Thoughts in Progress

No sooner had the British Prime Minister, Theresa May, announced that there would be a general election on June 8^th than the political obituary of the Labour Party was quickly drafted up. Pallbearers were contacted (perhaps Blair and Campbell would do the honours?). Flower shops were e-mailed. What size should the wreath be? And just what song or anthem would be appropriate to play as the coffin was being lowered into the ground?

Here we go again

For the third year in a row the British electorate goes to the polls. Fourth, if you live north of the border. Remember the Scottish referendum in 2014? Bet you had already forgotten about that one. Well, Nicole Sturgeon, the Scottish National Party leader, she is calling for another one. If that sentence does not provoke mental – as well as physical, but mainly mental – fatigue in you, then, congratulations! You have finally succeeded in transitioning into a robot. Your future is secured. It is us, mere mortals, who have reason to worry.

And yet, and yet, and yet…

Although Labour lags well behind the Conservatives in the polls (remember those? They were supposed to be very accurate, until they got Brexit and Trump wrong), May and co. have not had an easy ride. Had you asked me back in July last year if Jeremy Corbyn had any chances of getting Labour’s fortunes back on track, I would had said no. Just like that, a rotund no. After Cameron’s cowardly exit (he and Osborne got us into this Brexit mess and rather than face the music, they both abandoned the ship while it was sinking), May was seen as a safe pair of hands. Even I cast my usual cynicism aside and read Labour’s last rites quietly as soon as Thatcher 2.0 moved into Downing Street. Despite the Brexit-related imbroglio in which Mrs May found herself, she began her premiership with a firm hand.

But the honeymoon is over and Theresa knows it. She is the prime minister under whose guard the Chancellor of the Exchequer broke a Tory election pledge on national insurance. She U-turned on that decision. She is the cheerleader for the return of grammar schools. Even her own MPs are against the idea. There has not been much talk of grammar schools recently. She is the leader who went to Washington to meet the new incumbent in the White House. To say that she did not make much of an impression on him or anyone else worldwide would be the understatement of the century. Here is someone who probably thought that by not giving away much about herself she would be able to breeze through the next four years until the general election of 2020. Yet, keeping one’s privacy (good) does not equate to being boring (bad). Theresa May is boring and she has been shown up by someone who has problems creating punchlines for his own jokes. Jeremy Corbyn looks and sounds like a member of the public watching a stand-up show who has suddenly been asked to come on the stage to finish the act of the top comedian on the bill because she or he has been taken ill. Standing in the spotlight and faced with a hundred expectant faces, Mr Corbyn tries out his best jokes, only to see them falling flat on their faces, stepped on and kicked away by a demanding audience.

And yet, only two weeks ago, before May made her unexpected announcement, the Labour party put out a set of policies that were electorate-friendly enough. Not too scary, not too loony-left-sounding, just sensible enough that people could see Jeremy Corbyn in a different light, with a new pair of glasses, if you like.

Mrs May has been dealt a terrible hand with Brexit. She is the Remain-voting politician who has to negotiate a hard Brexit with the EU. In addition to that, salaries have stagnated and job prospects look grim. From a safe pair of hands ten months ago, she has turned into the grim reaper. Burying recovery, real or potential.

Enough has happened in the last year to convince me that the political landscape has grown more unpredictable per day. This works in Corbyn’s favour. I would probably advise him to ditch the “socialist” tag and concentrate on a progressive agenda. It is also the turn for Corbyn’s merry band of followers to stand up and be counted. The Tories are not interested in anyone else but themselves. Their motivation is not just Brexit, but the total annihilation of the Labour party. Victory on 8^th June would also send a powerful message to those pesky Scots with their demand for a second referendum. Faced with these grim prospects, Labour supporters have nothing to lose. Go for broke, then. Canvass on every street, knock on every door. Remember, you have nothing to lose.

I doubt Jeremy Corbyn will be our next prime minister. That would be taking unpredictability to a whole different level. However, good results in the general election for Labour will make a dent on the Conservative armour. A coalition would be a realistic target and one that Jeremy should pursue. Whatever the outcome, I do not think that the pallbearers will be used just yet.

© 2017

Next Post: “Cubafonia”, to be published on Wednesday 26^th April at 6pm (GMT)

Food, Music, Food, Music, Food, Music... Ad Infinitum

Photograph: Jonathan Lovekin for the Observer

Autumn is here. And you all know what that means. As it is customary most posts until early December will be autumn-scented. This one tonight is autumn-cooked. And who else but Nigel Slater to open the autumn celebrations? As you all know, I am a big fan of Slater's recipes and I cannot wait to cook this one.

The recipe

Soak 125g of moong dal – skinned and split mung beans – for 30 minutes in warm water.

Peel and roughly chop 1 medium onion, then cook it in 30g of melted butter over a moderate heat until translucent. Add 1 tbsp of mustard seeds and cook until they start to pop, then stir in 1 crushed clove of garlic. Peel and grate a 50g lump of ginger, stir into the onions then add a finely chopped red chilli. Continue cooking for 5 minutes, stirring regularly.

Stir in the contents of a 400g can of chopped tomatoes and a can of water and bring to the boil. Season with salt and black pepper then stir in the soaked and drained mung beans and leave to cook at a calm simmer for 30 minutes. Check the liquid level regularly. Lastly, stir in 1 tbsp of garam masala.

Place 2 large, flat mushrooms in a foil-lined oven dish. Baste them all over with 50g of melted butter, the juice of 1 lemon and 5 tbsp of water. Season, then scrunch the edges of the foil together to loosely seal. Bake in a preheated oven at 200C/gas mark 6 for about 20-25 minutes, basting as necessary.

Check the dal for seasoning, then divide between 2 large bowls, place a baked mushroom on top and spoon over any baking juices. Enough for 2.

