They're doing what to Enid Blyton now?

Love her or loathe her Enid Blyton can still stir up controversy more than 40 years after she died. Never content to let her, or her books alone, Hodder is "dragging her language out of the 1940s" and promising to remove such offensive phrases as "awful swotter", "dirty tinker", and even phrases that can not have been confusing or offensive to anyone "mother and father", "jolly lonely" and "it's all very peculiar". It's all very peculiar indeed.

Is it hystrionic to note that the language of Shakespeare, Dickens and Chaucer are all much more dated than poor Enid's and yet people still manage to read these books? Possibly. Yes, there have been toned down versions of these literary greats (and I'm by no means claiming Enid's oeuvre to be literary greats) to help children, and no doubt some adults, cope with the olde worlde language. But these versions can in no way compare to the experience that is reading the original, delving into the language of the time, and reading them as the author intended.

Modern children can definitely cope with this. They still love them. More than 2 million Famous Five books are sold around the world each year!I read the whole Famous Five series out loud to my then 7 year old son a few years ago. He absolutely loved them. Yes I had to explain some things- the pony trap that they used in the first book springs to mind, but there are things that need explaining in most books. I think reading the Famous Five books expanded his vocabulary no end. I've read many author interviews over the years where the author will credit Enid Blyton for nourishing their early love of books and reading, and many turn out a Blyton-esque attempt as their first written work. My son too, did exactly that. He wrote his first story at 7 in Year 2. Eight Go to Bells Mansion. It was wonderful. 15 typed pages of heavily Blyton-esque storyline, with robbers, and plucky children. He did veer somewhat away from Blyton with the giant spiders though.



Totally un-modern children can also cope. I read the Famous Five series to myself when I was about 9 -probably 20ish years ago ;-). I still have fond and very strong memories of Five Go Off in a Caravan. I was never allowed to go on a solo caravanning holiday with my cousins as a child. Indeed, I had never seen the wonderful painted wooden caravans that Enid described so vividly in 1946, they were completely outside my realm, but they set my imagination on fire. Such is the power of these books over children, and I am rather furious at Hodder for fiddling with them. I agree with bookshelves of doom that this seems to be more about dumbing down than creating modern translations to woo todays youngsters. The original versions will still be available, but that hardly seems the point.

Apparently she never actually used the term "lashings of ginger beer"! I was very relieved to see "All for one, and one for all" appear in The Three Musketeers last night. I was 150 pages in, and starting to worry that it might not actually be there.

I was surprised to see Enid Blyton come up in conversation between Jennifer Byrne and Ayaan Hirsi Ali on Jennifer Byrne presents this week. I expected a smorgasbord of much more erudite topics, still they did make old Enid sound Revolutionary and Challenging to Authority, and when you look at her from that perspective, you know what?, she is. (It's dealt with from 10 minutes in in the video)

Snow Monkeys

We've all seen those photos of the cute Japanese Snow Monkeys sitting in the hot spring surrounding by snow, looking like the rich and lazy skiers lounging about in hot tubs after a day on the slopes and too many beers at the bar.



I had presumed that this was an ancient behaviour of these monkeys who long ago learnt to keep warm this way during the long, harsh Japanese winter. Not so. Turns out nothing could be further from the truth. They learned it some 40-50 years ago by watching people sitting in the springs (these very same rich loafers I suppose)!

In 1963 Mukubili, a rather visionary troupe leader as it turns out, mimicked some human behaviour and changed the lot of her troupe to this very day. The rest of her troupe copied her behaviour, and the rest as they say is history. Her descendants still enjoy their hot spring hot tubs, and because of their fame humans bring them food every day. The individuals in this troupe are now twice the size of their near neighbours who still have to forage for their food rather than be fed by people who like to take photos of the hot tub loungers.

I stumbled on this rather interesting fact whilst watching the documentary Snow Monkeys: Who's Hot and Who's Not. It was actually shown on the ABC about six months ago and has been languishing about unwatched on our hard drive recorder, just waiting for a wintery Saturday evening, and a bored child with nothing else to do. Much like the young snow monkeys who have so much free time that they have learned to play with snowballs.

