:: The End of the Line...? ::

...well, the ball of wool to be exact. As chronicled in her own blog, Hypatia proved a patient and willing teacher at the V&A's Craft Rocks event. I'll be honest, folks, the surrealness of hundreds of eager needle-clackers lounging about in such a gradiose venue got to my head a bit. So much so, that at first the mere effort of casting on proved almost too much. When I arrived, needles and a ball of wool were thrust into my hands and with Hyp nowhere to be seen, I headed past the mêlée in the Entrance Hall to the cool, tiled sedateness of the Gamble Room (see below for a glimpse of its arch-Victorian Gothicity):

I sat at a table with a dynamic mother-daughter knitting powerhouse (Ann and Susan) and an older lady from Hemel Hempstead called Marjorie, who was desperate to learn how to make tassels. There were far more men around than I had expected, (the crochet and French knitting teacher for one), but being something of a novelty act, I was naturally picked on by a magazine photographer who posed slightly disturbing questions ("Do you come here often?" - "Yes, but not to knit") as I failed to make the next stitch. When Hypatia rolled up, I'd managed to cast on and I got into the swing of things pretty quickly as she taight me how to knit properly. As the time came for me to leave, Marjorie greedily eyed a bright pink ball of wool carried by a passing funky fashionista. "Where did she get that?" the tassel ttwiddler hissed. "It's my favourite colour." I was just pleased that I'd managed to knit a couple of rows with my dark blue.

Awaking irritatingly early on Saturday morning, I picked up the needles again, and with a little practise became quite fluent. Resolving to knit a chunky scarf (just as the weather gets warmer), I'd finished off the ball of wool by Monday evening. Only one problem remained - where can I buy wool at minimum embarrassment so I can finish of my scarf? Hypatia may well turn out to be my handicrafts saviour again...

Other weeked activities included drinking sloe gin on Primrose hill with Jude before heading to a Russian café for authentic Slavic stodge.

Back to the news agenda. Two stories regarding the US media caught my eye today - both concerned with presenting "Liberal" (I hate American usage of that word) antidotes to right-wing media: Air America started broadcasting. The aim is to come up with a viable alternative to the fascistic windbags (Rush Limbaugh anyone?), who currently dominate the syndicated airwaves of North America with vitriol. However it will only be possible to pick up the station in selected locations, so this isn't achievable yet. It also emerged today that Al Gore has bought a cable channel with which he appears to achieve similar ends. In the light of the impending presidential elections, this could get interesting. I just hope that this analysis is accurate and that humour, rather than bald lies will be key elements of the respective presidential campaigns. Some how I doubt it.

Plans were announced today, regarding the possible rebuilding of the Skylon on the South Bank. Another recently approved exciting erection is the London Bridge Tower, already dubbed the "Shard of Glass" and soon to be known as "That Great Big Prick".

And finally... a Baby Giraffe, was named after Justin from The Darkness, a beer taster successfully sued his company after he became an alcoholic, and Nestlé told the world what it really puts in its chocolate bars. And if you need to buy a tiger, just head down to your bank to sort out a loan for it.

well, there it is...

:: Knit One, Purl One... ::

It's been a hell of a week: the BBC started interviewing candidates for the job of Chairman, Richard Clarke testified about the Bush administration's approach to terrorism before September 11th and Teflon Tony swanned over to Libya to begin preliminary business negociations for BAE and Shell. The chitter-chat with North Africa's top interior designer was probably just a sideshow at this global corporate fair.

Just as Gaddafi turned his benevolent face towards the west and declared Libya's intention to distance itself from WMDs, the Ukrainian Defence Minister announced the country had lost "several hundred" missiles. Although we're now going to be selling him the military hardware he requires, I'm sure there are still plenty of other players in the market for a few hand-me-down Soviet warheads - I was naturally disappointed to discover that the new top level web domains did not include .wmd. London's streets have also been rid of a potential death trap. Although a useful target for bombers, the Bendy Buses seem to have done a good enough job of endangering passengers on their own.

