Country Boy – Richard Hillyer

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Goodness, it feels an age since I wrote a proper honest-to-goodness book review.  Let’s see if I can still remember how to do it.  Well, what better way back into the hurly-burly of reviewing than with one of Slightly Foxed’s latest Editions?  The review practically writes itself, because it seems impossible that SF will ever put a foot wrong with their endlessly delightful memoir series.  Country Boy (1966) by Richard Hillyer [real name Charles Stanks. You can see why he changed it] is no different.  Review in short: it’s wonderful, and you’ll love it.

photo source

I made the deliberate decision not to look up Hillyer’s post-memoir career, because I thought it would be more interesting to see what I thought about his recollections of childhood and teenagehood without any sense of where his path might go – and I never read introductions until the end, of course.  So I shan’t spoil it for you either, except to say that Hillyer doesn’t get as far as discussing his career, or even his adulthood – instead, the memoir ends as he moves into a different section of his life.  And for some reason I don’t want to spoil that shift either.  At times, the memoir is as tense and exciting as the plottiest novel, and it pays not to know much in advance.

Hillyer was born into a poor farm labouring family in a small village in Buckinghamshire in the first years of the 20th century – in a village Hillyer calls Byfield.  As the grandson of a farm labourer myself, I found it especially interesting to read how my life might have been had I been born a few generations earlier – and the oppressive sense Hillyer reiterates throughout that, though he loves his family and has some friends, ultimately there has never been an escape from Byfield for its non-wealthy inhabitants, and only a windfall or very good luck will enable him to attend grammar school, let alone find a world outside that determined for him by his circumstances.  As a second-generation university attendee, it was more or less assumed from the outset that I would at least have the chance of going to university, but for first-generation university students, I imagine it all felt a bit different (perhaps Our Vicar will comment on this…)  (Of course, with the huge increase in fees in recent years, and thus the clear indication that our government doesn’t value higher education in the same way that it values schools, things have swung back the other way.  But that’s as political as I’m going to get on Stuck-in-a-Book!)

Hillyer writes simply and touchingly about his family, and seems to have had an observant eye for his parents from an early age – as all children do, I suppose, which must be quite disconcerting for the parents at times.

I have no kind of fear or constraint with my father.  Mother is different, you never quite know.  Things went on in Mother’s head that were difficult to guess at.  Father is always easy to understand.  For him life was simple and had no worries.  If he worked, and earned what money he could, Mother would see to the rest.  In a dumb, speechless sort of way he loved and admired her beyond all things, and believed her capable of dealing with any crisis which might arise for any of us.  Beyond that his thoughts did not go.
In any marriage where one partner is idolised and bowed down to by the other, there is the opportunity for the powerful partner to abuse this obeisance, knowingly or unknowingly.  In the case of the Hillyer family, his mother (thankfully) doesn’t.  There is no tyrant – rather each family member plays a role in a fully-functioning machine.  It’s terribly tempting to (mis)quote “poor, but ever so ‘umble” – yet that is precisely what they are.  The stringent hierarchy of class in the village is nothing to celebrate, but the way people behave within it is often moving in their determination just to get on with life, and value the importance of family and friends rather than pipe dreams.

After quite a bit about his parents, I was surprised about how quiet Hillyer was being about his brother John, and thought perhaps they didn’t get on very well.  They were, after all, very different.  But towards the beginning of chapter 10, this beautiful passage appears:

We were brothers, but there was more than brotherhood between us, a special relationship, that was entirely satisfactory to us both.  We were two people, as different as could be in our ways and thoughts, and yet each perfectly accepting the other.  He would listen to my confidences without understanding them or trying to; just taking them as coming from me, and no doubt making sense so far as I was concerned, but outside his sphere.  Not treating them as trivial, because they were not his own; listening to them patiently but making little comment, and taking them just as a part of me.  He was the outlet for all the odd notions that milled about inside me, and all the better outlet because he made no effort at all to influence me.
What nicer testimony to a brother – or, indeed, to a friend – could there be?  Hillyer has such a touching way with words which, even amidst descriptions of the mindlessness of his menial apprentice farm work, or the visit of the lord of the manor, can bring out the most moving and acute sentence.

One of the main differences which set Hillyer apart not only from John but from everyone else in the village was his intellect.  In a section which all of us bibliophiles will love, he describes stumbling across a furniture store which also, somewhat indifferently, sold bundles of books.  The idea of owning a book was new and wonderful to Hillyer – and his earnings were soon redirected to this source of joy and the wider world.

Life at home was drab and colourless, with nothing to light up the dull monotony of the unchanging days.  Here in books was a limitless world that I could have for my own.  It was like coming up from the bottom of the ocean and seeing the universe for the first time.
Anybody interested in rural life in the early 20th century will relish this book, of course, but its appeal goes further than that.  Anybody who believes that a love of literature can be an act of escape will love this book.  Anybody who values the bonds of family, ditto.  And anybody who appreciates simple, evocative, kind writing will want a copy of this memoir too.  Slightly Foxed – you’ve only gone and done it again.

Great British Bake Off: Series Four Final!

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Well, where were we?  You turn you back for one moment month, and almost all the bakers have exited the tent.  It’s the final – or the finale, if you will.  My favourites – Howard and Beca – have got the chop, and it’s an all-female final three: Kimberley, Frances, and Ruby.  In case you’ve not seen the episode yet, I shan’t reveal the winner until the end of the post.

First, some Bake Off news.  Guess who was reading my recaps?  Only blinkin’ Howard!  He references them in this tweet to me, which was exciting if a little unnerving.  And if you want to read about the language of some of the things they’ve been baking, I wrote a piece for OxfordWords.  Ok?  Ok.  Let’s set this ball rolling, and get our Bake Off on.

Mel and Sue are looking, as ever, gloriously like the Mums contribution to a half-hearted, no-budget school sketch show, and maintain a love for blazers which nowhere states, but everywhere implies, a covert sponsorship deal with Boden. Of all the wonderful things that make GBBO great, they might be the best.  Even above Mary Berry, in terms of if-they-went-the-show-would-be-ruined.  Indeed, this is exemplified by how awful that children’s series was, without them.  I’ll even forgive them the unnecessary flatulence joke.

The preview seems to suggest that Kimberley will be cross, Frances will crack and start naming objects around her (“spoon! spoon! spoon!”), Ruby will keep her rageful-neutral face, and the whole thing will be decided by a variant of the egg and spoon race.

This year’s final is mercifully short of finalists confiding in us that it’s the final, saying how much it means to them to be in the final etc. etc., so it gives me an opportunity to do a bit of it for them.  Or, rather, tell you how I feel about the contestants after a break of a few weeks.  (Incidentally, I’m not screencapping the bakers walking towards the tent, because they have thoughtlessly circumnavigated the bridge this week.  Give us a chance to say goodbye to the bridge, BBC2!  Rude.)

