Doctor Who - Vincent and the Doctor

“Saving the World has Never Been so Ginger!”

No, that’s not the tagline of the new Adventure Eddy story (although perhaps it should be.) That’s the tagline of Vincent and the Doctor – one of the new episodes of the fifth and latest season of Doctor Who. I was duly nervous when I approached it – knowing that there’s been a bit of controversy regarding Doctor Who and so-called ‘Gingerism’ recently.

The story itself saw the Doctor and gorgeous ginger companion Amy perusing the pictures in the Musee d’Orsay – and the Doctor spotting something iffy in his painting The Church at Auvers. Jumping into the TARDIS, they whisk back to 19th century Provence to ask the man himself about the oddity in his impressionist masterpiece.

Karen Gillan and Sunflowers. Two reasons to watch this episode.

Scottish actor Tony Curran is en place as Van Gogh – looking every bit the part (including the red hair), despite his inexplicable Scottish accent (which is dismissed as a TARDIS translation gliche, as explained when Van Gogh asks the similarly-accented Amy if ‘she’s from Holland, like he is.’ )

Dynamic, likeable, excitable and a bit bonkers, Van Gogh is portrayed as the quintessential tortured artist – his suffering made even worse by the fact that a fiendish beast is stalking the cobbled streets of Auvers-sur-Ois and only he can see it. When they do eventually track it down, tragedy taints their victory when they realize the monster was just as much of a victim as the people it slaughtered.

In Soviet Russia, Doctor Who hides behind the sofa from you.

But like the majority of the new Doctor Who episodes, the hunt for the alien-beastie is in reality just a subplot – the story focuses more on the Doctor and Amy’s interactions with Vincent Van Gogh. Writer Richard Curtis – yes, he of Four Weddings and a Funeral – presents the episode as more of a history lesson, giving us a glimpse into Van Gogh’s fractured mental state and a lovingly detailed examination of his artistic talent.

The best point in the episode is when the three of them are gazing into the moonlit Provence sky and the stars and moon melt into Van Gogh’s vision of them – the swirls of color that later become The Starry Night.

Faced with the foreknowledge of Van Gogh’s tragic suicide, Amy and the Doctor break the commandments of time travel and whisk their new friend to the 21st century, where he tearfully sees what he considered his ‘worthless’ paintings on display in the Musee d’Orsay – and a curator (a cameo by Bill Nighy) describes him as the most talented painter in history.

Vincent adapts pretty well to the 21st century - but he can't get his head around iPods either

But after they return him home, Amy and the Doctor are dismayed to discover that they didn’t change anything – Van Gogh’s appointment with a revolver occurs as predestined. But it’s tragedy tinged with optimism – as the Doctor explains to Amy, the good things in somebody’s life aren’t canceled out by the bad and at least what they did for Vincent added to those ‘good things.’

As far as I was concerned, this was one of the best episodes of Doctor Who I’d ever seen – even in a series that continues to impress. When David Tennant and Russell T. Davies left the show at the end of the last season, I was certain things would go downhill (how could you top Tennant’s performance?)

Yet Stephen Moffatt and Matt Smith have managed to make things get consistently better and better. Tighter scripts, deeper characterization and none of that contrived politicizing that Davies is so fond of.

I think what appealed to me about this episode – aside from the French setting and impressionist art – was the way in which they examined what Van Gogh was like during his life compared to the legacy left by his paintings. Drunk, mad, untalented and alone – he was a truly tragic figure who killed himself considering his life a failure.

It’s only from outside of his insular perspective that it’s possible to see the significance of the legacy he left, and the generations of lives he touched. I think for people living with their own flash of Van Gogh’s madness – call it depression, bi-polarism or whatever you want – it’s a reminder that even if you consider yourself utterly insignificant during your bleakest moments, there are probably more people than you realize who think just the opposite about you.

The other noteworthy thing about this episode was, of course, ‘the ginger thing.’ People have complained that Doctor Who is ‘gingerist’ after both David Tennant and Matt Davies noted that their new incarnations weren’t redheaded. Actually, it was just the opposite – both new regenerations were actually disappointed, as the doctor ‘had never been ginger before.’