Humour hasn't entirely deserted me this week, despite my colleagues desperate attempts to damp down every spark of jollity. The Beeb ran a droll little competition to write a story in clichés and certain commentators questioned the wisdom of having such a self-confessed "Man of God" in the White House. Actually, that last piece is only funny in the blackest sense: the implications of this issue are deeply concerning at the very least. My juvenile side was also gratified to discover the name of a spooneristic hi-fi manufacturer.

Although I'm hardly Carmen Electra, it would be churlish to suggest that sexual matters never feature in my cyber-bubble. With a new exhibition featuring a 30s vibrator, it seemed clear that the media were not going to neglect their favourite topic at the expense of international politics. The debate raged on as to whether everyone's pet hooker-blogger was what she claimed to be after all. Even Cynthia Payne was called on to denounce the author as an over-literate fraud. Other people, it seems, get off on tin porn. I shan't be trying that one...

Onto matters culinary. A date has yet to be set for the tea party to taste those Italian sweetmeats. One thing I intend not to serve is deep-fried chocolate sandwiches. My sweet tooth has been kept contented with a brick-sized lump of halva that our Greek researcher brought back from her recent travels.

And if you thought I couldn't tell my Arts from my elbow... Adrian Searle's piece on the new Saatchi Gallery exhibition made me chuckle. I'll also regrettably be missing Ladybird at the Royal Court, due to my own abject dramatics. Vassily Sigarev (sorry - website in Russian only!) is the most exciting playwright to come out of Russia in living memory. Chekhov he certainly ain't...

Due to excessive procrastination and verbosity, I have once again exceeded my alotted time. I'm due to be meeting Hypatia at the V&A's Friday Late view... She's going to impale me on one of her knitting needles!

:: Cordon Blergh... ::

Plans for today were scuppered thus:

- Gawain J arrived back from Brussels today with distressing news. He managed to "misplace" keys and wallet containing our address in the same location, provoking a security alert and the response "You twat" from me. Relations were altogether more cordial when I then spent my lunchbreak heading to and from Waterloo to give him my keys so he could get into the house before the landlord changes the locks. Woe betide him if there's no-one to greet me when I return tonight.

- Dodgy email. Might sound like a cop-out, but my email provider has recently been "upgraded". Cue lost mail (hence lost links & stuff I wrote at home), hours of irritation and worst of all, loss of valuable distraction material.

- Jude - where has the fucker been? I haven't seen him for over a month. Not bad considering he works about 10 minutes away from me: he rarely deigns to contact me these days. It is somehow entirely appropriate that he should suggest going out for a drink on the one day when I have a sizeable chunk of stuff to write - and the time in which to do it. Of course I accepted.

The culmination of all this filibustering is that I haven't finished my latest blog post in the twilight hour between work and leisure. Somehow I might summon the energy to complete it when I return to Devukha Dungeon.

In the meantime, you may spend the next few hours attempting work out which is these crap office-oriented practical jokes is the lamest. Roll on next Thursday...

:: Almost Blue ::

Whilst perusing La Foscquette's website recently, I was reminded of a concert I went to last year. This was a "Cabaret" night at Wilton's Music Hall in June. Part of the Spitalfields Festival, the concert was a chance for young composers to showcase their talents in a crossover between popular song and the more esoteric world of modern classical music...

When the gig began with a sprightly version of Say a Little Prayer, worthy of the Boston Pops with a sugar rush, I was apprehensive about what was to come. My taste for sweet things is well documented but an evening of saccharine entertainment would have turned my stomach completely. Fortunately things did not continue in that vein and the evening was a celebration of the intimate and the innovative. The highlight of the show for me was Foscq's version of Almost Blue. This is an Elvis Costello song (it appears on his Very Best Of... album) and another notable version is Chet Baker)'s bittersweet smoky jazz cover. A complex 12-tone saturated sound dominated from the start, and then, layer by layer, note by note, the song was peeled back to its bare bones and sung once through.