There’s been a lot of talk in social media about Ruby flirting with Paul, etc., and while I don’t think there is any justification in that allegation, she certainly seems to have been given rather an easier ride by both Paul and Mary than someone like poor Frances.  I think Mary might be under the impression that Ruby is her granddaughter.  Obviously I’ve not tasted Ruby’s food, and perhaps the flavours are as great as the judges say, but her presentation and consistency certainly haven’t seemed good enough to get to this stage.  “I just have to avoid having an episode,” Ruby alerts the viewer.  What sort of episode?!  Does she have anger management issues?  Is she a werewolf?  So many questions, so few answers.

My thoughts about Kimberley haven’t really changed over the series.  She still seems to be an exceptionally good baker, but just too cool and together for me to empathise with her.  If she’d ‘accidentally’ flung a plate of scones on the floor, she might be my favourite.  But that accolade is now reserved for…

Jury (of one person; me) was out on Frances in the first week or two, but I swiftly grew very fond of her boundless creativity and endearing gawkiness.  I can imagine her knitting a beret for a beagle, and that is a compliment.  She was self-aware enough not to be annoying, and presentation-wise she produced wonder after wonder – yet Paul, and even Mary, started getting really mean with her, repeating that mantra ‘style over substance’ every time they spotted her across the baking tent.  Poor Frances seemed quite crushed, and at one point Sue (bless her) even jumped to her defence.  “I need to bake my flipping socks off,” she says – and thus her transformation into an Enid Blyton character is complete.

The signature challenge!  A savoury picnic pie, whatever that means.  Almost everyone pays rapt attention to Mel’s explanation that it must be served out of the tin.

Or is she carrying an invisible tightrope pole?

Ok, reader, here’s my problem with this challenge.  Mary stipulates that the layers inside the pie must be, well, in layers – defined and separate.  As, apparently, indicated by this gesture (which could equally well be the cover of Mary’s inaugural hip-hop album):

But who wants to eat a pie like that?  Surely if the flavours all go well together, then you actually want them to be altogether?

Frances gives us a little primary school lesson on how rainbows appear, with nary a mention of Noah, which acts as a segue into her seven layered pie.  The BBC’s magical colouring book is, as always, in play.  I particularly appreciate how, for a pie which depends upon its layered interior, they’ve decided to make it as difficult as possible to see the inside.  Maybe they didn’t have all the right colouring pencils?

But they consistently get their apostrophes right.  Well done, BBC.

Mary gives a little shudder or two of joy at the description of the pie, which would have been in contention for OFFICIAL ANDREX PUPPY MOST ADORABLE MARY BERRY MOMENT if it weren’t for something rather special that comes up later…

We haven’t headed back to the bakers’ homes for momentary glimpses into their lives for a while, have we?  Well, with only three bakers left the glimpses are rather longer and more purposeful – and include adorable childhood photographs, like this one of Frances:

I assume Frances doesn’t still live with her parents, but nonetheless it is to Momma and Poppa Frances’ house that we’ve gone, and I’m getting definite kitchen envy.  While in this kitchen, Frances’ Mum asserts that she can’t smell because she was kicked in the nose when she was fifteen – a story told sotto voce while Frances talks about something else, so that I didn’t even notice it the first time.  I feel like it deserves a sombre silhouette-talking-in-darkened-room segment at the very least (perhaps an episode of Panorama? Does that still exist?) but instead Frances makes a delightfully catty comment about her lack of substance.

SUCH a nice shade of green. And that cute window!
One day I will live in a house which is nothing but kitchens.
And bookshelves.

And she talks about having won the hurdles in her youth (trivia #254: my brother has a fear of hurdles, having broken his arm while hurdling once) and, cottoning on to the show’s love of punnery, says “I’ve certainly hit some hurdles throughout this whole process.”  I choose to believe it is simply unfortunate editing that makes this the next shot:

Ruby is having troubles of her own.  Her vegetarian pie (which sounds amazing – halloumi, couscous, sundried tomatoes, mozzarella – sorry, my computer is malfunctioning from my mouth watering) is covered in lattice-pastry, and Design Queen Frances is doing the same.  “It’s a bit like appearing at a do wearing the same dress as someone else,” Ruth says (in my paraphrasing), “but the other person wearing the dress is a 6’3” Brazilian supermodel.”  Which I think is hilarious.  Well done, Ruby.

Were you aware that Ruby was a student?  I think it might have mentioned once or twice during the series.  Every time she is on the screen.  Well, they’re hammering the point home, and Ruby claims that she’s been doing all her baking in her bedroom.  Somebody flick through the tenancy agreement, stat.  Her Mum seems fun, and they obviously enjoy hanging out in the kitchen together – although it couldn’t be clearer that the cameraman has told Ruby’s Mum to stand and watch, and she looms awkwardly in the corner while Ruby slowly chops an aubergine.

Ruby, as always, is self-doubting in the corner – while Sue takes on Mel’s usual role of issuing dire warnings in the voiceover about how horrendously wrong pastry can go.  I am notoriously bad at rolling pastry and, while I’ve found a recipe for sweet pastry which rolls like a dream, I haven’t got one yet for savoury pastry.  Hence this, when my friend and I tried to make a quiche…

Nailed it.

“Kimberley has already made her pastry,” says Sue in a voice that is smug, if it is possible to be smug vicariously.  Not only that, but she’s made pastry in three colours – green, pink, and (er) pastry-coloured.  The pink pastry (coloured thus by beetroot powder) is shaped into little pigs to go on the side.  Because the pie has pork in it.  Is is just me, as a vegetarian, who finds that a little macabre?  Or adding insult to injury?  Cute, though.

And for her home-life VT she is strolling along the Thames (was it the Thames? I think so) with her boyfriend Giuseppe.  Can we talk for a moment about how ridiculously attractive this couple are?

Sickening.  I feel that, being handsome, clever, and rich (maybe), and having lived twenty-something years in the world with very little to vex or distress her, Kimberley doesn’t need to win this.  She’s already basically a Disney princess, but one with a brain.  AND she never dropped scones on the floor.

Because it’s pastry week, there’s plenty of talk of soggy bottoms, but it all feels a bit perfunctory at this stage.  I’m more interested in how delicious Ruby’s halloumi is looking.  I can’t tell you how much I love halloumi.

I want to make a ‘hallo, me’ / ‘halloumi’ joke. Bear with me. HALLO, ME HALLOUMI.
Nailed it.

And now – because I know you’ve been waiting for it – is the OFFICIAL ANDREX PUPPY MOST ADORABLE MARY BERRY MOMENT.  When Frances’ back is turned, Mary, Mel, and Sue launch at her leftover asparagus and wolf it down.  And, yes, Mary was pirate-eating.

The pies are all ready to come out of the oven, and Ruby’s efforts to get hers out of the tin resemble the finesse and coordination that I usually show at such times.

But, oh my goodness, it looks wonderful when it’s out.  Whereas Kimberley, who would never make such a teatowelly mess of extracting her pie, has got something rather soggy and unappealing.  Revenge of the pigs?  Who’s to say. (YES.)

