controversy, but also because I think it’s a pretty important – and beautiful – thing to be on show, so should be lauded, not criticised.

The actual title of this blog post is the title of this year’s exhibition, curated by Ralph Rugoff and, according to this quarter’s TATE magazine “is a phrase that has long been mistakenly cited as an ancient Chinese curse invoking periods of turmoil – apt for our uncertain times.”

“Whoever is winning at the moment will always seem to be invincible.”

Talking of which, lest we forget that the league was won by Manchester City. I wrote last time about Pep and his class – http://jonathangreenbank.com/index.php/2019/04/28/homage-to-a-catalonian/ – something not always shown by the fans of his oppositions. That last day of the season was fraught, driving home as we were from a wonderful event in the home of A. A. Milne, wondering what was happening at Wembley… we can be proud and positive for the future.

“To see what is in front of one’s nose needs a constant struggle.”

The upcoming events, thought, were inevitable and had – sadly – been coming. The signs – the magpies – had been there for a while.

“Perhaps one did not want to be loved so much as to be understood.”

On a day out, To see some old football shirts, I proudly took pics of the little guy with a Morrissey poster, for his excellent new album (more of which later) that was somewhat surprisingly placed at our local train station. Little did I know that, the following week, someone should be so upset at the display of said advert that he’d get them all taken down in disgust, and I began to question not just my fandom of the said celebrity but also the freedom of speech I this country and the priorities of certain citizens and organisations. Whoever becomes our new leader is inheriting a messy place: ‘England, your England’ remains relevant today…

“In a time of deceit telling the truth is a revolutionary act.”

Talking of trains, a lovely moment came at Lime Street, when people were making their feelings and frustrations known… it explained a lot and was fully justified given other events.

“The most effective way to destroy people is to deny and obliterate their own understanding of their history.”

To conquer something means to recognise and overcome the facts, and not everyone can do that. Meanwhile, battles are being fought constantly and some people go through some serious stuff without letting others know. I acknowledge that other problems – without said struggles – are unimportant. But still I write, and will let others tell their own stories in which ever way they feel most comfortable.

“Men can only be happy when they do not assume that the object of life is happiness.”

We were very lucky to enjoy a wonderful holiday in Crete with some great people, sights, food and drink… and reading.

The real highlights were the swimming, the sunshine, the beers, the butcher, Michael, the birthday drinks, the sunsets, the cocktail bar, the seaside lunches and entertaining meals and the quiet moments in rock pools and churches that said so much.

It’s funny that someone saw a photo of my traditional composition (beach towel, reading matter, beverage of choice) and said it would be impossible for me to have read something whilst away. I did actually manage to read a lot of George Orwell: enough to absorb his style of writing and to concur with many of his political views as well as to acknowledge his quotes enough to embed them in this article to nicely complement my comments on life as we know it. I found his style so articulate, so eloquent; sincere and concise but factual and detailed. I’ve never really thought about focusing on one writer, apart from the excellent Roberto Saviano whose equally fascinating collection of essays ‘Beauty and the Inferno’ also accompanied us to the island of Zorba the Greek (which we watched on our return: not what we expected, but hugely enjoyable)

“If liberty means anything at all, it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.”

I particularly loved Orwell’s essays on the state of England seventy years ago, because what he said wasn’t too far away from what would be true today; similarly, his ideas about miners in Northern towns rang true with this year’s GCSE exam Language Paper 2 exam plus, to reiterate, his political stance is not too similar to my own at present, even if many disagreed with it at the time. Even Morrissey, whose ideas I don’t necessarily always agree with, shouldn’t be censored.

“Who controls the past controls the future. Who controls the present controls the past.”

Talking of reading, this quote links nicely to my being nominated as a judge on the reading for empathy book panel. It’s quite an accolade and involves reading several texts which promote empathy; I’m flattered and proud and looking forward to it. 

“The essence of being human is that one does not seek perfection.”

“In the face of pain there are no heroes.”

“Doublethink means the power of holding two contradictory beliefs in one’s mind simultaneously, and accepting both of them.”

There are lots of things I could say about these quotes, but won’t. Trials and tragedies happen for everyone; life’s never easy. Misinformation and fake news can make things worse, too… sometimes, ignorance is bliss.

Various events and bits of news at home meant that the irrelevance of random people achieving some things melted into insignificance and actual life took over for a long time.

As the great Forrest Gump said, that’s all I have to say about that.