For the aurally adventurous amongst you, it is now available to listen to here. Here are the lyrics, too:

Almost Blue

Elvis Costello Almost blue Almost doing things we used to do There's a boy here and he's almost you Almost all the things that your eyes once promised I see in him too Now your eyes are red from crying Almost blue Flirting with this disaster became me It named me as the fool who only aimed to be Almost blue It's almost touching that we're almost through There's a part of me that's always true… always All the things never come to an end now it is only a chosen few I've seen such an unhappy couple Almost me Almost you Almost blue

Nearly had me crying, that...

I'd better move briskly on to coming attractions. For those of you in London, the V&A is hosting a (...wait for it!) knitting frenzy as part of next Friday's Late View. For those of you in the States, you're just about to be spoonfed another slice of grimy British reality TV. And for those of you lucky enough to blag a flight in between on Virgin Atlantic's Upper Class, you could be in for a tasty surprise whilst waiting for your flight.

Well, tonight marks the final episode of Sex and the City on UK terrestrial TV, so I'm heading off to a little cocktial soirée to "celebrate". In a recent poll, Blackadder was considered to have the best ever finale. Somehow, I doubt SJP and chums will top that...

:: Nipples of Venus ::

Contrary to first appearances, today's post is designed to educate, rather than titillate - and it will probably make you salivate, too. Regular readers might know that if there's one thing I'd prefer to do in my spare time than prance around on stage, it is to engage in serious culinary activity. Thus on a recent day off work, I spent much of the morning carefully crafting authentic pelmeni for La Griboullieuse's and my lunch. In case you're wondering what they are, and can't be bothered to read the recipe, these are a sort of meat-filled Siberian ravioli. The Polish also make them with other fillings under the generic name pierogi. The opportunities to combine these passions arise only rarely, so I was rather excited when I reread the script of Amadeus recently. An intriguing subplot in the play is Salieri's preoccupation with Northern Italian sweetmeats and his seduction technique involving them. Having a soft spot for patisserie, I decided to scour the interweb for recipes in order to produce the real items for our June production of the play.

A few minutes' searching produced positive results. It was easy enough to find Salieri's beloved Crema al Mascarpone - a heady dessert not unlike a syllabub - but some of the others were harder to track down. These delicious-sounding (and -looking) Ricciarelli di Siena are the closest thing I could find to the "Sienna Macaroons" referred to in the script:

I'm also assuming that these Biscottini di Milano are the same as the "Milanese biscuits" the old man craves. That leaves one final item: the famous Capezzoli di Venere or "Nipples of Venus" that Salieri use successfully in his seduction of Katherina Cavalleri and with less success n his attempt to bed Mozart's wife, Constanze. These are sugar-dusted brandied chestnuts, which in the film were saucily topped with a nut to suggest a nipple. In the near future I hope to be hosting a tea party in which many of these delights are sampled. If they're good, who knows, I might even pull. If all else fails I'll hit 'em with the "Fuck Me Chocolate Cake", stolen from Larousse Gastronomique...

The mention of chestnuts brought to mind a number of other tasty recipes. Avoiding the obvious roasting option, our continental chums seems to prefer sweetening them for oral pleasure:

  • The grand-daddy of all chestnut recipes is the one for marrons glacés. This French recipe is a fair representation of what's available, but I also found an Italian version.

  • Vacherin aux Marrons is a scrumptious dessert consisting of meringue, cream and marrons glacés, a must for anyone with a sweet tooth.

  • Any mention of chestnut-based desserts would be incomplete without the artery-busting Gâteau Turinois aux Marrons. My step-mum makes an orange-flavoured version of this (pepped up with Cointreau or Grand Marnier). It is so rich that even I have to stop after a single slither.