Judgement time…. DUH DUH DUUUUH.  For a show which makes so much of people opening oven doors or the length of time to bake a bread roll, there has been surprisingly little of the DUH DUH DUUUH variety when it comes to judging.  Instead, Frances gets the usual ‘good bake’ from Mary and Paul, and adorable gasps of wonderful from everyone’s surrogate mothers, Mel and Sue.  (They also remind me of those affectionate people at sports days who fawn over the children whose parents couldn’t make it.)

To hammer home the rainbow theme, Frances has also baked in
an entire dove and olive branch.

Kimberley’s pie has fallen apart altogether, and gets “almost like a glue” from Paul.  Mary leaps in with the old faithful “seasoned very well” (a euphemism for ‘an aesthetic disaster’).  Whereas Ruby’s looks perfect:

As Paul says, “You’ve finally come up with something that looks like Frances made it.”

When Paul asks Ruby what they should be expecting to see inside, she replies “Hopefully some layers” in the most despondent, wry voice ever – for which I love her a little more.  I’m a big British cynic at heart, me.  I’d love to see her on America’s Next Top Model, where all the girls squeal in frenzied glee at meeting the CEO of a plastics recycling company or the assistant paint-mixer for the country’s third biggest supplier of emulsions.  She’d stand at the back, arms folded, inadvertently death-staring everyone.  It would be amazing.

Also amazing is her pie.  I want it right now.  As Mary says, “I think this is an excellent example of a vegetarian pie – what a difficult thing to get right.”  If only more places would realise that vegetarians don’t only want ‘cheese and onion’ in their pies.  (Revenge of the pigs is complete!)  (I realise that in this scenario I have somehow become the pig, but… er, it’s a metaphor.)  (Oh, I don’t know, leave me alone.)

Paul and Mary are sent to ‘frolic in the buttercups’ (the very thought… eugh) and the bakers are given the technical challenge of making sweet and savoury pretzels.  I didn’t even know you could get sweet pretzels, and I can’t really imagine they’d be especially nice.

“Who makes a pretzel?” says Ruby wonderfully, and perhaps it’s not too late for me to love her – and the editor, who segues immediately into Kimberley saying “I’ve made bread like a pretzel.”  What, pray (as my friend pointed out) is like a pretzel?

Tell me… what is baking?

Paul explains how to make a pretzel to Mary, who must know already, and wanders madly through the first, second, and third person so that his explanation sounds oddly like a recipe translated into and back out of Russian.

Frances explains that she’s good at kneading dough because she often gives her friends massages – as she says this she is flinging her dough violently onto the table, and it conjures up lines of Frances’ friends with broken and disfigured necks, wincing when they see her enter a room.

Everything is going well with making the dough, but nobody seems able to make the pretzel shape. Paul’s instructions have had the old Russian treatment again, and sound (as Sue observes) like the rudiments of a gymnastics routine.

But it doesn’t much matter what shapes they’ve concocted, as the next step is dropping them in boiling water and bicarbonate of soda – and that’s where things go awry.  Sue warns, over the voiceover, that the pretzel dough ‘only needs to be in for seconds’ (which could thus be anything up to and including eternity) and we pan to Ruby leaving hers for a nice long soak.  Sue wanders over and comments cheerily “They’ve been in a while” in a manner which is neither subtle nor, at this point, particularly helpful – but bless her for trying.

Paul and Mary re-enter the tent to judge the baskets of pretzels, and they all look pretty impressive to my undiscerning eye.  “There’s a sort of pretzel-look about that one” seems pretty damning with faint praise, but Mary’s “That’s a lovely orange flavour” is similarly damning.  I could make something a lovely orange flavour.  Just add orange zest.  But we all know Mary’s love of strong fruit flavouring.

Kimberley’s are leagues ahead of the other two, and although Ruby comes second and Frances comes third, it’s much of a muchness down the bottom end of the table.  Even Kimberley gets the comment from Paul “It’s the closest thing to a pretzel, but don’t clap.”  Ouch.

I included this picture just because I think Mary looks adorbs, but I hadn’t spotted before those framed pictures of pies and cakes in the background.  They seem to be by the same ‘artiste’ who is forever launched on the magical colouring books.  Also: how many series in do you think we’ll get before (a) Paul learns how to be natural with his arms, and (b) starts wearing blazers?  Do Boden have a men’s range?  Get on it, Bake Off stylists.

It’s time for the very last challenge of series four – and, hurray!, the bridge!

Bye, bridge. Take care.

Thankfully there was no Welcome To Cake History section this week (although some have been unusually interesting of late) so instead Paul and Mary recap the entire first half of the show, for anybody who’s flicked channels after Holby City, or whatever else was on.

And the showstopper challenge is… three-tier wedding cake!  In earlier series they’ve made entire tea parties in the final challenge, so this one doesn’t sound all that tricky to me.  Essentially they’re making lots and lots of sponge cake.  To divert attention from this, Paul follows Mary’s lead and attempts to flog his hip-hop album.

Frances is making a ‘Midsummer Night’s Dream’ wedding cake – although what it has to do with the play I can’t think, unless a donkey is shoved in the middle of it – and decorating it with dried beetroot, sweet potato, pineapple, and mango.  That sounds horrifying to me.  Dried fruit I can understand – but in what world is sweet potato a fruit?

We haven’t had a Mary Berry Reaction Face for a while, so perhaps it’s time to see what she thinks of dried sweet potato?

sweet mother of what now?

Kimberley is making a wedding cake covered in the word ‘love’ in many languages, and Mel pruriently asks whether she has anybody in mind.  Kimberley coyly confesses that the bottom layer of the cake is her boyfriend’s favourite flavour – which leads to an altogether more adorable Mary Berry Reaction Face:

Cleverly, Kimberley has made ‘cake pops’ and pours her chocolate fudge cake mixture over it.  She’s also making poppy seed butter cream, which sounds absolutely heavenly, and something I’ll be trying soon – but I’ve noticed that they tend to make butter cream which is much gloopier than the variety I make and, dear reader, it troubles me.

Ruby is making a cake which sounds equally delish, particularly the passionfruit/raspberry section.  And it strikes me for the first time that these Magical Colouring Book pictures are made after the fact, hence why this one so accurately resembles the end result.

But Ruby is no fan of weddings.  She considers them an ‘exercise in narcissism’.  Lovely – there goes her chances of snaring a baking column in Your Wedding.  Kimberley, meanwhile, is doing clever things with circles.

I wonder what it would be like if I tried to make it… A quick reminder, everyone:

Excuse me, I’m writing my acceptance speech for Baker of the Year.

And look who’s back!

Well, and several other GBBO bakers too, but it’s Howard we’re all here to see.  He’s cheering on Frances, Beca is championing Kimberley, and interestingly Glenn just says ‘I think Ruby will win’.  Not especially effusive, but then there are incidental shots of trombones and small girls in polka dot dresses to montage.

Back in the tent, Mary Berry is reiterating that Ruby is 21 – “very young!” – adding that she has “always winged it a bit”.  I’m pretty certain Mezza Bezza has never used that expression before or since.  We’ve whipped through the baking process pretty quickly, and somehow everybody iced their cakes without me noticing.  Indeed, we’ve come down to the final bits of decoration, and Frances has somehow sourced a great big tree trunk.  Ruby is struggling, and her decoration does look a bit ham-fisted… (revenge of the pigs!  No, wait, wrong baker.)