“Reality exists in the human mind, and nowhere else.”

Escapes could be found, thankfully, online or in the dojo, which is kind of the point of the recently released series of Black Mirror and Cobra Kai. Both of these offered more of the same as earlier series – an escape using technology, or a nostalgic trip to childhood – but with extra discussion points this time, and both were highly enjoyable. I also fully engaged with The Virtues, another excellent series, though not always comfortable viewing… get on it.

“A people that elect corrupt politicians, imposters, thieves and traitors are not victims, but accomplices.”

I’ve discussed the current political situation already, so will just say that whatever happens in the next few weeks, at least we’ve got the new series of Stranger Things and Gomorrah to distract us. The latter has started with three incredibly tense episodes, all of which had fantastic endings.

It’s also festival season, and lots of new music to act as the soundtrack to our lives: many went to see the Spice Girls’ reunion, Take That etc… we, however, well we listened with intent and enjoyment to the new stuff by Richard Hawley, The National and Morrissey (him again) whilst marvelling at the fact that that band I used to do all the artwork for are preparing to support THE ROLLING STONES at the Metlife Stadium, new Jersey… a quick look on StubHub reveals that tickets are currently going for $200 each, which is a far cry from having them perform in the school hall for excitable y10s.

Instead, we look forward to quick trips to Manchester for performances of the new Amelie and Back To The Future musicals… ho, hum.

“Man is the only creature that consumes without producing”

We began with art and we end with art, somewhat serendipitously given that it’s nine years ago this week that I had my eyes lasered and therefore began seeing things differently.

I was excited for several months for the Keith Haring retrospective at Tate Liverpool and was not disappointed; indeed, I was elated that I could take my little boy to see it and whilst – as my old tutor, also there early on the first day, predicted – he was a bit bored after the first room, the bright lights big city style of the paintings and posters on show did engage him for long enough that I was able to spend long enough there to be whisked back to 2001 and our trip to NYC.

Retracing the steps of Haring, Basquiat et al back then – pre 9/11 – the city – the world – was a different place, and only some of Orwell’s comments and predictions had come true. We went to the Pop Shop and read up on what had happened twenty odd years precious in that neck of the woods.

Haring, himself was quite an outspoken artist but his childlike images were often overlooked without people getting the full message. I love the simplicity of some of the quite complicated statements he made, and that they’re now adorning the walls of an institution like Tate when all he wanted to do was really make murals with groups of kids.

“The whole beauty of the drawings were that they were so simple. They told a story that you could see from a moving train and you could get it.” (Keith Haring, 1989)

I also love the bus installation on the ground floor, El Autobus by Sol Calero, because Elijah absolutely loved pretending to drive it and it gives me the perfect excuse and carrot to keep going back there over the summer.

“Art lives through the imaginations of the peple who are seeing it. Without that contact, there is no art.” (Keith Haring, March 1984)

It’s not all bad, then… still lots of cause for optimism.

There are certain people who, at different points in my life, have been hugely influential.

Obviously, this list is led by my brilliant parents and sister; it also features my wonderful wife and kids; extended family; faithful friends; educators and colleagues plus single serving soul mates alongside many others. 

But I have also enjoyed relationships, of a kind, with several other people: some of whom I’ve met, and others I never will. I’m very curious, and easily inspired, meaning that throughout my life there have been people – icons, role models, call them what you will – who have been very important to me for some reason or other.

We all have people we look up to as kids: footballers, pop stars, wrestlers… heroes.

But I, somewhat strangely, also carried this trend on through my adult life. Call it OCD, or just weirdness – what you will – but I’ve got a few people of whose jib I’ve really liked the cut since growing up, too.

Often it’s their work or style I’ve taken a particular liking to, and therefore I’ve more than put them on a pedestal…. I’ve adored ’em.

Occasionally, I get to meet them and I have this out of body experience.

Never meet your heroes, some people say, but talking to / shaking hands with some of the great influences on my life has been a huge honour and something I’ll take to the grave. I’m talking about Eric Cantona, Liam Fray, Johan Cruyff, Sir Peter Blake, Duncan Ferguson, Richard Ashcroft, Liam Gallagher, Jeremy Deller, Pierre Koffmann, Andre Gomes, Grayson Perry, Tony Wilson, Tracey Emin, Leighton Baines, Jamie Oliver… the list goes on.

