Love they neighbour?

Neighbours … everybody needs good neighbours … so the song tell us, but is it true? 'Of course it is!' I hear you cry. But do we all mean the same thing? And has the good neighbourliness of the past been replaced by a more modern version?
There's a tendency for us to believe that everyone else lives in a fabulous community of neighbours who leave their back doors open for one another, deliver care packages whenever someone's ill and welcome newcomers to the street with a basket of freshly-baked cookies. And this may be the case, although I suspect this level of togetherness and mi casa es su casa-iness exists only in fictional communities like Wisteria Lane.  Nevertheless that Hollywood-inspired perfect community is something after which many of us yearn. And occasionally you can be blessed with the most fabulous of neighbours. The road I grew up in in the 70s and 80s, despite being in an ordinary suburban area, had somehow managed to remain largely untouched by modern life. Many of the residents had lived in the street for decades and were well-schooled in the art of good neighbourliness. The couple next door to us were at the heart of local life. Their Boxing Day gatherings alone were worthy of the finest Agatha Christie house party - the entire street in attendance, every kind of refreshment and nourishment imaginable - all that was missing was the body in the library.
And yes, a few days after we moved in our new neighbour peered over the fence offering a cup of coffee. Five minutes later back she came with a silver tray, a pot of freshly ground and percolated coffee, milk, cream, two types of sugar and her best Denby pottery to drink it from. They became the type of neighbours that you couldn't visit without coming back home with at least a couple of cabbages, a pound of runner beans and a bag of apples from their allotment. I once lost my tennis ball over the fence. Instead of just chucking the ball back, our neighbour suggested I come round and use their larger lawn. By the time I had arrived he had erected a proper net, changed into his whites and arranged for his wife to bring out a jug of homemade lemonade. For an eight-year-old girl it was like living in the pages of a Famous Five book. Of course, being so young I took it all in my stride so it was a bit of a shock to move, at eighteen, to a more 'normal' street.
That's not to say that we didn't still have great neighbours, but modern life tends not to support chatting over the garden wall. As my very wise dad says: 'without communication you don't get community'. How true! Most of us go everywhere by car.  We don't stand at the bus stop with the chap across the road or walk the kids to school with the lady next door. We can go all week without even passing the time of day with our neighbours. Acccordingly our expectations for and requirements of them have changed enormously. What most of us now want is the kind of neighbour who is friendly, reliable and considerate. Who is there if we need them without knocking on the door five times a day.
 And, perhaps, most importantly we want neighbours who are as considerate of those around us as we try to be.  We want neighbours who don't have lots of noisy parties late into the night. Neighbours who park sensibly and safely, on their own more than adequate drives. Neighbours who don't make us feel guilty when we have to knock on their door to collect a parcel the postie has brought while we were out. Neighbours whose guests don't churn up the carefully manicured grass verges with four wheel drives. Neighbours who promise to put right damage done to our properties during work to their properties without us having to ask. Neighbours who get on with replacing the hedge we had to remove so workmen could get access to their gardens.  We'd like neighbours who keep their fronts tidy, who speedily get rid of old carpets and not leave them on the lawn. Who don't leave burglar-friendly ladders propped up against our shared fences. Who get building work done as quickly as possible and don't leave the rubble from a dismantled garage or roof in a huge pile for us to look at every time we open the curtains.  And who put out the correct bins on the correct days by the appointed time, rather than assuming that the wheelie-bin fairy will do it for them - it won't be a good fairy, it'll be a good neighbour.
If you're suspecting that these particular complaints might hint at a few raw nerves, then you'd be right. All of these points are complaints I've heard from friends over the last couple of years or which we've experienced.  From people who try to be the best neighbours they can be. Who make sure they don't impinge on the comfort of their neighbours. And who increasingly  have found that many of their neighbours don't reciprocate. It seems that less and less do people consider the impact of their actions on those around them. So much so that it feels like a developing epidemic.
So why is this? Is it just that we don't care so much about people we don't know? Or are we so controlled by rules that we have become determined to push them to the edge? Are we simply more selfish than we used to be? I'd like to think none of these are true and that things are not as bad as they seem. But I fear that the rest of us have gotten out of the habit of politely complaining, worried that we might cause offence or even exacerbate a situation, just as we most need to voice our concerns. We see so much in the news about neighbour conflicts developing into nasty confrontations, that we've lost faith in our ability to settle problems. We've begun resorting to polite but anonymous notes, or worse still to complaining to everyone except the person causing the problem. Can we really expect a problem to be resolved if we don't talk about it? Could it be that our neighbour just doesn't realise how irritating his or her behaviour is? Perhaps, then, we should be braver and put our concerns into words? I might just give it a try. We might not be going on their Christmas card list, but surely it's possible to be good neighbours without being good friends?