Of course, those wishing to seduce with puddings don't have to resort to chestnuts for the required aphrodisiac effect. For me, a decent chocolate tart would suffice, but only if made with bitter chocolate and chocolate-enriched pastry. To accompany post-prandial coffee, the following recipe for chocolate truffles from the River Café Cookbook is more than adequate:

Ingredients:
150ml Double cream
400g bitter dark chocolate (at least 70% cocoa solids)
50g softened butter
Best quality cocoa powder to dust

Method:
Boil the double cream in a saucepan until it has reduced in volume by about three quarters. It should be very viscous. Then remove it from the heat and add the chocolate, broken into small pieces or grated. The retained heat in the pan should be sufficient to melt the chocolate with a little stirring. Next add the butter and stir gently until a smooth rich consistency has been achieved. Pour the mixture onto large flat plates and place in the fridge for at leaat 45 minutes (until set).
Using a soupspoon or a teaspoon, scrape across the set truffle mixture to create large chocolate curls. Roll the curls in the cocoa and put back in the fridge until serving.

You could also pay a visit to cheesecake city! I must admit though, that baked cheesecake is one of a select band of culinary wonders I've never quite managed to reproduce to my satisfaction at home. Any comments, suggestions and recipes gratefully received.

So, what of the world outside, you cry. Other than last week's horrific bombings in Madrid and the possiblity of something similar happening in London, the news has been dominated by equally searching questions: Why shouldn't we eat at our desks? Was 1976 really the greatest year ever? And when does eternity not last forever?

All this and more in your next installment of Devukha's so-called life...

:: Watcha Doin' Fool?! ::

Erm... I'm going to auditions for another play. The Man Who Came To Dinner is classic film based on this play. Although I'm almost hoping I won't get a part, it isn't till October, so it shouldn't overlap too much with current projects.

Let the madness commence.

:: Writing Frenzy ::

In my current overworked state, it may seem like folly to take on any more projects, but sometimes it's hard to just say no...

On Thursday night I had a meeting with my now regular theatrical collaborator, Big Girl's Blouse and a local group eager to put on a charity show at the pub where we did Shakers Restirred Revived. The idea was to pu on an evening of sketches, songs and readings on the theme of the Seven Dealy Sins. Fantastic, I said to myself, and walked into the meeting adamant that I was not going to take on a major role in anything. Bit of organisation perhaps, but nothing too heavy-going. Two hours later, and I'd agreed to help co-ordinate and write the bloody thing. Weak-willed as I am, the proposal semed too good to miss. The narrator is a hallucinating drunken tramp who appears on stage huddled on a park bench, clutching a bottle of booze and the shattered fragments of his life. He introduces scenes from Dr Faustus and a whole host of other pieces. The only thing is, I've got to come up with something by Tuesday week. Seems like I'll be spending a few nights in neglecting the social whirl, then...

Then, last night, on the occasion of a mutual friend's birthday, I met up with La Fosquette for the first time in ages. He's thinking of writing another song cycle and wanted to know if I had any ideas. Our last joint project was a set of songs based on some of my Suburban Nightmares haiku. I said I'd think about it, but fortunately, there's no tight deadline for this one.

Think I'd better get typing...

:: Smoke Without Fire ::

The moneybox rattlers were gaggled round the station entrance again today. Except a second glance confirmed that they weren't begging for mony after all. Rather like the eager activists (Anti-vivisection, Stop The War etc.) previously vying for my attention at that inhospitable hour, these people had an important message: Today is No Smoking Day. I'm inclined to say that the celebrity endorsements posted on their site (Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen, Jane Asher and Fern Britton) are amusingly revealing about the whole enterprise, but I must admit not to have got into the swing of things. Well it's hardly Comic Relief is it? Of course it gives the media plenty of opportunities to run stories about possible Smoking bans in public places à la New York, but there were a couple of droll items too. Such as the Student Union which has repealed a smoking ban in its bars after suffering a massive loss in profits. Recent Oscar-winner Charlize Theron wins the prize for weirdest smoking accoutrement in today's fume-filled web pages.

She also met Thabo Mbeki this week... without sporting the aforementioned item.