The trick

Soaking the moong dal reduces the cooking time considerably, but it is not entirely necessary. It is worth keeping an eye on the liquid levels while they are cooking should you choose not to pre-soak the beans, topping up with a little vegetable stock or water as necessary.

The twist

Use small brown lentils instead of mung beans. Instead of serving with baked mushrooms use the dal as a stuffing for baked aubergines, stirring the aubergine flesh into the dal as it cooks.

The music to go with this hearty recipe has to be equally warm. That is why I open with a favourite of mine. Never mind that he is eighty-something and getting on a bit. He has a new album out and to me Leonard Cohen is autumn. Especially when he is a "Marianne" mood.



It is a mystery to me as to why Cristina Branco is not better known as the outstanding fado singer she is. After all, she is just as good as Mariza, the "queen" of this popular Portuguese musical genre. Well, you can see for yourselves now.



A decade-old tango re-worked as a flamenco melody. What is not to like about it? Especially when performed by none other than Estrella Morente. Listening to this song reminds me of the sound of dry leaves as you step on them in autumn. What a gem.



I know what you're thinking. I do not play a lot of what could be considered "mainstream" music on my blog, but occasionally I make exceptions. I have never owned a The Corrs record but I certainly like a few of their songs, especially the singles. This one is one of them. Love the autumnal feeling it leaves me with.



Next Post: "Thoughts in Progress", to be published on Saturday 29th October at 6pm (GMT)

Song for a Spring Sunday Morning (Leonard Cohen - Dance Me to the End of Love)

Edited extract from Juan Antonio Pesetas' diary written during his recent trip to Havana, Cuba. Please, be aware that this post contains adult material.

Sunday 22nd February, 8.04am. The thermometre inside the car tells me it's 21 degrees Celsius outside. It still feels a bit nippy, though. In spite of the morning chill, I roll down the windows after I start the car's engine. I stare out into the distance through the windshield. The city still sleeps. As the sun rubs its eyes and lazily puts its sheets away, thus, making space for the moon to have a lie-down now, the first line of my chosen musical companion on this journey stumbles out of the car speakers: 'Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin'. The verses roll out inebriatedly, tasting of last night's excess; the voice is husky and breathy. One by one each line sheds its clothes unashamedly revealing their bare harmonic bodies, relishing their shameless, narcissistic pleasure.

Some songs are inconsolable pieces of music. Think Radiohead's 'Creep'. Some other tunes are an exercise in introspection. Think Tori Amos' 'Cornflake Girl'. And then, we have the songs that seduce us. The tracks that turn us all into versions of Michelle Pfeiffer's Madame Marie de Tourvel, the famous character from 'Dangerous Liaisons'. We become those flustered and willing beings, prudish on the outside whilst slowly burning with desire inside. Leonard Cohen's 'Dance Me To The End Of Love' is one of those songs. The next two lines are the sweet, ripe plum in whose flesh we sink our teeth slowly, scooping the meaty bit with our tongues, darting it playfully side to side, moving it around, sometimes vertically, sometimes horizontally: 'Dance me through the panic 'til I'm gathered safely in/Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove '. Mr Cohen is a shameless man and I for one don't care one bit. And I bet you don't, either.

Calmly the car dances down Malecon Avenue whilst Cohen's voice dances in my ears. My pulse quickens, the car speed fluctuates between 40 and 50. On my left there's the sea, the bluegreen sea, the feminine sea. Is it any wonder that female orgasm has often been compared to the crashing of waves against the shore? The undertow as powerful a ripple as the initial impact? And just as my X-rated thoughts are about to give my brain a coup d'état Leonard sings: 'Oh let me see your beauty when the witnesses are gone/Let me feel you moving like they do in Babylon/Show me slowly what I only know the limits of ' And I hold on to the steering wheel as hard as I can whilst an image flashes up in front of my eyes: the contours of my wife's naked body being caressed by the ruffled sheets of the bed in our hotel room. Ah, Mr Cohen, you give marital debauchery a perfect excuse! And you have given me more than enough reasons to post a song for every spring sunday morning from now until June. I tip my hat to you, sir and I am sure that my readers and fellow bloggers will appreciate your talent and that of the artists to come. In the meantime I make a U-turn at the roundabout of G Street and Malecon Avenue. My consort awaits.

Copyright 2009

Road Songs (Largo)

Speed. It kills, doesn't it? That's pretty clear to me. So, why is it that when you are driving your car you can accelerate up to 100 - 120 miles per hour, if you so wish, even if the speed limit is 70mph on a motorway? That question has always baffled me, so if any of you has the answer, please, send it to me in a nice envelope with the Royal seal on it.

I sometimes go over the speed limit, but overall tend to drive slowly and defensively. The fact is that I love driving, I love going round bends as slowly as I can and soak up the perfection of a smooth turning.

Same with music. In my teens when I started to listen to rock'n'roll I realised little by little that as the 60s became the 70s and the 70s mutated into the 80s the music had at the same time turned faster. I stopped at Metallica. Slayer and the others who followed were too fast for me and my ears.

There is nothing more enjoyable than a song where the bass guitar kicks in nicely and rhythmically setting the mood for the entire piece, or where the lead singer will ease the whole band into a groove with a wave of his or her hand, in the same way a conductor does it with an orchestra. Music and driving are two pleasures that should be enjoyed without rushing the outcome. Could you imagine someone in a theatre belting out bang in the middle of a stage version of Hamlet: 'C'mon, mate, hurry up, when are you going to say the 'to be or not to be' soliloquy'? Me neither.

The songs that follow are unique in the sense that I am able to appreciate their full richness and beauty by means of the patience and focus shown by their performers. None of which is achieved by running around like a headless chicken.

Copyright 2008