The final lines of dialogue – in which Amy discusses Van Gogh’s marriage proposal to her and muses ‘our kids would have really, really red hair’ is followed up by a joking reference to a Pond/Van Gogh child being ‘the ultimate ginger.’ It was actually a little trite and counterproductive.

And since we’re talking about the few negative spots in this episode – I’m sure I wasn’t the only person to point out that while Van Gogh apparently lived in Provence during his adventure with the Doctor and Amy, the Church of Auvers they coolly strolled down the road to visit is actually located in the suburbs of Paris – about 500 miles north.

Creative license, I guess – and hardly a significant criticism given just how great the rest of the episode was.

Guess what, America: The French hate socialized medicine too!

Long before right-wing Americans started attacking so-called 'socialized medicine,' the French had been deriding it for decades.

Although popular opinion in the States is that any form of 'single payer' system is inherently 'socialist' (like France's, for example) the truth is; the definition is far narrower than that.

So just what is 'socialized medicine?' And, more importantly, what isn't it?

Well, the very definition of 'socialism' is a society in which the people (i.e. the state, or government) owns the means of production. Thereby bodies like The United States Postal Service are inherently socialist. The government doesn't just pay for the postal service - it physically owns and operates it as well.

In that respect, one of the few true examples of 'socialized medicine' is Britain's 'National Health Service' - in which the British government builds, owns and operates hospitals, and employs the doctors and nurses who work there.

That's why the NHS is 'socialised medicine.' Socialist principles are deeply ingrained in every part of the structure and organisation of the NHS. It's state-run healthcare from the ground up.

In comparison, almost all of the health care systems incorrectly accused of being 'socialized medicine' are very far from that.

France, for example, has a rich, diverse and effective private health care system - yet ill-informed Americans continue to incorrectly identify it as 'socialized.'

Ask any Frenchman and they'll tell you that the 'socialized' system across the English channel is an abboration. They've mocked it for decades - fueled by the same horror stories now appearing in the American media.

French health care, much like that in America, is provided by general practitioners in private practice, or hospitals and clinics owned by 'for profit' companies or non-profit foundations. In short, their health care infrastructure is alarmingly similar to ours - and offers just as much choice, individuality and variety as the one in the United States.

Where the difference between the French and American system comes into play is how an individual's health care is actually paid for. While Americans pay private health insurers to cover the cost of their medical treatment, French people are billed a percentage of their payroll in a similar fashion to the American 'Social Security' payments.

In this fashion, 80% of medical expenses are covered by the government funds and the remainder is paid 'out of pocket' much like an American co-pay. To cover the remainder, a slew of private complementary insurance plans are available.

Over 85% of French people have private insurance in addition to their mandatory government payments - meaning that there's a highly competitive private health insurance industry that covers costs Americans are unfairly left paying for themselves.

It's the fact that the government collects and reimburses the majority of medical payments that causes confusion for some Americans - and encourages them to call the system 'socialist.' That's actually far from being true.

The government reimburses private industry for providing health care - and in that respect, makes it about as 'socialist' as the townships and cities across America who use property tax payments to pay private companies to pick up the trash every other week.

'Socialized medicine' is only an applicable description when it's the government that owns and operates the providers of health care - doctors, clinics and hospitals. In France, health care is provided privately, just like it is in America.

The debate currently raging about American health care isn't about who provides the medical care - just how it's paid for. In that respect, 'socialized medicine' has never been a topic that's been on the table - just a foolish right-wing red herring.

The question is actually whether the government should offer a health coverage fund to provide competition with private insurers.

The right-wing throw up many objections to this - that the government funds would ration health care, or make choices about what care is and isn't available through their 'public option.' A cursory examination of the French health care system proves that these concerns are largely unfounded.

In France, individuals can still choose which doctor they go to, they can choose what treatments they want and almost all of them (including homeopathy) are reimbursed. In that respect, they exceed, rather than rival, the choices available to Americans.

How many times have you have a private insurer refuse to cover a medical expense - from birth-control pills to a full operation - sometimes even after the fact?

