Spectator Life

EVs have been easy to poke fun at over the years. Comedian Chris McCausland has a popular stand-up sketch about how Jaguar spent four years developing a space age noise for its electric i-Pace, only to silence it because people were looking skywards when they heard one coming towards them. And yet, despite their futuristic novelty, society has actually adjusted remarkably quickly to the advent of electric cars; they are fast becoming commonplace on British roads. Last year the Government’s EHVS home charging point grant scheme, which ends on 21 March, helped fund almost 61,480 charging units, and last November just under 19 per cent of Britain’s new car market was taken by electric models. These vehicles are no longer niche.

Bracing sea air, walks along windswept dunes and early-morning dips in the surf …living by the seaside can be just the tonic for mind, body and soul. What’s more, with greater opportunities for remote working, it’s in vogue. According to the agent Knight Frank, the sale of coastal homes increased 19 per cent over the five-year average, in 2021 with the biggest increase in south-east England: 217 per cent. With Sussex spanning the lion’s share of the south coast, it’s often the go-to spot for movers and second-home owners from London, with train journeys between 60 and 90 minutes. But whether you seek sailing, peaceful beaches or the buzz of a bucket-and-spade resort, where to choose?

I’ve said many times that I am not a food purist: I like shortcuts and variations, I have a massive soft spot for oven pizzas, and no time at all for those who are sniffy about prepared food or ingredients. I don’t think there’s anything to be gained by being categorical or dictatorial about food – what is the point in me insisting you cook your thick steak rare if you can’t bear to eat it that way? Eating and cooking should be about enjoyment, and I don’t get to decide what you do or do not enjoy, what is to your taste. So I try my very best to be flexible, to offer up alternatives, and not to make pronouncements from on high. However, I draw the line at shepherd’s pie.

It’s become a bit trite to talk about the ills of social media. Hypocritical too, as such debates are often conducted within the very same arena of social media, which reminds me of the early eighties and adults telling me to steer well clear of smoking whilst lighting another superking off the one just going out. A less remarked upon social ill is the danger of ‘listening to stuff’. Hear me out. The last few years have been a golden age for audio entertainment: the explosion of podcasts, the popularity of audiobooks and those high production value documentaries that now ‘drop’ on BBC Sounds with all the pomp of the latest episode of Succession. The technology to produce this sort of output has been around a while.

Will the news that energy bills could double usher in a little common sense when it comes to our obsession with central heating? One of Britain's biggest energy firms has been forced to apologise after suggesting that thrifty customers might want to put on a pair of socks before whacking on the thermostat.  But we've only been namby-pamby about heating for a generation or two. Before then, we wrapped up warm, unashamed. Even when we’re told that Covid is far less transmissible with a bit of extra ventilation, you'd be thought mad for opening a window in the middle of winter. Our schools nowadays are like orchid greenhouses: the wall of heat greeting you as you walk in makes you wonder how anyone does any work at all. But open a window?

There’s always a bit of a post-Christmas sag, isn’t there? The presents have been piled up but not actually put away yet, the tree is dropping needles like there’s no tomorrow, and those final bits and bobs of leftovers in the fridge aren’t looking terribly appealing (a weary parsnip and some withered peas do not a Christmas sandwich make). So it’s no surprise that the French have made sure there’s something to look forward to before we pack away the festive season for another year: the galette des rois. Named after the three kings of the nativity story, galettes des rois are traditionally eaten on 6 January, or Epiphany, the day that the magi were supposed to have visited Jesus in his stable.

The beginning of January is a blank slate. A time where we feel a sense of excitement as to what the year will bring.  As each year rolls into a new one, my hopes for the future have included the usual – more exercise, more travel, more greens… Typically, I fail to keep to my promises. I asked my family and friends if they manage to stick to their resolutions. They don’t either. It doesn’t help that we live in a society obsessed with success. There's a fine balance between dreaming big and setting oneself up for a fall. I keep a box of my favourite poems, letters, old journals and unfinished stories. Within these stamps of the past, I can see paths not taken, disappointments, failures and mistakes.

It is undeniably stew weather. I am, I’m afraid, one of those people who grimace all the way through summer, longing for autumn, thinking of fall-clichés: big cosy jumpers, afternoons spent reading on the sofa with a blanket, an excuse to bring out my knitting, rain drumming on the windows. Predictably, my greatest reason for embracing this time of year is the food it brings with it, and above all, is the presence of a casserole on the hob, bubbling away, slowly gaining body and flavour, and filling the kitchen with boozy, meaty, smoky smells. I have a lot of love in my heart for all kinds of stews, but boeuf bourguignon probably takes the crown.

I’m entirely convinced that, when drunk in moderation, wine is good for us, with its benefits far outweighing its potential harm. It certainly reduces stress, a contributory factor in around a fifth of all heart attacks, and helps us socialise, raising our ‘feel-good’ dopamine and serotonin levels. All of which should make us think twice about a completely dry January, whatever the level of our festive indulgence. Red wines are high in chemical compounds such as resveratrol – an antibiotic agent and antioxidant which some studies suggest might play a part in protecting against heart attacks, strokes and cancer – and saponin, an antioxidant which might help reduce cholesterol.

Life in the world’s newest republic is sweet. It’s peak season in Barbados, and another wave of Covid hasn’t stopped the rum sundowners flowing on the Caribbean island’s sugar-sand beaches. Given half the chance, many of us might well prefer to spend January wafting between beachfront restaurants and sun loungers, as the packed front-end of planes heading there during December have proved. Many of the island’s predominantly British holiday home owners have been heading to their properties on the West Coast of the island – and there will be no doubt a few villas changing hands too.

Scotland’s deputy first minister has been trying to discourage would-be New Year’s Eve revellers from travelling to England this week. Those planning to escape Scotland’s strict Covid rules with a Hogmanay trip south of the border are going against the ‘spirit’ of the restrictions, according to John Swinney. As Chloe Smith, the UK work and pensions minister, has pointed out though, Scots are ‘more than free to move around’ the UK over the New Year – Nicola Sturgeon’s SNP are not yet able to impose a hard border along the 96-mile stretch between Bella Caledonia and contaminated England.

As we count down the remaining days and hours to 2022, a cinematic tour through ten motion pictures when midnight has special meaning. Since Midnight Mass is celebrated on the evening when Christmas Eve gives way to Christmas Day, it makes sense that the hour is not associated with evil or supernatural goings on – except, that is, for St George’s Eve. In Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1897), Jonathan Harker is warned: 'It is the eve of St. George’s Day. Do you not know that tonight, when the clock strikes midnight, all the evil things in the world will have full sway?

I’d always assumed that the hummingbird’s cake derived its name from its unapologetic sweetness: a cake so singing with fruit juice and soft caramelly sugar that it charms the (humming)birds from the trees. The origins may in fact be more prosaic: originally called the Doctor Bird cake, it was named after the national symbol of Jamaica, a type of hummingbird, only found on the island, and it first came to fame outside of Jamaica thanks to a bit of a PR stunt. It was a marketing tool, really: one of a number of recipes exported by the Jamaican Tourist Board in 1968 in little press packs sent to the USA.