Aaand…. they’re done!  Cue rather sweet group hug.

The joke with caramelised sugar went too far
when they all had to be taken to A&E.

Judging time!  But not before we’ve had three rather curious shots of the bakers staring poignantly at their creations.

I’ve got to say, for the showstopper challenge in the final of the fourth series, I’m not particularly impressed by the way any of them look.  Ruby’s is especially amateur, without the icing even being even, while Frances’ is fine but rather unambitious.  Perhaps she was terrified of providing style over substance?  Kimberley’s is my favourite – I love the quilting detail – but even her cake isn’t anything to write home about.  Which I have been doing on occasion, actually, but generally by email.  Hi Mum!

Ruby’s critique doesn’t go very well, and she does have a bit of a cry, the poor thing.  Paul has to lug Frances’ cake (and tree trunk) across the room, and – perhaps dizzied by this display of masculinity – the judges are very complimentary.  “I think the bride would be surprised” is one of the odder things Mary says.  It’s apparently a compliment, but since every bride who doesn’t appear on Don’t Tell The Bride would choose the flavours herself, then surprise can only be a terrible thing, leading to a ruined honeymoon and a protracted journey through the courts to get a full refund.

Of course, most cakes look like this after an ant infestation.

“If you know what you want and you set out to get it, there’s always a good chance you can achieve that – otherwise, what’s the point?” Kimberley, just before her judging, sweeps away decades of children’s television telling us it’s the taking part that counts, and it’s not her finest hour.  Mary isn’t impressed by her finish, which I thought was nice, but they love the poppyseed filling (drool) and give the flavours a general thumbs up – but find the chocolate cake dry.

And now it’s time for that egg and spoon race.

Yes, I’m reusing screencaps. What of it?

Paul and Mary repeat everything they’ve already said.  “We’ll always remember Ruby’s picnic pie,” says Mary – which, since it was a matter of hours ago, is no great testimony to her baking legacy.  They’re proud of Frances for learning, and – yes – say everything about Kimberley that they said earlier in the episode.  And honourable mention for OFFICIAL ANDREX PUPPY MOST ADORABLE MARY BERRY MOMENT comes when she suggests that Mel, rather than Sue, might win the trophy.  And by trophy I, of course, mean cake stand.

And the winner is…
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.

FRANCES!

I’m not ashamed to say that I clapped my hands with glee and shouted “yes!” – I was so certain that it would be Ruby or Kimberley that it came as a wonderful surprise.  She was definitely my favourite of the final three, totally deserved it, and was touchingly shocked at her win.

And the final moment of my recap must go to old Howard, who takes the opportunity to have a sly dig at Deborah and, in his accompanying clip, reminds me why I love him so.  I like to think that he, Mel, and Sue will all go on activities holidays together.

Thanks all for your kind words and enthusiasm this series!  I know I only recapped five episodes, but it somehow felt like I’d done the whole series – I definitely wouldn’t have put in the hours if it weren’t for your encouragement and good humour.

And thank you, GBBO, for being such a delight!  The final episode got the most views of any programme on BBC2 since records began, and they’ll all be back next year… hopefully, so will I.

My Thesis….

StuckinaBook All 36 Comments

Turns out, like a fool, that I’m going out tonight – so I’ll be late watching the Great British Bake Off final.  I will, however, be recapping it!  But maybe not very promptly.

One of the other things I’ve promised you is a bit more insight into my DPhil, now that it’s over.  I started it in the autumn of 2009, a couple of years into Stuck-in-a-Book, so since then it has been a constant companion to my blogging, and many of the books I’ve read for my DPhil have appeared here.  You might be surprised at how many haven’t been related; when I decided to go back and do some graduate study, one of my main self-stipulations was that I’d still have time for recreational reading.  Books and reading mean too much to me to have them exist only as part of an academic apparatus.  Perhaps that’s one of the reasons it took four years rather than three, but better four contented years of enjoying reading than three miserable years of hating it, I think you’ll agree!

It felt astonishingly good to finish.  I enjoyed most of my time doing my DPhil, and I’m definitely glad I did it, but I was also very much ready to finish.  It’s mentally exhausting, and quite isolating, and I’m looking forward to having colleagues and shorter deadlines!

It’s difficult to know where to start in explaining the 92,957 words I handed in (and the 70,000 or so words which got cut along the way), so I’ve decided the easiest way is to give you a one-sentence summary and the contents page, so do ask about any bit which interests you!

In one sentence… my thesis was about middlebrow novels between the world wars which used the fantastic (i.e. set in the real world, but something supernatural happens) and sought to explore connections between manifestations of the fantastic and social anxieties affecting the middlebrow reader.

And now the contents page (I’ve cut out page numbers).  If you see typos, don’t tell me!

Introduction: ‘There
may be not one marvel to speak of in a century, and then […] comes a plentiful
crop of them’
Chapter One: Placing
the Middlebrow and the Middlebrow Place
–‘The British, with their tidy minds / Divide themselves up
into kinds’: between the brows
–“I am not an Intellectual and don’t wish to be thought
one”
–‘This literary allusion not a success’: playing with the classics
–The places and communities of middlebrow reading
–‘Good service for the ordinary intelligent reader’: the
role of the Book Society
–The fantasy of the ideal home
–The home in flux
–Servants and the geography of the home
Chapter Two:
‘Adventures of the everyday are much the most interesting’: Finding Room for
the Domestic Fantastic
–Minding Ps & Qs: commonsense, etiquette, and
inheriting the Gothic
–‘The duration of this uncertainty’: questioning the
fantastic 
–‘Slipping from waking into sleep’: turning points
–The complicit reader and the style(s) of the fantastic
–‘The Oedipus complex was a household word, the incest
motive a commonplace of tea-time chat’: the middlebrow Freud and the fantastic
language of psychoanalysis
Chapter Three: ‘My
Vixen’: Marriage and Metamorphosis
–‘Hold her husband and share his ecstasy’: marriage and
sexual knowledge
–Woman-as-animal
–Woman-as-plant
–Non-fantastic versions of metamorphosis
–Observer and observed
–Metamorphosis of the domestic
Chapter Four:
“Creative Thought Creates”: Childlessness and Creation Narratives
—Frankenstein: the modern creation novel
–‘A rather muddled magic’: (lack of) method in the domestic
fantastic
–Blurring the line between creator and created
–The creative power of desire and the difficulty of
identity
–Adoption, agency, and non-fantastic creation
–“I hate her and I love her and – I’m half afraid of her”:
power struggles
—Miss Hargreaves, madness, and the God complex
  
Chapter Five : ‘She
can touch nothing without delicately transforming it’ :
Re-creating Self in
Lolly Willowes
–‘A sort of extra wheel’: Laura and the Willowes’ home
–‘One of these floating aunts’
–‘A Constant Flux’: the quasi-metamorphosis of Laura
Willowes
–‘The bugaboo surmises of the public’: subverting
stereotypes of the witch
–‘You are too lifelike to be natural’: Laura’s Satan
–‘She smiled at the thought of having the house all to
herself’: Laura’s independent space
  
Conclusion: “Is this
really a part of the house, or are we dreaming?”: Fantastic Novels as
Alternative Spaces
–Why the fantastic?
–The fantastic as investigation

–After the Second World War

America: The Bloggers

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This post is a bit delayed because I spent the weekend at home in Somerset, celebrating that (a) Colin had passed his driving test – first time, donchaknow, which is no mean feat in the UK, and (b) I had handed in my DPhil thesis.  There will be more on that soon, honest, I just have a lot of catch-up posts to write, not to mention a pile of ten or fifteen books to review for your infotainment.  But first things first; I told you about the books I bought, and now I want to tell you about the bloggers I saw.