And as far as rationing goes - well, France is listed by the World Health Organization as offering the best overall health care in the world. The United States is listed just 37th on that list. Similarly, the average life expectancy in France is almost a decade longer than in America. That's statistically enormous.There are certainly no 'death panels' in Paris, unplugging grandmere when she costs too much to treat.

The French health care system is, in many respects, a shining example of how government and private industry can work together to provide excellent health care for a nation's citizens.

Combining the edge and competition of the private sector with the financial security of a government fund has helped create what is arguably the leading health care system in the world.

And all the ingrediants to emulate it - and exceed it - are available to us here in America.

I'm not suggesting an entirely government-funded health care system, but I am arguing that a public health care option is a vital ingrediant in whatever reform is instigated.

Whether that public health care option remains, expands or shrinks is entirely up to the private health insurers who exist alongside it. It's up to them to prove that private industry can exceed public care - not for us to take their lobbyists' word for it.

And for fans of a single-payer system - stop using Britain's NHS as an example. There's a much better one just across the channel and we could reap its benefits with only a few adjustments to our current system.

On the Street where I Lived

I stumbled over this picture on www.flickr.com and it amused me. Back in 2001, I lived on this street, in the little French seaside town of Saint Valery en Caux.

I was there for a month, until I jetted off on the first leg of my American adventure.

In Defence of the French...

Barack Obama was in Paris last week, wooing expatriate voters and playing 'president' opposite French head of state Nicholas Sarkozy.

Sarkozy was very diplomatic about things - stopping just short of endorsing Obama as America's next president, but admitting: "I wish Barack Obama luck — if it's him, France will be very happy."

One reporter went a little further than Sarkozy, accidentally referring to Obama as 'president' as if he'd already won the election - and forcing a rather embarrassed Barack to correct her!

Sarkozy and Obama have quite a lot in common - both being young, good looking presidential personalities who have been described as 'rock stars' rather than politicians. That goes a long way to explain why Sarkozy, although friendly with John McCain, enthusiastically supports Obama in his campaign for the White House.

France just loves Barack Obama.

I was watching this press conference during the lunch break at work - and was chatting to a colleague about how much the French seem to love Obama (snootily throwing in that my parents live in France and, therefore, I'm highly qualified to make blanket generalisations about the country.)

It was at that point that one of our bosses came in - a very senior executive. He watched the press conference for a moment or two and then said: "Do we really want a President the French love?"

He was voicing an opinion common throughout the United States - one that gained ground following 9/11, when France refused to join America and Britain in invading Iraq.

Many Americans simply hate the French.

I've always found this very curious. I mean, the level of antipathy goes beyond even the average uneducated Brit's opinion of the French - something along the lines of "Yeah, well, they all smell like garlic and don't wash, right? And the only thing France is fit to host is an invasion."

In America, people commonly accuse the French of being cowards, drearily dig up that old 'they'd all be speaking German if it wasn't for us' rubbish and I'm sure you'll remember congress renaming French Fries 'Freedom Fries' in the cafeteria.

In fact, it went so far as some people pouring boycotted French wine down the drains back in 2003! That, in my book, is the only crime worth of capital punishment.

So I say to your French-haters: 'Enough is enough!"

It's time you grew up about our friends, the French. If you'd spend less time watching American Idol and more time reading the wisdom of the great Thomas Jefferson you'd clearly see that France is America's closest ally and oldest friend.

Sure, some redneck idiots might argue 'the Frenchies would be speakin' German if it weren't for us.' But just as valid an observation is this - America would still be a British colony if it wasn't for the French.

France sent money, ships and troops to help overthrow the British rule in the thirteen colonies. In that respect, France was the midwife that helped give birth to the American nation. If it wasn't for them, an independent America would have been a long time coming - and probably along the same lines as Canada (with pictures of the Queen on their banknotes.)

France and America have certainly had their disagreements - especially recently. But to criticise and defame France, like so many American 'patriots' do, is to be utterly ignorant of that nation's long standing friendship and fraternity with America.

Go to MacDonalds this instant (or Chateau McDo as the French call it) and order yourself a jumbo serving of French Fries - and eat them with pride, mes amis!