Lotte's Country Kitchen - a book review

Let me begin by saying that I have dozens of cookbooks. And a very small bookshelf. I already have to do a seasonal rotation four times a year to accommodate them all, so to get a permanent place on my shelf, and become splashed with the traces of the favourite recipes within, a cookbook has to be very special. Lotte's Country Kitchen  is a shoo-in. Author, broadcaster, blogger and self-confessed 'nutty bird', Lotte Duncan has produced something I had thought impossible - a real country cookbook with accessible, interesting, fun and non-stodgy recipes. Food that fills you up and nourishes your soul. Recipes that are as much of a pleasure to cook, as they are to share with loved ones. Menus that will impress your 'tasters' without leaving you a frazzled heap on the kitchen floor. Food that people love. This is real cooking for real people. From the delightfully stimulating salmon, leek and spinach lasagne to hedonistic hot cross bun chocolate and rum pudding, there is something here for every taste, every hunger and every occasion. Even as a non-meat eater I still found plenty of choice and, believe me, I've read many a 'country cookbook' that relied solely on meat for savouries and suet for desserts! Now, I'm not going to suggest that Lotte's Country Kitchen is ideal for the constant dieter - that's not the point of the book. There are lighter options on offer but none of that all-very-healthy-and-pretty-but-leaves-you-hungry arty kind of food that takes hours to prepare and five minutes to consume. Who wants to be the hostess who leaves guests hungry and reaching for the biscuit tin as soon as they get in? Lotte's guests leave her home satisfied and so will yours. There is comfort food like the marvellous Mum's macaroni cheese, as well as posh nosh in the form of salmon, orange and bronze fennel pate. The decidedly grown-up plum vodka (which gives a fabulous kick to a mulled wine) is in perfect contrast to the gratuitously girlie Mr Darcy's pink glittery macaroons.

Helpfully the book is divided into chapters each of which are devoted to a month, so it is quite possible to join Lotte on a year-long exploration of seasonal ingredients and seasonally appropriate dishes. But I defy anyone not to rush right in to whipping up January's enticing nutty treacle tart. There are also lots of helpful tips and lovely snippets of life chez Lotte too. The photography is excellent, the recipes easy to follow, there are instructions for conventional ovens and Agas and, unlike most cookbook reading experiences, you’ll actually find yourself laughing out loud as you go!

But I'd like to offer a little warning. If you're one of those Bree Van der Kamp types, for whom perfection is everything, who has a huge granite topped kitchen with sleek surfaces and gliding draws and an array of barely touched gadgets on the counter top. If you need to be a domestic goddess a la Nigella (who I love, by the way, but no-one really lives like that, do they?) then you need to take in a huge breath, scrunch up those shoulders, let them go again and r-e-l-a-x before opening this book. "Lotte's Country Kitchen" is no place for anyone that takes themselves too seriously! This is one cookbook that will bear the splashes of the food you cook for a long-time to come!
 Lotte's Country Kitchen  is available now in the UK and from November in the US.

Not heard of any of my favourite films?

You might notice I've compiled a list of my current top ten films. I say current, because this tends to change dependent on my mood, the time of year and what I've just seen etc.
Now I'm always a bit wary of putting out lists of favourites as if my opinion should matter one jot to anyone else - but I've done it anyway because these are some of the films I love and the ones that, in my very humble opinion, are worth a look. Some you will have heard of, some are very famous, some tiny little indie films that ought to get a more mainstream audience. So please forgive my presumption? I've provided links and details below because it's frustrating  when you've never heard of one. So, on the off-chance you might want to take a look, here goes. And remember to check over the censor classification before watching them with little ones or people of a sensitive nature! Not all my choices are that Raggedy Ann! My favourite Rom-Com - a Sandra Bullock/Bill Pullman film - is:  While You Were Sleeping.   Wilby Wonderful is a cute little Canadian indie film about how a small town in maritime Canada, and its quirky inhabitants deal with a potential crisis.  The first film I saw at the cinema (I was 5) is the animated version of  Charlotte's Web (Full Screen Edition). I much prefer this to the recent 'live-action' version - it's so much more charming!  The Star Wars Trilogy is actually three films, of course, but they were the first true blockbusters and really one long story. Last Night is a film about the last night on earth and how a disparate, but connected, group of people choose to spend their last hours of life.  The Untouchables (Special Collector's Edition) Yes, it's violent but it has to be the most stylish gangster film ever.  If you want something safe for all the family you might try Bambi (2-Disc Special Platinum Edition) although I have to warn you, when I saw this at the cinema, aged about 7, I cried my eyes out!  Probably my favourite film of all time is  Field of Dreams (Widescreen Two-Disc Anniversary Edition  which is much more than a film about baseball - it's about hope and faith and love and if you don't like it, you've probably got no soul. I couldn't really make this list without at least one film with Hugh Grant. So I've chosen  Love Actually (Widescreen Edition). And if you don't like Hugh then there's a huge and famous cast (some before they were all that famous) and it's romantic, and funny and it's Christmas - so what more do you want?  Any 'best of' film list must surely have at least one Hitchcock?  My choice is Rear Window (Collector's Edition). With James Stewart, Grace Kelly and Raymond Burr it's classy, thrilling, surprising, suspenceful and just a little bit sexy.

In an ideal world ... but have you seen one of those lately?