Making the Rounds with Oscar

I was always going to be the perfect reader/buyer for this book. I was already in Oscar's thrall, having read about him way back in 2007, and he was even the topic of my first ever blog post! Oscar of course is a very famous cat who lives on the third floor of a nursing home in Rhode Island. Oscar has a special calling- he will go and sit on the bed of patients during their final hours. He will often jump up on a bed, sniff the air and jump off, but when he settles himself in the staff quickly learnt that the patient wasn't long for this world. It's a remarkable skill really. Of course, many animals, usually dogs I suppose seem aware when their people are unwell and will sit by them. Is that more of a devotional motivation? Oscar doesn't seem to particularly bond with these patients, and indeed the patients who live on Oscar's floor all have severe dementia and they probably don't know that Oscar is there for a long part of their illness. Still, I think it's a really nice idea for a nursing home to have a cat. It helps accentuate the home and not just the nursing. Actually this place has two cats per floor, it's more than just a token gesture.

So, I was intrigued enough by Oscar's habits to buy this book when I first saw it. Yes I wanted it so much I was happy to pay full price, just in case I never saw it again. Unusual behaviour. More typically it sat unread for several months. Then, whilst looking for something gentle to read whilst trying to combat jet lag it seemed the perfect title. And in some ways it was. It was a rather gentle, and easy to read book. It wasn't the book I was expecting however. I was expecting little anecdotes about the cat I guess, padded out with filler. It was much more a book about dementia than about cats.

David Dosa is a physician, a geriatrician. Early on he describes how the "family business" is paediatrics. His mother, uncle and grandfather were all paediatricians. They weren't necessarily thrilled when he developed an interest in geriatrics. In my favourite non-feline sections he discusses the differences between paeds and geris (although perhaps these are somewhat obvious, I liked his turn of phrase).

I thought of going into paediatrics. I love children and babies, and have two little ones of my own. The difference for me has always been the stories. Children are a blank canvas, portraits waiting to be drawn. When we look at them their lives are just beginning, we feel a sense of renewal and an expanse of infinite possibility.

My older patients, on the other hand, are like rich paintings and boy, do they have stories to tell. On my best days I can look at them and see all the way back to their childhood. I think of their parents (long gone now), the places they've been, the things they've seen. To me, it's like looking through the other end of a telescope, back to the beginning.

David Dosa works both delivering palliative care to dementia patients in the nursing home, and also does on call at a hospital some times. I found his tone a bit disengenuous at times, can he really be that naive and ignorant? It is one of the senior nurses Mary who initially points out Oscar's gift to Dr Dosa. He isn't a cat person, and is disbelieving that a cat can have such a higher sense. He does of course come around to belief as Oscar sits with each person who dies. Indeed, Oscar will wait outside closed doors to get into the room of dying people, and even scratch and bang at doors and walls to get in if the door is shut for what he feels to be too long.


But the book is much more about dementia, and more particularly the final stages of their illness. And this is where I found David Dosa particularly disengenuous. He goes to talk to family members who had Oscar with their loved one in their final hours. He comes across as if he's never particularly thought how it must be for the families to watch their loved one wither away, both intellectually and physically. He needs to get a lot of help from the ever-present, ever-sensible Mary. And the families of course. Did he never really ponder this during his training? Or have a particularly poignant experience or discussion with a family before? Maybe he didn't. Perhaps my perceptions were coloured by reading this book basically in the wee small hours when I couldn't sleep. And it was a perfect jet-lag book. But I wanted more about the cat. Perhaps there isn't that much to say about the cat, I don't know. It is an endlessly fascinating feline behaviour though,isn't it? Comforting to know that Oscar is there bringing comfort to these people as they die.


Interesting to see how a relatively simple book about a cat can need multiple different covers for the different markets around the world. I think Portugal's cover is the best, as this is meant to be a book about a cat (although I don't think it quite achieves that aim). And France, I'm sorry I do love you, but you really have some of the worst book covers in the world. I suppose you save all that creative flair for making chocolates and maccarons and wine, and there is precious little left over for book covers. Browsing your bookshops is interesting, and somewhat difficult for a foreigner, all the books look the same, all the spines of the books seem to actually be the same. It's confusing for the non-French, almost as much as your disdain for the burqa and the humble boardie.

Why we travel

This is a topic that is quite interesting to me at the moment, given that I've recently returned from a 4+ week excursion out of Australia. It was with great excitement that I left the chill and comfort of home to journey to Singapore- a completely new and a completely foreign experience to me. I had to travel to Sydney on the bus/train, and then flew to Singapore the next morning. I had prepared bountiful reading material for my trip, figuring that with two days worth of travel I should finish at least one book. I also had a number of weekend supplements to bring with me- I never get to read these fully and one day soon I'm sure that I will turn into one of those old ladies buried alive under the towers of newspapers in her house.