There are others I never got the chance to embrace, such as Joseph Cornell and Audrey Hepburn; Ian Curtis, Billy Fury and William Ralph Dean who, despite all being long gone, still left a lasting impression. Some don’t even really exist, but are characters: Billy Liar, Ricky Fitts, Alan Partridge, Daniel LaRusso… and still I love and admire them for their various qualities.

There are also a couple I don’t actually ever want to meet: Morrissey, Giles Coren (I’ll just try to copy his review writing style minus the political bias) Steve Coogan and Rick Stein, then there are a couple more I really would… Grace Dent, to discuss Cumbrian culture and exactly how she got her exalted position; Stephen Graham, Lionel Messi (naturally) and another Barca legend… which brings us nicely to the focus of this blog post: a day out in Manchester – exactly a month ago – to celebrate seven years of wedded bliss (and of my only encounter with a real hero)

I booked lunch at Tast back in December as a Christmas present, primarily because Pep Guardiola is involved in the Catalan restaurant.

I only vaguely remember Pep as a player.

I knew a bit about him and his tireless midfield role in the early 90s, but was more bothered about the attacking talent in the dream teams of the time. I learned about his prowess and reputation later on, and was to be disappointed at his inability to attend an Old Boys’ game at Goodison between Barca and Everton former players (I’ve still got the programme, he is on the front) but by then he was forming a new model of football as a coach and took the helm for a magical era of golden football, most of which I watched with agog glee and saw first hand one night in 2012.

It wasn’t just his style of football, though.

I don’t mind admitting that I have since developed a real man crush for Guardiola and his general style. He seems a thoroughly decent man, proud husband and father. He’s articulate, intelligent, likes the finer things in life. He’s a proud Catalan, too, wearing the yellow ribbon without fear to raise awareness, celebrating St Jordi every 23^rd April with a rose for his wife (and a book from her) plus he loves Oasis. And his clothes, wow! Now, it’s all Chinos, pumps, simple but stylish round neck sweaters or skinny t-shirts, basically everything I already liked wearing but cooler. I even modelled my wedding attire on the slim fit shirts and suits he used to wear whilst prowling the touch line at Camp Nou.

I don’t think I’ll ever get to meet him – properly, anyway. the above photo is a memento of our pre-wedding sojourn to Barca, when on a tour of the Nou Camp they offer you photos with digitally created characters and naturally I chose Pep so I could at least pretend!

Therefore, a restaurant with his name attached to it simply had to be top of my list for 2019, and so it was with great excitement we boarded the train to Manchester. I didn’t expect to see him there, of course, although as luck would have it FCB had somewhat serendipitously been in town the evening before so I did rightly predict the place would be rammed with fellow minded Catalans who worship the ground he walks on.

Before we get to the food, an aside: firstly, the title race outcome is irrelevant. This is not football, as a coach of a rival team once said to another of my heroes thirty four years ago, but food… no mention of the title race nor the Champions’ League, please. Of course, you can read my football chat elsewhere (if you dare!) but whatever has happened on the pitch – call it controversial – we just love the city of MCR.

Had one of our first dates there, I grew up listening to the sounds of it, admire the history and difference – irreverence thereof – and laugh in the face of those who insult it without ever having even scratched the surface. Regardless of – frankly pathetic – dated football, music, industrial or otherwise rivalries, it is a great city, so with great anticipation we boarded the train at Roby and got in early so jumped off at Deansgate and had early – before midday, that is – coffees and a cheeky G&T at the very stylish Atlas Bar under the railway arches.

Then, onto a painfully hip Manahatta – simply because it brought back memories of something we learned on an open top bus tour of NY during our engagement holiday almost a decade ago – as the name is the American Indian word for ‘land of many hills’, kind of ironic for Cottonopolis but hey, the cocktails set us up nicely for lunch. The sun was shining outside, and we could actually have been in the city that never sleeps.

Then, though, it was time to move on: we were now transported to another seminal moment in our history and our mini moon in the capital of Spain, the week after the wedding in 2012. Arriving at Tast, we were warmly welcomed and observed the passers by with interest. Seated by the window, the city that the partner of one of its adopted sons (David de Gea) once infamously likened to the back of a fridge morphed into Madrid, what with the sun shining, the posh King Street shops and the Spanish superstar skulking past the place trying to keep a low profile and seemingly horrified at being spotted by someone inside the cool-looking place on the corner his manager part-owned.