The Changing Face of the High Street - via Weblog Awards 2007

Well, somewhat surprisingly, scrubby journalist Neil Clark managed to win the Weblog Awards 2007 'Best UK Blog' by a surprising margin, with sterling support by some of his blogging buddies (both of whom actually deserved to win the coveted price far more than Neil!)

To give the man his credit, he won fair and square and has been fairly gracious about winning. In his victory post, he printed an article of his from last week's Morning Star - the very same article I quoted in my post below (because of it's ridiculous opening line.)

The charge sheet against the Anglo-Saxon neo-liberal model is a long one.

If you can work your way through all of it (Neil's typesetting leaves something to be desired and there aren't any gaps between paragraphs) you'll see it's actually a delightfully suburban piece lamenting the destruction of the great British High Street.

You know the drill. A Starbucks on every corner, normally opposite a McDonalds and a Pret a Manger. The big businesses swoop in and try to make all High Streets look the same. The Daily Telegraph do this sort of stuff much better and never vomit out the word 'neo-con' once.

But to give Neil his due, his article has a point. Whether I was working in lovely Winchester or gorgeous Newbury, the cobblestone streets and medieval buildings were home to a uniform list of shops. Next. Phones 4 U. HMV. Pizza Hut.

It never really bothered me that much, since Winchester and Newbury had lots of lovely independent shops around the corner and down the side streets - it was brimming with the 'Mom & Pop' places Neil is lamenting the end of.

But the fact is, both streets DID kind of look the same. In fact, so do many High Streets up and down England. The same shops. The same crap. The same pedestrian precincts and various cookie-cutter clones hawking The Big Issue.

It's all rather sad, really.

Neil points out that things are different in Europe - and that's true.

In Niort, the lovely city near where my parents live, the city ordinance has kept the big, national chains out of the centre of the city and billeted them in the 'big sheds' on the outskirts of town.

If you want to go to Conforama, Gifi, Gemo or Geant, you drive out to enormous industrial estates with plenty of parking and all the stuff you need.

The centre of Niort, on the other hand, is filled with small, independent shops, little bars and restaurants and has a lovely atmosphere. On market day, it's a lovely, bustling community full of French spirit and joie de vivre.

But the downside?

During other times of the week, it's deserted.

An absolute ghost town. You can walk down the street and not see a soul. Shops shut at weekends and often on Mondays, too. Unless people are in 'for a jolly' they normally do their shopping in the cheap, convenient 'big sheds.'

Winchester High Street, on the other hand, was always bustling. There were crowds of people at all hours, plus buskers playing their music. It was vibrant all the time - even if you sometimes had to put up with some git from Phones 4 U shoving a flyer in your face (and I refuse to read anything that replaces the word 'you' with the letter 'u')

That's purely because the big name shops - the nationals Neil was complaining about - were there, in the High Street, offering people what they wanted.

And what people want is the crux of the issue - and why we can all lament the demise of the High Street, but short of a fascist revolution, there's not much we can do about it.

People go where they'll get what they want. And the sad fact is that companies like McDonalds and Starbucks became international superpowers because they cater to that.

If somebody could convince us all to give up our double mocha choca lattes overnight, the likes of Seattle's finest would soon disappear into the ether - but the fact is, we need our overpriced caffeine hit and we'll go wherever we can get it.

The problem exists in America, just like Britain and France.

Just this Saturday, Tina and I got up early and nipped to the Post Office. On the drive back, we were feeling peckish and fancied some breakfast. We were just debating between Burger King (who do these sausage-in-croissant things) and McDonalds (with their famous McMuffins) when we spotted 'Steve's Place' on Livingston Avenue, which was an apologetic little cafe just opposite 'The King's.'

We popped in there instead of the big name places and had two delicious breakfast bagels (two eggs and cheese for her, sausage patty for me) and it was made fresh on the griddle, right in front of us. The bagels were fresh baked and the whole meal - which was about twice the size of the apologetic McDonald's portions - came to under five bucks.

Yet despite the delicious food, great service and cheap price, customers would still see the big Burger King sign and drive right past Steve's to get the processed, frozen, reheated stuff.