Well, you probably already know – it was Thomas from My Porch and Teresa from Shelf Love.  If you click on the ‘My Porch’ link there, it’ll take you to Thomas’s report of our time together – I’ll be doing a more emotive version, and probably thus less coherent!

When I decided I was going to visit Lorna in Washington, I knew that I wanted to catch up with two of my favourite bloggers (both of whom I had previously met on English soil) but that I only really had weekdays free, as I wanted to spend my weekends with Lorna, since that was the main purpose of my trip.  Well, I ended up being lucky enough to see a lot of Thomas (who is, may I just say, one of the kindest and nicest people I’ve ever met – blush from afar, Thomas) and both of them were free to go for a Friday drive around bits of Virginia, looking for bookshops.

I’ve already told you the books I got; Thomas’s pile are in the post linked about, and Teresa tweeted hers here.  Yes, that is Miss Hargreaves in her pile, guess who put it there?  There was a tense moment when I spotted a Virago One Fine Day by Mollie Panter-Downs (such a good book) for only $1.40 and both bloggers wanted it – in the end they flipped a coin, and Thomas was lucky, but Teresa certainly didn’t do badly for Virago books that day.  Both of them came away with wonderfully teetering piles of books; I only bought four, but that was because I’d bought so many others already, and was worrying about baggage weight… and I think you’ll agree, book shopping is huge fun whether or not many books are bought.  There’s nothing I like more than browsing shelves of secondhand books in great company.

We took it in turns to take photos outside the various bookshops…


…and I was introduced to the joy that is Dairy Queen.  I realised later that I had been to DQ a few times in the Philippines, but this trip (and my delicious double fudge cookie dough Blizzard) made me all the more sad that the UK is sadly lacking in DQs.  Get on it, UK.

All in all, it was a delightful day and I think we all had a great time, chatting away about bookish things nineteen-to-the-dozen, and I’m sad that it’s likely to be a long time before we can have a repeat of the day.  I came to the US to see a very dear friend and her husband who had moved away from England, and ended up leaving four good friends behind.  Poor friendship/geography economics, perhaps, but a price worth paying for a wonderful time.

America: The Books

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As promised yesterday, I shall probably write a few posts about my time in America, staying with my lovely friend Lorna and her husband Will, but I had to start with the bloggers and the books… and, given how many I bought, this might be rather a long post!

Will, Teresa, me, Lorna, Thomas.
Nationality indicated by handy flags…
I’d always assumed, from the testimonies of various American bloggers and other friends, that American bookshops (sorry, stores) were rather overpriced and understocked.  Well, if you are looking for Anglophilia, then I daresay that’s true – but I came with the intention of buying only books I would be unlikely to find in England and, let me tell you, I didn’t come back empty-handed.  Indeed, I came back with (ahem) 22 books.  Top tip: they don’t weigh carry-on luggage, so I crammed as many books as possible into that, and pretended that my shoulder wasn’t falling off as I walked through the airport.
While in America, I had the great joy of meeting up with Thomas at My Porch and Teresa from Shelf Love – more about them later – but I’m going to tell you about the bookshops in order, and I certainly hadn’t restrained myself before I saw them.
blurry, because I took the photo from the bus…
Bookshop 1: Book Bank in Alexandria, Virginia
I may have gone a bit mad in this one, because it was the first and because I had a fistful of dollars… it was also probably my favourite of the bookshops I went to, partly because of the range and partly because of the wonderful woman behind the desk.  This woman, probably about fifty, was very knowledgeable about the books we bought, but not quite expert at the workings of a bookshop – she was training, and when the owner came back told him “I’ve made a list of all the mistakes I’ve made, and put it by the till.”  And then she added – in a sentence that I hope will become a catchphrase for me – “What I think is great is that now I know when I’m making mistakes!”  What a woman.  And here are the books I bought, and why…
Floater – Calvin Trillin
Thomas gave me Tepper Isn’t Going Out a while ago, and I loved it – so I was pleased to find another. And then I discovered that they’re everywhere in America – but this one was still worth the purchase, as I immediately read and loved it.  Since it was about journalists in Washington DC, it was particularly appropriate, as I was staying with a couple of them.
Book Lust – Nancy Pearl
The first of several books which have been on my Amazon Wishlist for ages, but not so easy to find in England – a celebrity librarian talks about book recommendations?  I’m in.
Seize the Day – Saul Bellow
Forever ago I wrote this title down on a notecard I used for book recommendations.  I don’t remember who recommended it or why, but this was the first time I’ve found it in a shop.  A bit nervous about trying Bellow, but at least it’s a nice short one.
Old Books, Rare Friends – Leona Rostenberg & Madeleine Stern
Another one off the wishlist – a non-fic tale about old ladies and bibliophilia is another one I can’t see myself not liking.
Ride a Cockhorse – Richard Kennedy
I was determined, when coming to the US, not to come back without at least a few NYRB Classics, and this one was the first one I came across, and looked interesting.
A Home at the End of the World – Michael Cunningham
I’ve been meaning to read more Cunningham ever since I read and loved The Hours ten years ago, but had yet to buy any.  As you’ll discover, this was not the only one I bought on my holiday….
Used and Rare – Lawrence & Nancy Goldstone
One of the things I often saw in bookshops Stateside which isn’t all that common in the UK was a shelf of ‘books about books’, and well-stocked at that.  This was another one I just couldn’t resist…

Bookshop 2: Riverby Books, Washington D.C.