We also spotted someone with his wife and son, who looked remarkably like Hugh Fearnley Whittingstall – and it actually was – but forget the River Cottage, were there for the Spanish cuisine solely. And, of course, there was the mixture of Catalan and Spanish conversations on the tables surrounding the present author (critic?) savouring every taste of the food they were being served.

It being a special occasion, I was determined to enjoy the tasting menu available: probably better value for those who were dining here for the first time, though not for the couple on the next table who were clearly grabbing a quick bite to eat in the lunch hour before nipping back to work and knew exactly what to order… oh, to be that familiar with such a great place.

Anyway, here’s the menu we plumped for over a celebratory Cava:

And with so much choice, I was happy to leave it up to others to decide what we should eat (but ensured we had a go at the Duckin’ Donuts, a signature dish of the chef patron and something right out of Great British Menu times ten) because we didn’t want any stress of missing out on the various tastets; preferring instead just to enjoy the company, the scenery, the ambience – yes, admittedly, the quiet time – and the knowing we were close to greatness.

The early courses which really stood out were threefold, and for unusual reasons: the tuna belly salad reminded us of ‘spuke’, an unfortunately named concoction WW and her friends had first tasted in Madrid in 2006 and labelled it as such because of its likeness to vomitus. We’ve seen it in several Continental delis and bars since, but this was greater than we ever expected in the fifteen years since.

Similarly, the squid and duck egg was like nothing I could have imagined, with the coriander making it even fresher and unusual than first anticipated. Then finally, the mussels, cooked en papillotte in a plastic bag with incredible Thai style flavours – opened at the table for the full aromas – and accompanied by the most amazing pan con tomate for us to soak up the fragrant juices it arrived in.

The real revelation, though, of our lunch was the rice dish we had thankfully paid the surplus for as it involved rice, with steak and padrons, in a mushroom and tomato sauce served in a really thin, neat baking tray. It was incredible: the peppers connoted memories of the first night of my stag (when I saw Pep in the flesh, fact fans) because my best man had never had them before.

A week after our lunch, after a busy day – eight hours – trying to build an IKEA bed for B, I then tried to recreate it and did ok to be honest but it was nothing like the original. I enquired about the rice the restaurant used – just a basic risotto, so on a trip to Lunya I got authentic one with mushrooms in and the outcome was pretty delicious if I do say so myself.

After this, though, we were getting stuffed, so couldn’t finish the final main course of melty pork cheeks with parsnip mash and a chanterelle mushroom puree.

There were also desserts to be had! And not just one, but two, as my initial email had triggered a very thoughtful and much appreciated gesture of a separate dessert in celebration of our special occasion.

We sauntered into the sun very settled and satisfied… Every dish, moment, minute of those three hours had been enjoyable and unforgettable, but the night was yet young: we had a statue to visit; a really trendy Unabombers DJ project at the Principal Hotel – it’s called, refuge, just go and enjoy – to experience; parents to meet up with; a classic hotel to frequent and then a cool beans Cottonopolis to return to, after our first foray there, last summer (inspired by the TV series about a beauty salon around the corner)

Despite the eventful train journey home, the great memories remained… it really was a grand day out.

Gracies, Pep! And to everyone else who had a hand in it…

The titular quote is from a film I’m currently watching – it’s strangely familiar – and underlines nicely, the importance (yet also the irrelevance) of the hours spent composing my thoughts and reflections.

Still… ‘don’t look back in anger, I heard you say!’ Let’s accentuate the positives: the last thing I wrote to you, dear reader, the esteemed restaurant critic, Jay Rayner, read and liked my review of Roski; he told me so himself…

I felt on top of the world: just in time for our very own World Cup Final – according to the strange German, anyway – which was yet another moral victory, and set me up nicely for World Book Day, on which I coincidentally dressed as an even stranger German.

Still, the positives kept coming: the best news arrived out of nowhere when yours truly was nominated to join a judging panel for a national book award organised by Empathy Lab UK… it reminded me of the reasons I became an educator many moons ago – Mr. Novell and the quote by Atticus Finch in ‘To Kill A Mockingbird’ – and I was proud as punch.

Plus, all of this was more than welcome when contrasted against the politics, soul searching, debates over exits and legal wrangles made the last few weeks seem a lot more difficult than it really ought to have been.