The bus ride was rather tragic and disappointing for a couple of reasons. I had forgotten how loud and obnoxious the general public usually are when travelling on a bus, what with their roiling, productive coughs and "music" blaring out of the headphones making settling into the world of Fantastica difficult. To make it completely impossible the driver had sports talkback blaring through the radio. Fantastic. Not. Not Fantastica.

And then there is all the possible pathology on show on the bus-it's positively distracting, compelling even. Was the man in front of me actually clubbed? It was hard to tell and I don't know that my subversive photography throws any light on the question.




So I gave up on the book and settled in with my newspapers. Time to read all the articles I would normally think that I should read, that I'd be frightfully learned if I read them, but don't get to. And the Spectrum was chock a block full of articles relevant to my travels. Malcolm Brown writing about his love of Joyce. The book design awards. A review of Graham Robb's Parisians (I so want that). And a full page piece on Sylvia Beach and her Parisian institution of the early 20th century- Shakespeare and Company. Perfect.

I started out with Malcom Brown's article about his love of James Joyce. What timing! Here I am setting out on a journey to Dublin, that will see me arrive in Dublin the day before Bloomsday. I know a bit of, but not a lot about Ulysses. Just the concept of it scares me. Will I read it one day? Will I even get to trying? Time will tell. Perhaps I'll end up leaving it til I'm dead, just like Virginia Woolf. So I read the article to try and correct some of my ignorance and perhaps some misconceptions about Joyce's most famous work. It didn't really achieve these simple aims, Malcolm Brown was too busy talking of his experiences in Bourke in the early 70s and walking his dog to walk off his hypertension in Sydney in the 90s. He did however feel that reading Ulysses taught him to see the meaning in everything- bends in roads, paling fences, shopfronts and suburban wildlife. Right. So if I see meaning in some everyday things, then I won't need to even attempt to read Ulysses? Okely dokely.

You can only magine my little heart sinking as a mere 20 minutes into my epic journey I read "People travel to Europe at enormous expense but the real world is at their doorstep, costing nothing." It felt like he smacked me right between the eyes. So, I should just turn back around at Lithgow should I? This is all a waste of my time and money?

I could have stayed at home to have a better life?

Somehow I don't think so.

I still blame Hannah III- The Mona Vale Haul

It's only been a few short months since the lovely Hannah upset my tepid suburban world. It seems particulary unfair that one so young should have such a developed palate, and a wealth of experience. Trying to replicate it from the rural heartland of NSW is pretty tricky. Every trip to the supermarket is now a disappointment. But I've given it a crack. I'm sure Paris will change this. Till I get to Paris, I shall have to make do with Mona Vale and Canberra. Pretty exotic.

Travelling to Mona Vale on a day trip for work I of course, made use of the time and checked out the providores shop that I remembered at the top of the shopping centre. And it paid dividends. Variable dividends, but there was still the thrill of the chase. And I managed to bag three chocolates from three different countries- France, Belgium and the USA.

Firstly to France. And actually to the Perigord. We went there on our travels in 1998 and it was an amazing area. The home of truffles, foie gras and magnificent scenery. And also home to Bovetti. There were a few of the companies products to choose from (I can't remember what now, my blogging is so slow that this trip was actually a few months ago, and disappearing into the mists of time). I chose the Premium Milk Chocolate with Caramel and Fleur de Sel. I do love Caramel, and may well have picked this one without Hannah's undue, subversive influence. We had Salted butter caramels in France, and they live on in my memory as an extraordinary experience. But all that talk of salt and chocolate was too much to bear. It had to be done.



Sadly it didn't quite live up to my expectations.




It wasn't bad by any stretch- that is still to come, but the caramel flavour lingered longer than that of the chocolate and sadly the salt made a barely perceptible contribution. Perhaps that is the point and I just don't know enough to appreciate it. Perhaps my palate isn't educated enough to appreciate it. With correctly seasoned food you don't taste the salt, you just taste more of the food. Is this supposed to be the same? Hopefully France will hold all the answers next month.

The second bar I tried was a Ghirardelli 60% Intense Dark Evening Dream. A famous American chocolate company based in San Francisco I believe. At least I think I remember it from there, many many years ago.