Just around the corner from the Folger Shakespeare Library, incidentally.  Yes, the first thing I went to in America was an exhibition about Shakespeare, which wasn’t exactly travelling far from home.  It was also the first day of the torrential rains, which continued apace throughout my stay – but rather that than the rocketing temperatures of my first weekend (which, everyone assured me, was nothing compared to the summer).  I took shelter in a bookshop, which was no hardship, and it was there that I discovered the curious animal that is the mass-market paperback.  I’ve trained my eyes to ignore cheap, nasty editions, because in the UK they’re almost invariably cheap, nasty books – but in the US there are plenty of great books which hide between this awful covers.  (Sadly, no photo of the bookshop, because it was just too wet.)
An Anthropologist on Mars – Oliver Sacks
I could probably have found this one in England, but I thought I should justify the long rain-avoidance time I spent in the shop, and I’m always willing to add to my Sacks shelf.
Portrait of Jennie – Robert Nathan
This one has been on my wishlist for ages, and impossible to find in the UK.  Sadly I found it just too late to include in my thesis, which would have been useful (it’s about a girl who ages at a different rate from everyone else) but I still enjoyed reading it – which I have done already.  When I review it, I’ll show you the unpleasant cover…
Bookshop 3: The Lantern, Georgetown

Thomas was free to show me around Georgetown, and we had a fun afternoon chatting about books, bloggers, and whatnot, and I enjoyed being shown the beautiful sites of Georgetown.  I’d already stayed one night at Thomas’s house when I arrived (and got to meet the entirely adorable Lucy, who has single-pawedly brought dogs up a lot in my estimation) but I was coldy and jet-lagged and exhausted, so it was nice to have a chance to see him when I was actually compos mentis.  And we found a bookshop, of course…
The Rise of Silas Lapham – William Dean Howells
I don’t know anything about this book, but Thomas pressed it into my hands, and at $2 I thought it was worth a go.
Land’s End – Michael Cunningham
Another Cunningham, as mentioned above – and this one came signed, and with a sweet little drawing of boats by the author himself!
The Charmer – Patrick Hamilton
And this is where I broke my self-imposed rule of only buying American authors.  Well, I say self-imposed, but really it came after Thomas reprimanded me for only bringing British books on holiday.  You should all know by now that I love love love Hamilton’s novel The Slaves of Solitude, and have been meaning to try another one for a while – this one, so far, is stylistically far less sophisticated, but enjoyable nonetheless.
The Fur Person – May Sarton
This one wasn’t actually a book purchase, but a gift from Thomas.  Thanks!
Not relevant, but here I am (with Lorna) by the White House, y’all.
Bookshop 4: Books for America, Washington D.C.

This actually represents Bookshop 3a (Second Story Books) and 3b (Kramerbooks) too, but I didn’t actually buy anything in either of those – see what restraint!  By this point of the trip, I was getting more conscious about the weight and size of my bag, and so only bought one book… All Men Are Liars by Alberto Manguel.  And American paperbacks are a hundred times nicer than UK paperbacks, am I right?  Such a lovely feel to them.
Bookshop 5, 6, 7, 8: various shops around Virginia
These were the bookshops I went to with Thomas and Teresa, and I’ve decided (since this post is getting long) that I’ll tell you more about that trip in another post.  But I’ll let you know which books I bought – only four!  
Hollywood in the Thirties – John Baxter
50 cents in a library sale: yes please!
Fancies and Goodnights – John Collier
Collier was one of the authors I wrote about in my thesis (I will tell you more about that in due course) and so I was pleased to find a collection of his short stories.  But I have since discovered that I could have found an NYRB Classics edition, rather than the noxious paperback I found…
The Brandon Papers – Quentin Bell
I hadn’t realised that Virginia Woolf’s nephew wrote a novel (or maybe novels?) so I again broke my no-Brits rule for book buying on this trip.  And Thomas and Teresa were buying so many books that I felt I couldn’t lag too far behind!
The Moon and the Bonfires – Cesare Pavese
I know nothing at all about this, but a $1 NYRB was inevitably coming home with me.
Bookshop 9: Capitol Hill Books (guess where?)

On my final day, Lorna and I headed up to this amazing shop – there wasn’t an inch of wall space which wasn’t covered by books, as you can see.  The old gentleman who runs the shop turned up about half an hour after opening time (and opening time was 11.30am so not exactly horrendously early) but made up for it with his witty signs (“As recommended by Lindsay Lohan from rehab”, “Beware, may contain data” etc. etc.)  Despite having packed my bags that morning, I still came away with four more books…
Mr. Hodge and Mr. Hazard – Elinor Wylie
Another one of my thesis authors; it’s encouraging that I didn’t get to the point where I never wanted to see any of their names again!
The Unknown Masterpiece – Honore de Balzac
Another NYRB, but this time I actually do know the author (of course) and wanted to read more by him.
Instead of a Letter – Diana Athill
More for my Athill shelf!  This is one of the books I could find easily in the UK, but the delight of an American paperback swayed me.  And I didn’t put up too much resistance, I must confess.  Oh, it is lovely.
Private Demons: The Life of Shirley Jackson – Judy Oppenheimer
This was the last book I spotted, only about a minute before we had to buy our books and leave – and the book I was most thrilled to find, as it is next to impossible to find in the UK, and not that easy to find in the US.  And it’s even inscribed by the author, which is always fun.  
Right, that’s all for now, folks!  As always, let me know if you’ve read any of these, or want to, etc. etc.  And soon I’ll tell you all about the bloggers’ day out to Virginia…

Aaaand… back!

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Well, sort of.  This isn’t going to be much of a post, because I’m jet-lagged and haven’t really unpacked yet, but I thought I’d let you know that…

(a) I completed and handed in my DPhil thesis – hurrah!

(b) I went to America

(c) I came back from America.

That’s pretty much my whole past month summed up neatly – but I shall sum it down (hmm) in the coming days and weeks, and tell you all about my time in the US, the bloggers I met up with, and the books I bought – and read.  The first week after I handed in my DPhil was pretty empty of reading, as I couldn’t cope with any more, but I made up for lost time on holiday, and have plenty to tell you about.

It’s nice to be back, hope you’ve coped with my absence (ahem) and have had a nice bookish few weeks!

Blog Break

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Hi everyone,

I don’t want to disappear without letting you know, so this is to say that I shan’t be uploading new posts here until mid October, because I am in the final stages of finishing my DPhil thesis, and it’s very time-consuming, exhausting, and a little bit stressful.  Something has to go, for a bit, and I’m afraid that’s Stuck-in-a-Book.  I probably won’t have much time for reading blogs either, sadly.

My deadline is 3 October, and then I will be in America for a couple of weeks – during which time I’ll be seeing a couple of American bloggers, so I’ll be able to report back on that.

There is another series (the fourth!) of My Life in Books coming – apologies if you’re one of the lovely people who has taken part, I had intended to have it prepared to appear while I was in America, but that’s also not going to be possible.  But look forward to hearing from fourteen more bloggers about their lives in books at some point in October or November!

And I’m also afraid this means no more Great British Bake Off recaps for a while.  I don’t know if it’ll still be on when I’m back from America, but I’ll make sure I blog about the final, at least, even if it’s happened a while ago.

Right, I think that’s everything.  Next time you hear from me I won’t be a student any more, marking the end of my, hmm, 23 years of education, I think(!)  Hopefully I’ll have lots of books read and bought to tell you all about.

love, Simon

Great British Bake Off: Series 4: Episode 4

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This week in Bake Off news: I unfollowed Paul Hollywood on Twitter.  He used the wrong ‘your’, and then he missed out an apostrophe by writing ‘Bake Offs on’, and I couldn’t bear it anymore.  He’s taking it pretty hard.

