Accountability

Do we live in an age where no one is accountable for their actions? Can we simply do what we please without fear of facing the consequences? Is it OK for innocent, law abiding and honest people to continually get caught up in the web of misery that others have spun?

I had a great night out last Wednesday with a good friend of mine Ian and his cousin Dan who i hadn't met before. Ian played the usual devil's advocate (he loves sitting on that fence) the beer was flowing and the debate was getting lively... just how i like it. RBS bonuses were my tipple for the evening. They were getting me quite wasted in fact, like I'm sure they do for the thousands of employees that benefit from them - or taxpayers money - that is. How can we live in a country that shafts it's citizens left right and centre (more money on the price of beer) and then pays out state owned bank bonuses in the billions? Lest we forget our economy is in crisis because of these careless morons?

I'm not against the government bailing out the banks. I'm against the continuation of a system (in bonuses) that doesn't fit with the times of hardship so many are going through. My grandfather would never have believed such a think could happen under a Labour government. Who is accountable for allowing this to go on?

This week The Independent reported on a British company that sold a "bogus bomb detector" to Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Lebanon and Jordan. All these countries have suffered deadly suicide bomb attacks at checkpoints where this detector had been employed. The device is basically a piece of plastic with a metal aerial coming out of it. It's bomb detecting credentials are as laughable as watching Liverpool defend a corner. The head of the company who produced these "devices" and sold them for £45,000 a piece has been arrested. Is he going to be held accountable?

Now to the money question. "The War on Terror" (as FOX news so glamorously put it) and the enquiry as to who's fault it actually all was. Tony Blair is under question from the investigating committee as we speak. He ultimately made the decision on the British side. He acted on the evidence supplied to him. There are plenty of branches on the tree that should be accountable for all that has happened. Let's not pretend we can simply blame one person. 

Shakespeare's tragic Lady MacBeth could never wash her sins from her hands. I wonder if Mr Blair knows the way to the river of redemption or will the blood remain stained? He is not alone in the valley of mistake. The parents of the soldiers killed are not alone in the towns of grief. The innocent Iraqi's are not alone in the bombed out cities that are home to widows and bastards because of our mistakes.

Are we not all accountable for our countries actions? Maybe all we can do is try to find our own justice. That's what I'm accountable for. 

Shine like a Michelin Star

In the daytime (and evenings in fact), i moonlight as a bar/restaurant manager. Our place is great - fresh, local food in smart surroundings, open fires, friendly and attentive staff... i stop short of giving you our address. This means that, like a lot of us foodie people, i am a faux-snob when it comes to other eating and drinking establishments. My friends find it hilarious, "oh does this pub have enough character??" they jibe at me when arriving at a watering hole. In fact, it is all a facade! I love eating out. Always have done since i was a kid. I must have been about 8 years old when i went abroad with my parents for the first time to the Algarve. We stayed on the 13th and top floor of an apartment block called Janelas do Mar, a place in which my fear of lifts came sharply into focus (and may even have originated). That's another story. Being self-catered we would eat out every night. It was heaven. I could still do the same now although my excessive vino consumption would have to be curbed. 

Last Summer, my boss and her partner visited Nick Parkinson's (son of Michael, TV interviewer) pub/restaurant in Paley Street, Berkshire called The Royal Oak. They raved about it, "the best chips you'll ever taste". One of the best meals they'd ever had apparently and all they could talk about was the chips. Subsequently i am dispatched to stealthily investigate how they got them so good. I emailed The Royal Oak, ass-licked for a sentence or two and then asked the secret of "the best chips i've ever tasted." They emailed back the same evening... with the recipe. "Thanks for your comments Steve, you're not the only one! Here are the instructions."

In October last year, my boss took myself and our Head Chef over (i drove :( no wine for me). It just so happened that we dined next to Michael Parkinson himself who was having lunch with his son-come-manager. Service was a bit taut if you know what i mean. Not very relaxed. A bit stiff. Waiter didn't engage, waitress was on her second shift (so she told us) and was clearly nervous as hell to be serving the bosses next to us. At the time of eating, The Royal Oak held several titles including a Bib Gourmand. No wonder. The food was terrific. Lasagna of Wild Rabbit & Mushrooms was a stand out starter with dive caught Sole a real gem of a main. 

I have just read this morning that The Royal Oak has been awarded a Michelin star. That's the ultimate accolade really isn't it. I don't frequent restaurants and pubs in the stratosphere but i have dined in a couple. The Royal Oak deserves such an award for truly exceptional food. Each dish is a work of art. Each mouthful a moment to savour. 

The must-have side order of chips were sure as hell tasty. Several efforts on our behalf haven't quite managed to achieve Dominic Chapman's chip nirvana. We might as well give up trying and go back!

www.theroyaloakpaleystreet.com, Paley Street, Berkshire.

The Patience of the Father

Reading Jeremy Clarkson's Times Online blog reminded me of my not-so-close shave with the hyseria that Mamma Mia seemed to induce. It was one morning. I was sat in the office with my boss.

Imagine my concern when H (the chief) turns to me (i am a pub manager... she is the owner) and suggests that we run a Mamma Mia night. Ha! With the tactfulness of a confidante i smiled and laughed - hoping she was less than sober and that she wouldn't recall such a ridiculous comment in the morning. Oh no, i forgot, it was the morning. She was stone cold. The thought of a pub full (even an evening with my Mother and sister) singing along to the alternative anthology of Swedish Popular Song filled me with dread. There would be so much oestrogen in the room the ceilings would be pink. 

Suffice to say Mamma Mia ce soir hasn't occured yet. I can only admire JC's patience as a Father. I find that hard enough with just a girlfriend and a job and not even bringing kids into the equation. GOD! Please continue to think of me in your prayers. ;)