And that's the crux of the problem. People.

People are the ones who make the choice and when they vote with their dollars (or pounds, or Euros) they put little places like Steve's out of business to support bright, shiny Burger Kings, Starbucks and McDonalds.

The only way to solve what Neil Clark laughingly coined 'turbo-globalism' is to convince millions and millions of people to stop going for the 'cheap and easy' big-business options and support the little 'Mom & Pop' independents he's so fond of. And the problem with that?

99% of the world won't.

Oh, for stuck up Telegraph readers like me, who lived in gorgeous places like Winchester, that was fine. We'd pay a little more and establish that we supported the independents (besides, the McDonalds in Winchester is the most poorly run and inefficient in the world)

But the rest of England, Europe and the world won't.

They want things cheap and easy. They earned their money and they want to get the most out of it - and that's why places like Wal-Mart and their ilk will always survive.

So 'convincing' people is out.

The only other option is to eliminate free choice and 'make' people shop at the independents. And to a certain extent, that's what's happened in France.

Laws and ordinances have protected the city centres and kept out the big businesses. In France, with their unique and delightful mentality, that's worked well. France has deep socialist roots and such buggering about the mechanics of local business is tolerable.

I don't think the same can be said of England or America.

Besides. The very idea of 'telling' people which shops can and can't exist in our High Streets is pretty miserable. If some self-important officials start telling us where we can and can't spend our money, we're not living in a democracy any more.

People deserve the right the choose where they shop. The fact that we're all idiots and make the wrong choice doesn't change that in the slightest!

All I can say is: Ignore Neil Clark's angry socialist rhetoric - but think about his point. The answer doesn't lie in Neil's gloriously outdated socialist fantasy (in which the government wisely spends and redistributes our hard earned money for us.) But we don't have to lie down and let the likes of McDonalds and Starbucks walk all over us, either.

We have a say. We have a voice. And next time you feel like a jolt of caffeine or a quick breakfast snack, look at the five pound note in your hand and ask yourself whether you want to give it to: The smiling shareholders or a hard working guy trying to earn an honest living.

Then shop (and, in effect, vote) accordingly.

We can't turn back the clock on the big-business blitzkrieg - but we don't have to contribute to it. The choice is yours.

Morality by Disney

One of the hottest properties on television at the moment is the Disney spectacular High School Musical (and it's sequel.)

A musical based around a musical (yes, I know, it's contrived even for Disney) High School Musical has attractive stars, catchy tunes and a twee 'Disneyfied' version of the American school experience. It's won fans amongst the teen audience and their parents.

I haven't seen either of the movies, but I did hear the songs and darned if I didn't start tapping my toes. So I can understand the appeal - although I have a bit of a problem with the ridiculously gorgeous starlets in the lead roles and the somewhat stereotypical characters they play.

This is one of those myriad recent movies (of which The Devil Wears Prada is the worst offender) that seem to give people the impression that inner beauty doesn't matter - what you look like really is more important.

In any regards, stars Zac Efron and Vanessa Hudgens have become hugely popular ambassadors for the Disney brand based on their roles in the movie.

The two have even started dating, in what can only be assumed to be a publicity stunt. (It's funny how the on-screen lovers started a 'real life' relationship at roughly the same time the debate about Zac Efron's sexuality increased.)

As far as Disney's champions go, these kids are great. They're good looking, they smile and kids adore them. And parents like them too, because they fit neatly into the strict Disney morality mode. Remember, in the world of Disney, it's the storks who bring the babies and nothing more than a chaste peck on the lips is permitted at the movie's climax.

Or so you'd think. Just recently, Vanessa Hudgens committed a terrible Disney faux-pas. Private pictures she'd apparently taken for boyfriend Zac (or a real boyfriend) managed to find their way onto the Internet and suddenly the Ever-So-Clean-Teen-Queen is getting Internet search hits for all the wrong reasons.