The Grauniad settles for some patronising pap from arch-quitter, Allan Carr: The Best Place To Give up Smoking. Frankly, the thought of hanging round the Costa Del Sol with that cheerfree goon made me want to spark up a giant doobey there and then. As if to heighten my sense of irritation, the same publication also won the prize for the day's most excruciating pun. However, all was forgiven when I discovered that the most viewed page from their site of late has been this gem from Steve Bell:

Next is news from another country which is shortly to hold presidential elections. Putin has appointed a new slimmed-down government after his dramatic recent clearout. Despite his increasingly autocratic stance he still enjoys very high approval ratings (even some of my less gullible Russian friends rate him). Interestingly Russian law bans publication of opinion polls from a week before the election date. I shouldn't hold your breath over this one, though. The man appears to have no credible or visible opponents.

And finally, one for the technophiles amongst you. My latest project is entitled "Consumer Electronics, Toys and Games". This gives me ample opportunity to look up some swanky pieces of kit. Today I came across something I hadn't seen before. A CD turntable that you can scratch with! Blimey, I thought. Then I looked at the price tag. Double blimey - I'll take two!

:: PoMo Fucknuts ::

Some things you read beggar belief. Others just make you think that April Fools' Day has come round 4 weeks to early... According to the Beeb, the Award Awards was launched this year. The back-patting hand of smug self-congratulation has finally disappeared up its own arse. If you don't believe me, look at the "industry pundit", Awards World.

Another recent media event is the much publicised retirement of Alistair Cooke, after 48 years of Letter from America. Some have been quick to point out that the man was past his sell-by-date at 95, and his quirky, rambling monologues have begun to verge on embarrassment. Cristina Odone's article in today's Observer dwells less on this than on his alleged misrepresentation of both the US and Britain. This may be so, but saying this denies the right to journalistic subjectivity - Cooke's broadcasts were hardly presented as news. The main thing I shall miss with the the disappearance of this distinguished broadcaster from our airwaves is his singular grasp of the English language. Very few come close to his use of wide-ranging, precise vocabulary, deployed in an eloquent, unpretentious manner.

So, what's rocked my world, then? Not much, but then I've always been one for tempering the rock with a little good-natured laidback stuff. Although we didn't get beyond the first round of the Drama competition (Thursday), we won a special mention for the leading man, and a cup for Best Original Play. Steering neatly away from awards territory, I'll related Friday's facts: I went to see an excellent trilogy of plays at South London Theatre. After that I went to the pub where we put on Shakers Restirred Revived. After a few ales, a "Your Mum..." shout-off competition began with one of the regulars. Bored of the "Your Mum's so fat..." variety, I decide to use a different range of adjectives. Some of the publishable ones are as follows:
- Your Mum's so sharp she pops balloons at kids parties
- Your Mum's so bulbous she has to be tethered down like a weather balloon
- Your Mum's feet are so big that she stamps on puppies for fun.

As a schoolkid, I gave my friends' mothers a lot of stick. It's nice to see a venerable tradition revived.

Saturday afternoon was dominated by a Youth Group rehearsal, but the occasion of Taxloss' birthday gave me the opportunity to catch up with him and Hypatia (finally). And today, I celebrated the engagement of Sphynx and Trafficker (pseudonyms pilfered from Taxloss to ensure blog synergy), where I had the unutterable pleasure of Taxloss' company for the second day in a row. Hypatia, meanwhile, lay at home incapacitated from the previous night's excesses. Apparently she was unable even to watch the 'Enders omnibus...

:: Impatience Is Not A Virtue ::

My first Saturday post for a long while...

Certain people have been champing at the bit of late - where is Devukha's next post? (See comments under last post). Let me tell you what has been going on. Well I've only been at work three days this week, all of which were action-packed, stressful and too involved to allow a sneaky foray into the world of bloggery. As I pointed out a few weeks ago, this state of affairs has restricted my posting due to my inability to connect to the net at home. Yesterday all that changed...

Gawain J has bought a wireless router! I'm now connected to our wireless network which in turn has a broadband connection to the internet. And no wires all over the house of course. This sroke of genius has wide-ranging implications. No longer will I be able to hide behind the excuse of too much work and an overly attentive boss. Expect a teeming tide of bilge from this direction soon.

Oh... and I was acting in another play on Thursday.