It’s 18th Century England. War rages with France. But there is a bigger battle royale unravelling in the court of the declining Queen Anne (Colman): a fight between her loyal counsel Sarah Churchill (Weisz) and new arrival Abigail (Stone), Sarah’s down-on-her-luck cousin. Empire
Olivia Colman, Rachel Weisz and Emma Stone deliver incredible performances throughout this zany, wonderfully filmed movie. The use of wide lense gives a really unique perspective. It is a great privilege to be alive in a time where cameras are of such high quality. I was especially taken aback by the pomegranate throwing scene. Combining slow motion with high definition; nudity and fruit certainly makes one sit up and take notice.
A word which appeared repeatedly in my mind throughout the film is ‘spellbinding’. Each scene featuring Coleman and her drastic realisations left me aghast. Equally, the script featured some truly memorable and shockingly filthy quotes, which I could not repeat on this blog. Some of them are featured in the trailer below.
The Favourite follows a delicate relationship between Queen Anne (Coleman); her advisor,Sarah Churchill (Weisz) and Abigail Masham (Stone). Churchill and Masham are both vying for her attention. Churchill does so to further the war effort with France. This acts as a backdrop to the main narrative tool; Anne’s deteriorating condition as a result of gout. Masham’s attempt at garnering the Queen’s favour stems from desiring a more elevated status. The intertwining complex characters add a richness to the story which is supported by stellar performances.
The Favourite [is] unrelentingly physical; characters fall in mud, are splattered with blood, vomit, have Sapphic sex (never exploitative), get dragged behind horses and deliver a swift kick in the balls. Empire
In all, I was deeply impressed by this film. My learned friend Emily, who works in film publicity, claims the film suffers from a chronic pacing problem. Indeed, as I find often in the modern movie, there is an extra half hour of content which is simply unnecessary. Other than that, this is a compelling film which covers a lecherous and important period in Queen Anne’s life. I recommend it most highly.
A terrific New Statesman article on the historical accuracy of the events in the film can be found here.
Poetry is the synthesis of hyacinths and biscuits.
Carl Sandburg
St Nick sent me a message decrying the unjust comparative esteem in which Malted Milk biscuits are held. The only way I could fathom to remedy such a heinous misperception was to review a bunch of cookies and record the experience for everyone. I believe this podcast is a definitive piece which sets the true worth of the Malted Milk against a global background of baked delights.
Now if you haven’t picked up on my sarcasm by now, I have failed as a writer. In truth, the LPC has taken a lot out of us as people as well as academics. It is a blessed relief to be able to sit down on a Tuesday afternoon and eat biscuits with our friends. Below, for our delectation and your fascination, are pictures of the cookies we consumed. I’ve ordered them chronologically for a seamless conflation of viewing; tasting and listening experiences.
Firstly, as a control, we feasted on the malted milk.
Next we devoured some custard creams:
From Far Turkey (we think) came the next biscuit, the Ülker Biskrem
Lithuania was our next stop, with the Adugs chocolate and caramel biscuits
Thoroughly full from these, we drank some delicious coffee and ate some Amaretti
Next we journeyed to Poland to try Wykwinte Elegant biscuits
After this we tried honey cakes with poppy seeds
Penultimately we wrapped our mandibles around the Choco Leibniz
And finally, the moment for which we have all been waiting: Omas Nüsse, which are pictured in the featured image.
Thank you all for listening, I hope you enjoyed this podcast as much as we did. We shall see you very soon for the next one…
As hardly any of you know, I spent my holiday period in Newcastle. Hence my intake of new music was accelerated, as is frequently the case, by proximity to my father, Paul. Nonetheless Anatomical Venus was my own discovery. And to see it here, bestowed with the coveted Album of the Month, is an achievement. You have no idea how much groundbreaking music I was introduced to over my ten days in the North. But Black Moth was an album to which I consistently returned.
Dark, melodic, powerful and above all, furious, the latest record from Black Moth totally rips, and presents a cohesive narrative that explores feminist themes.