Last week: The Great Custard Robbery 2013! Trifle! Frances created a life-size model of the Leaning Tower of Pisa from flaked almonds, and it’s now the country’s most lucrative tourist attraction!

And now…. pie week!  Or Soggy Bottom Week, as it’s come to be known across the nation.  I’ve been following the Bake Off on Facebook (no grammar misuse yet, so they’re not persona non grata yet) and they’ve got into puns in a big way.  PIEtanic was a personal favourite this week – excellent work, social media minion, you’ll earn yourself a Golden Pun Klaxon before long.

Mel and Sue open proceedings with some fake food bumps, because of course they do.  I love that one of the most watched programmes in Britain has all the finesse and production standards of an enthusiastic village pantomime – those ‘costumes’ must have taken all of five minutes to craft.

Can we talk about Ali’s hat for a moment?

I have no words.

He’s apparently come as a pixie this week.  A pixie who matches his hats exactly to his T-shirts – and note that subtly rolled up sleeve!  He’s heard that Mary is using GBBO to launch a fashion line (N.B. this may not be a true) and he wants a slice of that pie (PIE JOKE).  Well, he would, but I can only assume the pie is added to the pantheon of everyday food items of which he’s never heard.

Ooo, listen up, I have a (tenuous) excuse for putting Bake Off recaps on a book blog – Mel references the Life of Pi(e)!  And after we had a quotation from Jane Eyre last week (which I forgot to mention in last week’s recap, but which Thomas mentioned in the comments – it was a ‘Reader, I married him’ moment, which is always nicer to say on television than, say, “I meant to be a bigamist; but fate has out-manoeuvred me.”) it’s become a regular little book group.  (Ali has never heard of books.)

Exhib. 1: pastry

The signature challenge is ‘double crusted fruit pie’, which is apparently the correct way to describe a pie which has pastry on the top and the bottom.  Well, to me that’s just the description of a pie.  Pastry is my favourite part, and if it’s only on top I would feel CHEATED and ANGRY and probably pull a RUBYFACE.  I’ve been asked by Keen Reader Becci (er, my friend Becci) to include a catalogue of her faces this week – but they’re essentially all variations on ‘Angrily Considering Whether Stabbing Is An Overreaction And Deciding In Favour’, with the odd beatific smile thrown in.  She has no spectrum of faces.

Ali, of course, has never made a pie.  But even he should probably be aware that clingfilm isn’t the best ingredient to include…

“I love to use ingredients from around the world,” he says.  This invariably means using ingredients that nobody, anywhere in the world, would even briefly consider using.  It’s a euphemism for ‘fondness for the inedible’, isn’t it?  He admits that he doesn’t like – nay, loathes – fruit pies, and I think it’s time for our first Mary Berry Reaction Face, don’t you?

The Great British Bake Off so gradually became a
sequel to The Exorcist, that I barely noticed the change.

It’s no secret that I now adore Howard and could listen to his voice all day long.  My new favourite Howard Word (Howord?) is ‘polenta’.  I can’t express how wonderfully he says it.  It’s a mini-play all by itself.

Apparently it gives the pastry a ‘more biscuity’ flavour.  Since he’s previously used the adjective ‘cakey’ of his cake, I can only assume that he just sticks ‘y’ on the end of everyday baked goods when describing things.  Get ready for his bready meringues, desserty cottage loaves, and pastryey crème brûlée.

His VT can’t possibly compare to Joggingate – I’ve come to terms with the knowledge that the rest of my life will be an anticlimax now – so instead we see him hand out cakes in an office.  I’m absolutely certain that he has never been in this office before.  Those women clearly have no idea who he is.

Is that even a real office?
It looks suspiciously like it’s been crafted at the back of the tent.
By Frances, from isinglass.

Taking up the jogging mantle is lovely Beca – appropriately enough, since she is rivalling Howard for the place of my favourite – and she looks more competent, but rather angrier.  Compare and contrast, you ask?  Why, yes, of course.

Note the scandalous words on Beca’s T-shirt.  I’m wearing a shirt which says ‘Bad grammar makes me [sic]’, which just goes to show the difference between us.  Let’s look at some food, shall we?  I must remember to do more of that in these recaps… and here is what Beca is planning for her ‘cherry-apple’ cake.  Apparently a cherry-apple is what her grandmother used to call rhubarb to get them to eat it.  Beca, the minx, is just perpetuating a vicious lie.  Won’t SOMEBODY think about the children?

Apparently her grandmother’s pies did have soggy bottoms, but “it didn’t never bother us.”  God bless Wales.

Frances is playing fast and loose with my affections.  She is treading such a tightrope.  I love the inventiveness, I love the mad creativity… but it has to come with a dollop of self-consciousness.  I was at a wedding last weekend, and discussing GBBO (obvs) – my friend Rachel loathes Frances.  I still like her, but… just don’t become Holly, Frances.  This week she is making a James and the Giant Peach pie, which is yet another link between books and pie.  It’s almost as though this review had some sort of place on this blog.  As Sue says, “It sounds like it needs planning permission.”

Glenn solemnly intones “Moisture is the enemy of everything today.”  I just don’t know what to do with that sentence.  But – he’s in a Scrabble club!

There are some pretty colours going on in Glenn’s bake – I missed what he used to get this colour, but it doesn’t look super-appetising.  Is now a good time to admit that I don’t get very excited about fruit pies?  I think it’s because I don’t much like cooked apple unless there is a very high ratio of blackberries or something else.  So I wasn’t particularly tempted by the bakes for this challenge.  Sorry, folks. (But my housemate Ellie did make an AMAZING apple and blackberry crumble this week, so sometimes it works brilliantly.)

Curiously, Ali turns towards the camera and says in a kind of robotic voice “Gas mark 4 for 35 to 40 minutes”.  Is he auditioning to be the new audio-description-for-the-visually-imparied person?  More power to him.

But it’s not as strange as Christine, who starts rhyming… “I’m bending down to have a look / Because I’m waiting for my pie to cook.”  Well, it’s better than anything Andrew Motion achieved in ten years as Poet Laureate, I’ll give her that.  And Kimberley seems amused.

Is now a good time to tell you about the time I went to buy a pastie, and somehow put ‘pastry’ and ‘pastie’ together and asked for a ‘paystie’.  As in ‘pasty’, as in a pale and unhealthy appearance.  Good times.

Sue is her usual helpful self, with pro-tips for baking excellence: “I think that brown stuff is burn.”

She’s not wrong.

“It is what it is,” says Glenn, and my soul shrivels up a bit.  As mentioned before (I admit this far too readily) I watch a lot of bad American reality shows, generally with people aiming to be models or fashion designers or join the cast of Glee, and “It is what it is” is their go-to expression.  It’s unutterably fatuous.  Of course it blinkin’ is what it is.  It’s hardly investigative journalism, is it?

On the topic of investigative journalism, I have one question for you.  Is Glenn Paul’s illegitimate son?