It was one of those dinner party conversations. The wine was flowing, good friends were nattering. We were mickey-taking, philosophising and reminiscing. We'd discussed the comparative merits of old films and new ones, debated whether nuns or metalworkers made the scariest teachers and tried to remember every FA Cup winning team since 1946. Perhaps no surprise then, that the random chat eventually shifted to our 'ideal' man or woman. For me it was a simple choice. In one of my favourite films, 'While You Were Sleeping' there's a character named Jack Callaghan.  Played by Bill Pullman, he's everything I would want in a man - good-looking (although not spectacularly so), kind, sensitive, bright and physically strong yet emotionally vulnerable. He's the kind of bloke that makes you laugh without having to resort to telling jokes. He has a fabulously quirky family.  He makes rocking chairs for grandmas and wears checked shirts and strong boots. Ok, I'm in danger of going off into my own private fantasy here, but that's just the point, isn't it?  It's a fantasy. That man does not exist. He is entirely the construct of a screenwriter, a director and an actor.  So there would, of course, be little point in expecting a  real-life version to exist. And that is perhaps why even those around the table who have found their 'other halves', made no attempt to identify their spouse as their 'ideal' someone. 
The problem with non-existent perfection is that it's impossible to attain, and yet this does nothing to stop us trying to achieve it. We can try to be the best we can, and of course we should - it shows respect for others and for ourselves, but there are plenty of chances in life to receive criticism without constantly heaping it on ourselves. And without heaping it on those we love.
As much as we might have preferred it, none of us live in a romantic comedy. Life is occasionally romantic and more often than not comical, but this is not the same thing.  Just as we rarely wake up on Christmas morning to find that it has snowed overnight, or enjoy a summer picnic without coming under attack from ants or wasps, people almost never meet the love of their life because of a case of mistaken identity or a mix-up at the poodle parlour. And even I have to admit few women marry the brother of the man who they lusted after from afar, whose life they saved and to whom they pretended to be engaged while he lay in a coma. It may work for Sandra Bullock's character but even someone with her undeniable lovability would struggle to pull that off in real life.  So we must I suppose, occasionally at least, be realistic in our expectations and accept that those we find ourselves loving will have their faults; they'll have smelly feet, they'll support the wrong team, they'll love (or hate) Marmite. It's unlikely that they'll catch three planes just to tell us they love us, or take a Prime Ministerial cavalcade through a London housing estate to knock on every door just to track us down. They'll not be perfect, but neither will we, so we'll love them anyway. But a girl can dream and, while we should have realistic expectations, I can't help thinking there's no harm in a little aspiration.
After all, there might just be a real-life Jack Callaghan out there somewhere ... if you find him, the email's on my profile ...

How protests can defeat democracy

I'm about to do something I've never done before. I'm about to stick up for the Prime-Minister-before-last Tony Blair. Not for his policies, you understand, and certainly not for his decision to take Britain into the war in Iraq. But for his right to publish his memoirs and, in particular, his right to attend book signings in this country. Believe me, as far as I'm concerned the less we see of Blair on our tv screens the better, but I was appalled that he'd felt forced to cancel two signings because as he'd entered a Dublin bookshop for a signing, protesters had hurled not just abuse, but eggs and shoes too.
I understand and support their desire to protest. But they did nothing for the cause of democracy. Blair pulled the plug on his London events because he was afraid that a similar, or worse, reaction would put innocent members of the public at physical risk and because he was mindful of the potential cost to the public purse of policing what was after all 'only a book signing'.
The protesters may well feel that they've succeeded, but I believe they've failed. This wasn't someone preaching hate or offending public morality. By provoking this decision the protesters haven't only denied members of the public the right to attend, they've silenced their own voices. No signing = no protest. In the UK we live in a wonderful democracy; one that we all tend to take for granted. Our right to peaceful protest is one of the most important aspects of that democracy. But by stepping away from peaceful protest and moving towards physical attacks those Dublin protesters have not only robbed their colleagues of the opportunity to speak out, but robbed the British public the chance to weigh up both sides of the divide.
Protest by all means, rail against what you object to. But don't be self-defeating.

Here it is - the secret of life!

They say your forties are a time of discovery, when you finally begin to understand who you really are and what drives you. I've always thought it ironic that you finally get to grips with life just as you start to realise you aren't going to live forever. I've written before about that disquieting sense that you are turning in to your parents. When you realise you haven't a clue what's at Number One. That you're sure today's children are a lot louder than you were at that age. And that teenage girls go to school wearing skirts shorter than the jumper you had to wear for your uniform. But there are a few advantages. You make many discoveries that make life so much easier. Firstly, you don't have to watch reality tv - because what goes on in the Big Brother House rarely comes up for discussion at the dinner table. Secondly, you don't have to feel guilty or embarrassed if someone asks you where you got a particular item of clothing and the answer isn't Topshop. Thirdly, when old school friends or their mums find you that you still aren't married, they no longer try to offer up their single brother or offspring and, rather than offer you an encouraging 'don't worry - there's someone out there somewhere', they are often admiring and even quietly jealous of what they now perceive as your unrestricted lifestyle (don't forget they are older now too!) But fourthly, and this I believe truly is the secret of life - you have discovered that the most important thing you own is a pair of comfortable shoes.