And this was nice. It had a mild snap, and was too soft, but was glossy and smooth, with a hint of madagascan vanilla. The taste lingered reasonably well in the mouth. Mr Wicker and I both enjoyed this but thought that $8.95 was a bit much for what was an essentially nice, but not particularly memorable chocolate. Not worth the food miles on the whole.

Lastly, but by no means least was the experience of Dolfin. A Belgian Milk chocolate flavoured with Green Tea from Japan. I wondered about this pairing. Is it a mistake? Surely it must be really nice if they're going to put two rather obviously odd flavours together like this? I know Green Tea is Big Right Now, does that excuse everything? Is my non-tea-drinker status clouding my vision? Is it ridiculous to pay $4.50 for 30 grams of chocolate?



YES as it turns out. I Really Didn't Like this chocolate. Not quite as much as the 100% debacle from Canberra. I didn't have to spit it out. But awful nonetheless. It sits half eaten in our cupboard to this day. I find it rather ironic that a company that subtitles its product with The Art of Blending should have created this. There is no blending of the tea. I guess I was expecting that it would be green tea powder mixed in with the bar to create a smooth product. Instead this had grassy, dry bits of tea, indeed more reminiscent of chaff that brought memories of my teenage girl horsey stage flooding back. It makes a rather unpalatable mouth feel. The green tea was overpowering, not a subtle flavour note at all. Mr Wicker couldn't eat his piece. I soldiered on through my one piece in the name of scientific research and endeavour. The dogs liked it without reservation.



I am now uncertain as to how much green tea stuff I should try in France. I'd been presuming that I would try a green tea macaron. David Leibovitz somewhat sensibly advises to avoid the new and trendy flavours, he feels that they are hit and miss, and prefers to chose the classic flavours. It certainly is true that classics are often classics for a reason isn't it? We shall see.

Flaubert's Parrot

I came to this book at the perfect time. I had just recently read and enjoyed Madame Bovary. Emma Bovary gave me my first introduction to 19th century French literature, and wow, Flaubert certainly wasn't anything like Jane Austen or The Brontes! I am now rather intrigued by Flaubert, son of a doctor, who clearly learnt a lot of contemporary medicine growing up at the Hotel- Dieu.

In Madame Bovary there's an amazing chapter describing the tenotomy that Charles Bovary performs on Hippolyte, the village stable hand who has been getting around perfectly well with his club foot. Sadly, Charles isn't much of a surgeon and the operation does not go well. The account of his further surgery is harrowing. In that chapter Flaubert makes mention of Ambroise Pare and Guillaume Dupuytren.

Flaubert's fascinating tale of Madame Bovary combined with the tantalising glimpses into the history of medicine made it almost compulsory for me to fall into the thrall of Flaubert. I'd heard of Flaubert's Parrot but never been particularly interested because I've read one Julian Barnes book before, the incredibly awful England, England which was somehow shortlisted for the Booker in 1998. So it was with some considerable trepidation that I borrowed this book from the library. Only to learn that it was based around the parrot that featured in A Simple Heart (Un Coeur Simple). So, I read that too before embarking on Flaubert's Parrot. Turns out I didn't really need to. Barnes' gives a two paragraph summary early on to explain why Flaubert needed to borrow a parrot from the Museum of Rouen to help in his writing of Un Coeur Simple.

Flaubert's Parrot has perhaps the most bizzare structure that I've ever come across in a novel. Indeed, it makes one wonder if this really is a novel. Barnes himself said that he wanted to mix of fact and fiction, elastic and capacious, and expected a small audience.

A great article from the Guardian.

Flaubert's Parrot makes us ponder why we should chase the writer? Because it's so damn interesting is my basic response I suppose. And Flaubert is a perfect case in point. I so wish that our upcoming trip to France could include Rouen. I would take Flaubert's Parrot with me to reread, and to walk the locations of the book, to gaze at the Hotel Dieu, to find the pictures of Flaubert. Last months Good Reading had a great article on the Flaubert trail in Rouen.

Writers are interesting in a way that actors for example can never be, IMHO. I can't understand why week after week newspapers are filled with articles about actors. When almost any other profession is more interesting in and of itself. And most of the magazines that fill the supermarkets one week and then landfills the next are choc full of articles about actors.

I think it was in this book that Braithwaite said that he was going to "save Virginia Woolf til he was dead". Sage advice, think I'll take that on board too. I fact I already have. Perhaps it should be one of my daily affirmations just in case I feel my resolve slipping.