Obviously, I can't post the offending picture on the web (although I'll post the picture which pre-empted it), but I'll tell you one thing. It's no worse than billboards and magazine adverts you'd find in Cosmo back home in Europe. It certainly doesn't come close to Britney Spears or Lindsay Lohan's perennial knicker(less) flashing or the home sex video of Paris Hilton.

However inoffensive the image is, though, the Disney corporation are up in arms. Vanessa broke the cardinal rule. She revealed that Disney stars don't actually look like featureless Barbie dolls when they take their clothes off.

What will happen to her career? Who knows. Disney claim she'll still make the next movie.

This whole debacle does reveal one sharply polarised difference between America and Europe.

In France, 'spectacle' shows in the mid afternoon feature beautiful topless dancers - but the violence in movies is strictly edited. In America, on the other hand, the merest hint of a nipple can rock a nation (check out Janet Jackson's 'costume malfunction' at the Superbowl) yet horror movies like Hannibal, Friday the 13th and Final Destination are shown with the violence unedited at 10am.

Check out Final Destination, by the way. It's a slasher movie so tightly scripted that they've edited out the bad guy entirely. The plucky teen heroes are merely trying to escape 'death' in it's many ingenious and unlikely forms.

My point is: Violence is worse than Sex.

Violence is always worse than sex. Certainly, I think the teen pregnancy rates in Great Britain suggest we ought to take a more responsible approach to how our children learn about (and engage in) sex, but SURELY it's less damaging for an impressionable brat to catch sight of a nipple than a gory decapitation.

Violence in American TV and movies is so prevalent and so casual that's it's scary. Horror movie scary.

I'm not a fan of censorship at all, but desensitising an entire young generation to blood, guts and gore can't be a good idea. Along with video games, it seems to teach kids about a consequence free environment in which you can blow your friend's head off with your dad's 'home defence' handgun and then press the 'reset' button afterwards.

This is what upsets me so much about the powerful 'bible belt' of America. They're so worked up on stupid issues, like gay marriage and nudity on television, that they completely ignore what they, as followers of The Lamb of God, should be worrying about: Violence!

All the violent stuff on TV - the gory slasher movies like Texas Chainsaw Massacre and violent torture films like Hostel - have basically replaced smut on television. That's why movies like The Devil's Rejects - in which the 'bad guys' are the heroes - delight in torture, violence, blood and guts in almost pornographic detail.

It's totally the wrong way around. It's about time somebody stood up and said: More nipples, less nastiness, please. I, for one, would certainly enjoy watching a pretty young woman frolicking naked on the television MUCH more than 'the bit where his fingers get hacked off' in Hostel.

If we had more sex and less violence on television, maybe we'd have more sex and less violence in society. After all, sex is enjoyable for both parties where violence is fun for neither.

Sermon over. Back to Vanessa.

As it stands at the moment, sex and sexuality are still demons in the eyes of Disney, so pure and perky Vanessa might find her career with The House of Mouse taking a blow. But as Paris Hilton has shown us, those naughty pictures or illicit videos are no longer the career killer they once were. In fact, America's favourite socialite has pretty much based her career off her inadvertent stab at porn.

So Vanessa Hudgens? Beautiful, bright and talented? Even if the Disney corporation do kick her to the kerb, I'm pretty sure she'll do just fine.

What's France's 7th biggest city?

My father occasionally sends me articles highlighting the fact that life over the Atlantic isn't always a bed of roses - and Europe is actually a pretty cool place to live.

His most recent one was a glowing article about London, which Jasper Gerard says has eclipsed New York as the cultural, financial and fashionable capital of the world.

One thing about this article amazed me.

Over in France, Nicholas Sarkozy is gearing up for the push to become the next president of France. And London was one of the major destinations on his campaign trail.

Because, amazingly, the number of young French professionals living in London makes it technically the seventh largest French city.

That can't be comfortable...

You can take the boy out of the farm...

How to Schuk (shell) an Oyster

During our week in France, Tina insisted we buy some oysters.


Now I love oysters - in the neat, twee bowl of crushed ice at a restaurant in La Rochelle. I wasn't quite sure about preparing them ourselves. But what was the worst that could happen? Apart from vomiting, stomach cramps etc...