Anatomical Venus, the title, is inspired by wax models, a perfect image to sum up the objectification and de-humanisation that much of the lyrics deal with. New Noise
This album is undeniably powerful. New Noise are right to highlight their favourite track as Sisters of Stone. The powerful title is supported by an equally potent track.
Considering it was written over a year ago, it felt very timely releasing this on the centenary of Votes For Women, and with the wave of female empowerment around #metoo/#timesup campaigns. LouderSounds
I have to say, listening to it for the second time today, I am shocked at the consistency of the harmonies as well as the pace of this album overall. To think these guys are from Leeds, a town close to my heart. The album is so cohesive and large. I’m a great fan of enormity in music and the scale of this album is just that.
Pig Man is another highlight for me. It speaks, weirdly, about Satanic farmhands in New Haven who would fornicate with pigs in the hope of creating devilish offspring and bring the devil to Earth. How wonderfully morbid and mislead. Had they been privy to the anatomical venus equivalent of a pig, perhaps they wouldn’t have put all the effort in!
In any case, this album is really very good. I hope you enjoy it and dance to it as much as I did!
Fate is an interesting thing. At times we cannot avoid its indomitable sway. Resistance in these circumstances is totally futile. One must simply accept the overwhelming forces of destiny. AMOR FATI.
And so the fates had contrived to place me in, of all locations, Hull and in search of food. Cedric’s colossal conk, always primed and ready to sniff out the very best eateries, was true to form, and had already hunted down a suitable solution to suggest.
Now, ladies and gentlemen, I do not wish to suggest an air of superiority, but when I discovered the name of the place in question was “Dope Burger”, I must say I did have my doubts. But Cedric insisted that this was a place he held in highest esteem. And when a man with a proboscis quite as impressively large as Cedric’s insists, one is wise to follow.
When I finally showed up at the old locale I must say my doubts only deepened. The place was windowless. I think that windows are a useful addition to buildings. They provide air and light. When they are absent, these qualities are also absent. I would conjecture, and I dare say the more archaeologically astute of Cedric’s readers will confirm, that windows are probably as old as buildings themselves. They go together like ham and eggs; love and poetry. So this was not a good start.
Furthermore, the walls were graffitied with grotesque creatures. Why? Does this enhance the food? Is it designed to create an appealing atmosphere? Is it meant to be amusing perhaps? I cannot say that I was amused. But then I must remember that all these things are a matter of taste. It could be that many of Cedric’s readers are sorts of people who enjoy eating in a windowless shack on the edge of Hull, surrounded by sinister looking spectres. Or if all else fails there is the option of takeaway.
Anyway, onto the food. This was excellent. I ordered a cheeseburger with fries. The fries were well salted and coated in a light dusting of paprika. Very good, this was definitely compensating for the hideous hideout on the edge of outer darkness that I found myself in. The Cheeseburger was very good as well. The meat was succulent and the cheese was oosingly satisfying.
In the end it was a tale of two experiences. In terms of the environs I was horrified, in terms of the food delighted. Perhaps, dear reader, you will tell a different tale, should you visit.
As has become our habit, Louise and I went out for Sunday Lunch after Mass last week. Being a dame of great discernment and grace, one can but choose the finest establishments at which to dine, while in her company. Hence, the week before last, we ate at The Bell Inn, Welford. Elated from our devastatingly delicious fare, I decided to take us to the next Bell, this time in the idyllic village of Tanworth-in-Arden.
For this reviewer at least, and indeed at most, Tanworth is the apex of quaint old England. This is where I aspire to live. Louise described it, in her inimitable fashion, as “rather bijoux”. And she isn’t wrong.
Onto luncheon. The food here is unspeakably good. Both Louise and I were left in a state of utter disarray. For starters, I had the porc terrine. There was no porc on either traditional or slow roast menu. So I had to have some for a starter. It is pictured below. What a treat it was. Really wonderfully layered flavours. The butter was superb as well, this is often an overlooked part of one’s meal.