I Blame Hannah II- The Canberra Haul

The seeds planted by Hannah recently bore fruit. We did a recent short trip to Canberra to see the Masterpieces from Paris exhibition at the National Gallery of Australia. A seondary aim was to load up on heretofore unknown goodies. And so it was that we made a pilgrimage to As Nature Intended at Belconnen Markets as our first stop on the way into Canberra.

Compared to the amazing items that Hannah finds I was somewhat disappointed with the more humble treasures that I found. Still there was the Thrill of the Unknown. (I can't manage to upload a rotated image, grrrr) This is what I found at As Nature Intended.




I kept trawling through Canberra looking for rare gems, but they avoided my grasp on the whole. We also went to Urban Food but came away empty handed. The best haul of the trip was actually made in the most surprising location. Perhaps chocolate is somewhat like love- you find it when you're not looking for it. So imagine my surprise whilst browsing the gift shop at the National Museum of Australia to find a range of chocolates from The Curious Chocolatier, a local company in Canberra, that I now discover is run by an ex-nurse. Sensible move that. And what a glorious looking packaging she has made. Very distinctive and eye catching. Thankfully I was intrigued and bought a few bars.





But I didn't try these ones first. I decided to try the Belconnen haul first. First up, the Cocoa Camino White with Nibs (Blanc aux Eclats), a confusing chocolate which appears to be from a Canadian company and a Swiss manufacturer. I'd been reading Hannah's posts about nibs, and she's certainly a fan, and so of course I was intrigued. I'd never heard of nibs til recently so I jumped at the chance to buy some.



Sadly, it wasn't the revelation that I was hoping for. The white chocolate was a bit soft and soapy. I found the nibs to be a bit tasteless, though I freely admit that I don't know how nibs should taste, and I still think that that is true for me even after eating this bar. To me they contributed more texture than taste to the experience. I nibbled a solitary nib by itself and there was no real taste, and certainly not a chocolate taste, it could have been a piece of pine cone.

Onto the next experience, which was one that I wasn't really expecting. But one that I should have if only I had read the wrapper properly before I bought it, not after I took the first bite. Dagoba Organic Chocolate Prima Materia 100%. 100%! That's the bit I didn't notice in my buying frenzy in the shop. I usually don't like chocolate much more than 70%, and here I was unwittingly buying 100% (and the unsweetened bit was in even smaller print. Oh man).



I'm not quite sure who the target audience for this chocolate is, but it certainly isn't me. I was unable to even complete the first bite. I had to spit it out into the garbage! I still have a near full bar for anyone looking to replicate my experience and tell me how bad my palate actually is. Do it. Take on the challenge.....



I found a chocolate review site where some people with a clearly more educated palate than mine recorded vastly different experiences with this particular piece of "chocolate". "Mind blowing intensity", maybe that's what made my tongue shrivel and curl when the first microns landed on it? It does look glossy I will give them that.

Oh, but this bit, puts my urgh, spit slightly more eloquently:
Texture is likewise completely off the mark for a 100%: instead of the smooth and silken mouthfeel one expects there is instead a dry and gritty pastiness that further exacerbates already astringent qualities.

Sounds delicious doesn't it?? I guess one must suffer on the road to enlightenment, but I didn't think it would be this severe, and this soon into the journey.

The last of the Belconnen Trio was actually the last chocolate that I tried. I ate all the Curious Chocolatier one first because I was scared of opening this one. Scared. Rice milk. Just seems wrong. Mind you I guess if I was vegan I'd be happy with "chocolate" made with rice milk. But curiosity didn't kill the cat for nothing.



Still can't upload rotated photo from iphoto. Grrrr.

So Rice Milk Chocolate. It was actually better than I expected. It had a pleasing snap. And quite a snap. I'm sure the chocolate purists would Not Be Pleased. A pleasing snap is a reassuring sign that one has stumbled onto a superior chocolate, and here we have rice milk chocolate making a definite audible snap. So far so good, but how is it to eat? The taste was unusual, and there was something in the back palate or the texture that I really couldn't pin down. It was odd, and somewhat unsettling but not entirely unpleasant.

In the interests of me ever getting this post finished I'm going to upload it now. You will have to wait however long it takes me to get to reporting on my stash from The Curious Chocolatier.....(sadly though they are all gone, if you come round, you only get the 100%)