Actually, none of that was likely to happen. Oyster farming is an incredibly well regulated industry in France and the fact that people buy thousands of the things in market stalls across France suggest that the dozen Tina and I blew five euros on were very unlikely to poison us.


Oysters are bivalve saltwater mollusks, who filter five litres of water through their shells every hour, gobbling up the plankton they find there. They used to be the foodstuff of the very poor and working class, who had to eat a lot of them considering that a dozen oysters contains only just over 100 calories!


About a hundred years ago, oysters became a delicacy due to pollution and overfarming and an industry preparing these shelly snacks cropped up. In France, it's possible to buy all sorts of oysters, of various grades, throughout the year. With trains, trucks and refrigeration, fresh oysters can hit the dinner tables of Paris within hours of being picked. However the famous rule - never eat an oyster unless there's an 'r' in the month (so May, June, July and August are excluded) holds fast. That's because this is the oyster breeding season, when the texture of the mollusks becomes milky and soft.


In my limited experience, oysters are bought fresh from the market, still tightly sealed in their shells. In order to enjoy them, they need to be taken home and served that day.



Scrub the shells under running water, to dislodge all the grit and flaky shells. Then, place a folded tea-towel in the palm of one hand and use an oyster knife (or other short, strong blade) to open them up.



You need to cup the oyster in the hand with the tea-towel, so the 'narrow' hinged end is pointing towards you. Carefully slide the knife into the 'hinge' and swivel it from side to side, applying a small amount of pressure. Don't push too hard - you're more likely to slip and stab yourself than prise open the shell. Eventually, you will feel it 'give' and the blade will sink in - followed by a gush of water out.


Keep the knife in the shell and scrap the top half. This will slice off the muscle the oyster will still be using to keep it's shell shut. Then, with a bit more pressure, you should be able to open up the shell and see your little grey snack peering sightlessly up at you.



Tip the water out of the shell and place on a plate of bed of crushed ice.



To enjoy an oyster, you need to first sever the same 'shell' muscle on the bottom of the shell as you did on the top half, when you first opened the shell. That will leave the mollusk floating about in the centre of the shell.


A squirt of lemon, Tabasco or pinch of salt can be added, depending on your taste. Then just lift the shell to your lips and let the oyster slip down your throat.

Delicious!


The oysters Tina and I bought (who kindly modelled for this post) came from the Ile de Oleron, near the Ile de Ré and only an hour's drive from my parent's place.

Cognac, Armagnac, Calvados and Eau de Vie

Today, I was feeling fuzzy.

It was because lunch last seven hours yesterday. We went to see our friends the Peels, who cooked a delicious roast pork (with crackling and stuffing, unheard of in France) and polished off the delicious meal by opening a few bottles of Eau de Vie.

Eau de Vie, in case you didn't know, is French for Water of Life. In fact, almost all distilled alcoholic spirit has a name based around that. Whiskey is apparently ancient Gealic for Water of Life. As is the Russian origin of the word Vodka. And while each country's native spirit seems to be so individual, they all come from the same core process.

The French spirit is, of course, brandy.

But brandy itself is an enormously broad description. All brandy is, essentially, is Eau de Vie made from grapes. Grape juice, or even wine, is distilled into a fiery clear spirit which develops it's rich flavour and colour by being aged in traditional oak barrels.

The Italians have brandy. So do the Greeks. And although it's typical for brandy to be distilled from a grape base, the description covers just about any fruit used to prepare the spirit.

But brandy is the alcoholic spirit of France. And in keeping with such a varied nation, which boasts over four hundred types of domestic cheese, there are many types of French brandy.

The most famous is Cognac.

Cognac is a name that only brandies distilled in the Cognac region of France can boast. Just like Champagne, it's a regional brand name that is jealously guarded by the most famous Cognac Houses, like Hennessy, Martel and Courvoisier.

And just like regional brands, like Champagne and Bordeaux, to produce authentic Cognac you have to follow strict guidelines. Not only must it be produced in the Cognac region... The spirit itself must be made from at least 90% Ugni Blanc, Folle Blanche, or Colombard grapes. It must be distilled twice in copper pot stills and aged at least 1/2 to 2 years in French oak barrels in order to earn the coveted title Cognac.