Inconclusive.  (Can we talk for a moment about Beca’s EXCELLENT photobombing here?  But, also…. is it me, or has ‘horror movie’ become the inadvertent theme of this recap?)

Let’s whip through the judging.  My favourite moment during the critique is when Paul tells Kimberley that her pie is the best one he’s eaten in a long time, and Mary just tells her what it is: “It’s a toffee apple pie!”  Other than that, biggest shock is when Frances is given a ‘style over substance’ talk.  “You’re miles away from the flavour point,” says Paul, incomprehensibly.  But… look how pretty!

My favourite post-critique moment is this, frankly terrifying, staring-down that Christine is giving Ali.

Right, it’s the Technical Challenge, and this week (despite Sue’s suggestion that they just have a rave) it’s sponsored by Lionel from As Times Goes By – that’s right, custard pies!  Paul goes into eulogies about the pies put in front of him, and shows off a fine specimen.  He talks about how they must have ‘a slight wobble’, and shakes a tart which does not, for the merest moment, show the slightest sign of a wobble.  But it certainly holds shape when it is cut in half, and already I have images (some of which, admittedly, come from the what’s-coming-up bit at the beginning of the episode) of pies self-destructing all over the place.

As per usual, the instructions for the technical bake are ludicrously brief.  As Beca notes: “Make the custard. Helpful.”  There are distinct schools of thought over whether it should be heated or not, and there’s quite a bit of staring and self-doubt

In the midst of a baking frenzy, we have an oo-er-missus speculation on Howard’s sexuality: “that would be telling!”  The Bake Off becomes ever more like a village panto.  And, in this case, “she’s behind you!” would be apt.

Beca is such an excellent photobomber, yet again.

“Already time is against us,” laments Glenn.  He is taking on the role of John from last series, who just said melodramatic and vague warnings, like a pessimistic sooth-sayer of the middle ages.  Shortly afterwards he says he is “pouring like a buffoon”, so maybe he’s more like a Jennings character.  Can’t decide.

“We’re all going to die one day anyway.  Fossilized fishhooks!”

Ruby has a very clever technique for making her sure her pies come out easily – which I think others might soon wish they’d thought of – and I’ll certainly be copying it in the future.

BAKING HISTORY is actually quite interesting this week.  But I’m still going to gloss over it.

BYE BAKING HISTORY THXBYE.

Mel’s fatuous voiceover advice this week?  My favourites are “The pastry must reach the top of the mould.” and “The oven must be hot enough to cook the pastry.”   But what role does gravity play in this, Mel?  And should – or should not – the bakers close the oven doors?  Enquiring minds want to know.

Everything’s going wrong in the tent.  Ali sticks his tarts in the freezer, Frances is genuflecting, and Glenn has started hitting himself in the face with a baking tray.

Horror film. Again. 

Ruby’s tabs have worked a treat, but her pastry isn’t cooked… and this is happening over at Glenn’s station.

…and Howard’s.

It’s all a bit of a mess, with only a couple people coping.  We haven’t such despair and haplessness since the Fondant Fancy challenge of 2012.  Paul is positively gleeful at the idea of all these disasters.

My friend Meg pointed something out to me on Facebook during the week, and I made sure I checked it out this week… Rob’s face on the placard identifying him in the Technical Challenge.

Good lord!  What a beaming smile, and what a discrepancy between that, and this usual ‘delighted’ face.  Let’s remind ourselves…

Glenn is last in the Technical Challenge.  Top three are Rob, Beca, and Frances…

Another day, some incidental pictures of sheep, and we’re back in the tent for the Showstopper Challenge – which is a filo pastry pie.  I am intrigued as to how they can make filo pies look ‘showstoppery’ (officially a w word – I used to work for Oxford Dictionaries, m’kay?) but I am ready to be impressed.  I also know that there isn’t the smallest chance I’d ever try making filo pastry, because it looks incredibly difficult… Paul says “It’s like a membrane – you have to open it up and throw it over a newspaper.”  One can only be grateful that his career as a surgeon never came to much.

Christine is making a Roasted Vegetable Filo Pie with Feta Cheese – which sounds delicious – but is it just me, or does that BBC-colouring-pencils sketch look far more like an octopus than the depiction of Rob’s octopus ever did?  Compare and contrast time again…

Bakers are slapping their filo pastry over the desks with gay abandon, and then suddenly the show decides to become everything I ever hoped or dreamed for.  In quick succession, there are several moments which, individually, would each have been Highlight of the Week.  It’s like they read my blog, and decided to give me a helping hand.  First up, OFFICIAL ANDREX PUPPY MOST ADORABLE MARY BERRY MOMENT:

I’m not one to question the decision-making of our great monarch, but I’ve got one burning question – why the heckitty d. peckitty is Mary Berry not a Dame yet?

Frances is using a shower cap on her pie, which is pretty impressive, but before I can pay close attention, Rob says this: “I have joined a local mushroom club.  I do like to forage.  It is a very unforgiving pastime.”

Is this foraging?  It looks a lot like getting stuff out the fridge.

He adds that he’s making ‘piethagoras’.  Can we declare the Great Age of Television over?  It’s all downhill from here.

Frances is making a baklava cherry tree…

As I say, to Ellie watching it with me, “Of course she is.”  And then Mel says the same thing on the voiceover.  I adore baklava, but her description of combining the pistachio of baklava with cream cheese (was it?) and orange sounds rather disgusting.

This post has been going on far too long, as usual, so I’m afraid we’re going to fast-forward through to the results.  Which is a shame, because the manipulation of filo pastry is pretty amazing.  We see pastry covering two-metre expanses of table, and quite extraordinary preparations.

Check out Rob’s craftily made ruler thing.  I have no idea what function it’s supposed to perform, or whether it was successful.

He’s long behind, because the mushrooms took half an hour longer to clean than he expected.  Couldn’t they just have provided clean mushrooms?  He does have a lovely moment with Sue, when he tells her to get lost but “I’ll call” – to which she replies “They all say that!”

Favourite pun moment?  Mel saying that she might be “throwing a spanikopita in the works”.  Golden Klaxon to you, m’lady.

The angst highlight is the three-person job of getting Howard’s pie out of the dish – Glenn gurns in the background, saying he can’t look while obviously looking, the liar, and it’s treated a bit like the big scene in The Great Escape or The Dam Busters.  I have never seen either of those films, but I’m guessing they have big scenes, no?

Here are my favourites, appearance-wise:

Bonus points to Ruby for saying “It’s a lot better than what I normally knock up.”

And time for the results!
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Star baker is…

BE LESS PERFECT KIMBERLEY

But going home – and thus removing the promised meltdown for which I’d been waiting, is:

Ruby’s eye here provides the last terrifying moment of the episode.

He claims not to recognise Mary Berry, or to know his own name, or to understand the word ‘out’, but sadly these technicalities do not keep him in.  Bye, Ali!  It’s been emotional.  Bless poor Howard, he has a little weep, and I love him x 100.

Hope you’ve enjoyed this week’s recap, and if you have a sad moment this week (Howard) just think about Mary Bezza threatening Paul H with a lump of raw filo dough.