sheona

How young is “too young”?

There is currently a dispute going on in France about a young lad, age 14, from Cameroon who is already in his first year of medical school because he is very bright – surdoué. His father is on the verge of being thrown out of France and of course the boy would have to leave too. Now, leaving his immigrant status aside, I consider that it is absolutely ludicrous for someone of that age to have started a medical degree in any country. He will be with students at least four years older than he is, who will necessarily have more experience of life and dealing with other human beings. However bright he is, he will be lacking in savoir vivre. I know that British medical schools stopped accepting very bright students without an interview some years ago, having discovered that great intelligence did not necessarily produce well-rounded human beings who could empathise with patients. I have no idea whether French medical schools also insist on an interview for would-be medics. Many older patients are convinced that young doctors are “too young” anyway. Imagine their feelings if a teenager turned up at their bedside. And a teenager is what this lad is going to be for the next six years.

http://www.lefigaro.fr/actualite-france/2012/09/24/01016-20120924ARTFIG00641-mobilisation-autour-d-un-jeune-surdoue-menace-d-expulsion.php

What is it they say about lightning?

Another invitation – lovely. For lunch this time. But the venue? Jamie’s Italian in Covent Garden. Ssshh, don’t say anything!

Jamie’s Italian in Cambridge

The restaurant is in the old library opposite the Corn Exchange, but there is nothing of the cloistral quiet of a library about it. As soon as you open the door, your ears feel as if you’d stepped into a very noisy swimming baths. Presumably because of the building’s status, all the wiring to wall lights is very visible, encased in metal tubing. Not attractive. The beautiful marble pillars have modern light fittings attached which is not a happy combination. The serving bar at one side of the room has a collection of hams and salamis hanging over it, which does not really blend in with the decor.

We arrived before our reservation time, but the table was ready for us. But then a napkin with a knife and fork on bare wood does not take much setting-up. We had our apéritif at the table – vastly overpriced, as was everything else. One should not have to pay the same for a glass of prosecco as one would pay for a bottle in a wine merchants. I know about mark ups, but … You wouldn’t pay that on the Riviera!

The starters were good; not too large a portion and served promptly. The selection of breads and olive oil for dipping was a nice touch – or would have been if we had not had to order and pay for it. BTW Jamie, good olive oil does not need soy sauce added. Still, the bread kept us from complaining about the length of time we had to wait for the main course. There were two parties of 12 nearby, but the kitchen should have been prepared for these bookings and not have kept other customers waiting so long. Our waitress – a nice little girl who came from near Cracow – got in a slight panic and had a struggle with the wine waiter as to which of them was going to put the glasses and wine on our table. The ice bucket came perilously close to husband’s head. Because I knew about the time limit, I did keep looking at my watch. An hour at table and no main course in sight. Apparently the booking system was introduced when the “walk-in” became the “turn up and queue”.

All the food was fresh and well cooked, but none of the dishes included vegetables of any sort. Having ordered side dishes, we were then overwhelmed by the size of the portions. Suggestion to Mr Oliver: cut the size of the meat/fish portion and include some vegetables or salad. Of course we are not starving students, but I doubt if many of them eat there regularly.

We definitely overstayed our one hour and a half, but no one attempted to eject us and I saw no other diners being summarily removed. Nevertheless the time limit does hang over one rather, slightly spoiling the experience. We left knowing that we would never go back of our own accord. (This, by the way, is a frequent occurence when we are invited out. We say thank you nicely, while vowing silently never to set foot in the place again.) I should be interested to try the new Carluccio’s which is only a few steps away.

It may be because English pub and restaurant food has improved so much over the last ten years or so that we found Jamie’s a bit “yuppie” yet behind the times. Or it may be that two months eating out in Germany, Poland, Hungary and Slovakia has accustomed us to excellent food at more reasonable prices.

Eat up, eat up and clear the table!

We are invited out to dinner at a restaurant in Cambridge. I name no names, but it’s one of a chain owned by a TV chef/celebrity, whose wife specialises in giving the most ludicrous names to their offspring. I have just discovered that the rules of this place stipulate that parties of fewer than six are allowed one and a half hours to consume their dinner, while larger parties are allowed two and a half hours. Left to my own devices, I would tell this restaurant what it could do with its reservation. As a guest I must bite my tongue. This is the first time I have come across this time limit. What if the service is slow? Husband says then we won’t be eating much and they’ll have cut their own throats. Have other Charioteers come across this? Will we be served the coffee in paper cups we can take with us?

How to deal with Roma

This morning on a motorway in Poland we were chosen as possible victims by a car load of Roma. They waved frantically at us – mother, father and grinning children – that we should pull in to the hard shoulder. Yeh right! We continued on to the service area we had already decided to stop in, pulled up at the pumps and the Roma, in a tatty old German registration vehicle, pulled up alongside. Husband spoke English, but I spoke German, asking what the problem was. “ Was ist los?” I might as well have shouted “Heil Hitler”, because they took off like a scalded cat. They obviously have a healthy respect for German. I know that with fair hair and blue eyes and a good knowledge of German, I might have appeared intimidating.

Now I realise that these wicked Roma are only a tiny percentage of the whole population. But obviously the solution is to send the whole bunch back so that the angelic 99.9% can show the remaining 0.1% naughty ones the error of their ways.

For Boadicea, Bearsy and any other passing Aussies

I just found this comment on the BBC Olympics website.

“I think we should start a new campaign called ‘Hug an Aussie’. After their dire performance to date – finishing second to the Poms – they don’t even have cricket to fall back on. Go on, find your nearest Antipodean cousin, give them a big hug and tell them not to worry as it’s the taking part that matters. They will thank you for it.”

Consider yourselves hugged.

“Fifty shades of green” perhaps?

I realise that this book has been around for some time now, but I’ve only just discovered it. It’s Virgin Earth by Philippa Gregory and it should appeal to historians who enjoy gardening and gardeners who like a bit of history. So I thought quite a few Charioteers might enjoy it, if they don’t already know it.

The book is based on the life of John Tradescant the Younger and is set during the English Civil War. [ There is an earlier volume based on the life of John Tradescant the Elder, entitled Earthly Joys.] Part of the action is set in Virginia round the new colony of Jamestown, detailing the initial friendship and subsequent animosity between the English settlers and the native Powhatan Indians, the tribe to which Pocahontas belonged. The Indians cannot believe how much territory the settlers are claiming, driving them ever farther inland. But tobacco is a lucrative crop and more and more land is granted to new settlers.

In England Charles I is making more and more of a mess of trying to rule his subjects. He gives his word and then immediately reneges on it. He has a shrewish French wife, which doesn’t help. Tradescant, as royal gardener has the opportunity to see the king and queen at close quarters. Of course Oliver Cromwell doesn’t emerge with flying colours either and neither does the turncoat General Monk.

There is no S&M, not much sex at all really, so no comparison with “Fifty Shades of Grey”, but I enjoyed reading it and the idea that so many of our plants, now taken for granted, came across the Atlantic packed in barrels and sprayed with sea water is quite amazing.

Karlovy Vary

One of our stops on the way to Bratislava was at Karlovy Vary, aka Carlsbad. This has been a spa resort town since the 18th century. The legend is that the hot springs were originally discovered by a hunting hound who had the misfortune to fall into one. His owner, the Emperor Charles IV, was so pleased to have found these springs that he quickly recovered from the loss of his dog.