Not quite as famous as Cognac, but growing in popularity and argueably the superior drink, is Armagnac.

Made in very much the same style as Cognac, in fact using exactly the same grapes and the important oak barrels, Armagnac is distilled with a colomn still, rather than the copper pot stills. This explains the slightly different taste of the spirit. Like Cognac, it must be produced in a strictly controlled region in the foothills of the Pyrenees.

Some people suggest the flavour of Armagnac to be more complex. However, the two real reasons why Armagnac is more critically acclaimed than Cognac come down to production. The Armagnac has 200 years more history than Cognac and is made in much smaller quantities. In fact, for every five bottles of Armagnac that are produced, more than a hundred bottles of Cognac hit the shelves.

Certainly, those in the know pick Armagnac over Cognac, if only to impress people.

But of all the French brandies, the one I have fondest memories of is Calvados.

Calvados is a region of France, in Normandy. Normandy is famous for it's delicious pigs and plump, ripe apples. Unsurprisingly, the local brew is cider, rather than beer, and their local brandy is made from apples, instead of grapes.

Cognac uses copper stills. Armagnac uses the colomn still. Either method is appropriate for Calvados, but it must be oak aged for two years to earn the right to be called Calvados and produced under strict guidelines similar to the more famous brandies.

The reason I like Calvados is because of the time I spent living and working in Normandy, in a little seaside town called Saint Valery en Caux. My friend Sarah lived down the road, in Rouen, and many a night involved ill-considered forays into Calvados tasting.

If you ever go to Normandy, you'll see postcards throughout the region with holes cut in them. They're jokey cards making reference to the 'Trou Normande,' which is the Normandy Hole.

The trou Normande is the single measure of Calvados one gulps down between courses in Normandy, to create a 'hole' in your stomach to fill with the next course.

While Cognac and Armagnac are apparently the preserve of the cigar puffing coinessuers, Calvados has a wonderfully accesible history and is a much more fun drink. If you're looking for a suitable after dinner snifter that could stimulate a conversation (as well as your appetite) I'd certainly pick a bottle of AOC Calvados.

Bottoms up!

Bad Bebop... No Cookie!

Bebep, the loyal Renault 19 who was bought specifically to bring us to France.... Died...

It turns out her starter motor went. I'd pretty much guessed this when we turned the key outside Gifi and the engine refused to turn over. Fortunately, T and I managed to get her bump started after pushing her down the hill three times.

Three times?

First time, Tina didn't realise she had to let up the clutch to 'bump start' a car.

Second time, Tina switched off the engine as soon as she started.

Third time? The charm.

Fortunately, we had (of all coincidences) a spare starter motor in the boot, so we drove off to Renault in Niort and they got us back on the road in less that a day, and for less that one hundred euros.

Here is the offending item:

Since then, Bebop drove me a 250 mile round trip to Nantes, where I needed to get my Police Municipale report for the U.S. Government. Then, today, she drove 100 miles round trip to La Rochelle for oysters and wine, so hopefully she's fixed.

In other news, we've been walking around Lac Lambon, which looks stunning.

We've also been lucky enough to enjoy some incredible weather and some delicious food!

We're back home on Tuesday.

Bienvenue en France!

Well, I'm happy to say that Bebop behaved on our schlep across France and we made it to Le Cliperton Trailles by about 11 o'clock at night.

Today it's a beautiful Sunday, the sun is blazing and the house looks like this:

Here are Mother and Father measuring the donkey. As one does.

And, of course, no trip to France is complete without some pictures of Piglet.

Nothing to report except a large Gin and Tonic.

It's off to France we go!

Tomorrow, Tina and I head out for France for 11 days... I'm REALLY looking forward to it.

Sadly, there is no WinFM bug to cart us across the ocean this time. Instead, responsibility falls to Bebop, our little Renault 19 Bebop. We bought this as a second car because it was French (plenty of spare parts) it was diesel (forty to the gallon) and it was, like the budgie, "cheep!"

We've got about 400 miles to cover, so wish us luck!