Louise opted for the cauliflower soup. I had a loud sip and must say, her taste in friends is as exquisite as her taste in starters. Truly a lesson is to be learned on subtlety of flavours. One can often tell when food is made from scratch. This was one such dish. See it below.
Onto the traditional Sunday Lunch. I’ve attached the menu options just below for your perusal. I went for the beef, whereas Louise went for the Lamb.
Let me tell you, the Bell in Tanworth absolutely knows how to make a Sunday lunch. They smashed it out of the park so sensationally that we were left reeling. Such majestic infusions of traditional flavours are seldom achieved. The stuffing in the Welsh Lamb was just breathtaking. The gravy combined with my beef just made me slump back in my seat and contemplate the joy of being alive.
What a time to be alive and sentient. But the meal was not over yet. Somehow I decided I wanted more. I could but muster the courage to eat one dessert. But what a dessert it was. I tried the raspberry cheesecake. Just flabbergasting. Light and yet wholesome. It is pictured below.
Overall I cannot do anything except recommend the Bell Tanworth with all my might. I’ve seldom eaten out better, or in such a place. The staff were so attentive and professional, Amy especially. I was shocked at how well we were looked after. We left on a cloud. Everything was peaches and cream. Louise and I could not shake the feeling that our lives were materially improved for eating here. I hope yours shall also.
Interested observers often ask me what it is like being friends with Cedric Conboy. To this I can only reply, with the utmost respect, that it is a wild ride. Not only do I now find myself charged with the task of writing a guest restaurant review, but I am also scheduled to participate in a podcast on Graham Greene’s novel ‘the Power and the Glory”. Two things I would never have expected to be doing before I met the proprietor of this charming weblog.
Now Cedric, as the title of the blog implies, is full of suggestions, many of them outstanding. So, when I found myself in Solihull in need of a bite to eat, I wasn’t surprised to find Cedric popping up on the old Whatsapp, simply brimming with marvellous ideas. The place I eventually decided upon, having received a good dose of wisdom from the oracle, was the Beech House on the Warwick Road. A fine establishment if ever I saw one.
But first dear reader, if you would permit a sentimental aside, Solihull is a very dear place to me. You see, this was the part of the world, where my grandparents decided to settle down and raise their three children. My grandpa has recently passed away, but although his body has left this place, his memory remains. Solihull will forever stand for me as a reminder of the decent, kind and gentle man who for many years called this his home.
Now onto the drink and grub. I think it is fair to say, knowing him as well as we do, that although many accolades and praises can be levied at the door of Cedric Conboy, it would be a step too far to describe him as a real ale man. No, I imagine, if he were to find himself sat down in the pleasant and polished environ of the Beech House, he would order something decidedly fruitier. This being my time to shine, I decided to order a pint of Mad Goose. A champion beer.
For the main course, I ordered the salmon, which came with new potatoes, broccoli and a delicious lemon sauce. Excellent stuff, and if I had the descriptive abilities of Cedric, I might be able to do it some justice, but alas I am lost for words. Suffice to say, it was all cooked to my liking. For a desert I opted for the cheese course. This came with three cheeses: a cheddar, a stilton and a goat’s cheese, as well as red onion marmalade, biscuits, two slices of bread, grapes and celery. I have but two complaints. Firstly, the slices of bread were too large and secondly there was no butter. We seem to have become as a nation embarrassed by butter at least as far as restaurants are concerned. Perhaps we consider ourselves too good for it. This I think it is fair to say is an iniquitous practice matched only by the antics of Sodom and Gomorra.
Finally, I have been commissioned to give some introduction to the atmosphere at this charming spot. It was not what I would call heaving. No in fact, to be precise, in the place at that time there were seven other people. Still, this is most likely due to the time I chose to attend: a weekday luncheon. The staff were courteous and attentive. I enjoyed the setting, and the kitchen was open-planned so I could observe the cooks’ work. Furthermore, I enjoyed having a peek at the wood-fired oven (installed for the pizza). The napkins were a particular highlight. All in all, a splendid place to spend one’s hard-earned dough.