Despite the business of the everyday, I try my best to keep in touch (from a distance) with what’s going on in popular culture, if only as a distraction. I can therefore happily get excited about upcoming new albums for Morrissey, the wonderful (and highly underrated, although not by us) Richard Hawley – try to watch his input to the recent Sky Arts documentary, ‘A Film About Life, Death & Supermarkets’) and the band I believe to be music’s best kept secret, The National. Both they and The Courteeners have upcoming gigs not too far away, too, although I feel like those days are gone now.

“Perhaps my best years are gone. When there was a chance of happiness. But I wouldn’t want them back. Not with the fire in me now. No, I wouldn’t want them back.”

Not when you’ve got Sky+, Netflix, YouTube Premium and Amazon Prime subscriptions to keep you entertained!

When time allows, I made it a New Year’s resolution to devote less time to watching football (thankfully) and more to the quality TV and film productions currently filling our screens and memory cards. I got very excited about ‘The Miracle’, and Italian series based on an innovative concept and produced by the same people as made one of my favourite TV series of all time, ‘Gomorrah’. I’m only one episode in, because you have to really concentrate and that’s often difficult after days spent teaching and marking, or dadding.

Much lighter viewing, although leading to similar frustrations, are the annual cookery competitions I love: ‘Masterchef’ and ‘Great British Menu’. I haven’t given up on the dream, in fact it makes me all the more determined, and do believe I’ll do something at least before it fades. And in the meantime, I’ll keep posting photos of our teas which I guess create envy and ennui in equal measure for some…

Everything… Nothing.

Honorable mentions this month go to ‘After Life’ and ‘Sick of It’, which were both very apt, plus the trailers for soon to be streamed ‘Stranger Things 3’ and ‘Cobra Kai 2’ plus my own little idea for the next series – if given the opportunity again to write an episode – of ‘Moving On’ about an evil neighbour whose daughter causes tension and upset then turns up unexpectedly at a stay and play session, causing awkwardness extraordinaire… that this should happen on the weekend of St Patrick’s Day – the first since my discovery I am a third Celt, therefore gave up lager for Lent and increased my Guinness intake for myriad reasons – is somewhat serendipitous, seeing as it was he who was meant to have driven the snakes out of Ireland. I’m sure the subsequent car scratch was an unfortunate accident too…

Talking of which, back to happier times, and the real TV highlights of recent weeks – the return of Alan Partridge to the BBC and some truly wonderful moments for those of us who have loved him since our early teens. The first aid sequence was particularly hilarious, but for me the classic moment came when his Irish lookalike appeared and sang some questionable ditties. The other – which also took me back to the olden days, but for different reasons – was The Bay, gripping and intriguing but also very nostalgic for me due to its setting and the very clever location scouts who have captured the character and beauty of Morecambe Bay perfectly.

Childhood and reminiscing would finally be the theme of the start of the Easter holidays, namely a trip to the cinema to celebrate the genius of Tim Burton and Dear Baby Jumbo. Spoiling my daughter with popcorn and selfies was special, but so was the storyline, connoting childhood trips to the circus and the initial awe of Disney classics as well as the countless visits to the cinema in my youth I’d forgotten about. We are very lucky to have a classic old picture house on our doorstep, beautifully restored and maintained and cheap as chips compared to the multiplexes others have to frequent but, aside from a handful of films for kids’ parties or the odd Star Wars episode we have really underused so far, so this couple of hours made me excited for the next few years as parents and introducing our little ‘uns to the love of cinema I used to – well, clearly ‘still do, and probably always will do’ – feel.

The other viewing has of course been (some) football, with some happy and not so pleasing resurgences. There have been many special moments from the likes of Leo Messi (over whom I admittedly swoon over, according to a colleague) because almost singlehandedly he has made football likeable again amidst the racism, the phone users and the tribalist twits who spoil things for us all. Still, I do maintain that the good will out

I’m trying to read as much as possible, too, still although I’m finding more solace and peace in lighter literature – definitely not newspapers – such as food magazines at present. Despite a difficult trip to the dental hospital and the pain and torture which more sweet things / decadent living will probably bring, I get very excited at this time of year by the new recipes and ingredients in season (especially resurrection-related) because Easter is pretty much my favourite time of year.

That we have just celebrated seven years marriage is not a mere coincidence; we married on Maundy Thursday, and have always held this period special.

New beginnings, light… first holidays, confirmations, celebratory lunches such as the one we look forward to this week, all the things that remind us of our good luck and blessings… seven years of really good luck, a true rags to riches tale.

I suppose it’s all a bit like the Easter story, isn’t it?

Nothing… everything.