Sunday, November 11, 2007
The Melvyn Bragg is Gorgeous edition.
Gossip and Grumbles with Pizza Girl
Gloria sat me between the hirsute cultural egg head Melvin Bragg and BBC South Today’s anchor woman Sally Taylor at a recent West Hill dinner party. Joy of joys how we laughed as we dined and gorged on tepid Sing Li Saveloys. (It was a Monday and all the Dials Chefs were in London recording their celebrity TV cooking programmes). Melvin, who to my amazement had never heard of, let alone eaten, a boiled Saveloy lustily eyed the vivid red sensation laid before him but refused to eat it until he had Googled its antecedents on his pocket Blackberry computer. Only then and then only did he greedily tuck into its succulent boiled flesh. This he did not only with relish but also with mustard. Within two huge bites he was belching gratification and informing everyone (by now he had the floor) that Wikipedia had revealed that Saveloys were made of pig brains, his all time favourite food. It was then that Sally TV Taylor chimed in using the cod mockney accent she usually reserves for her celebrated links, “The nitrate content of Saveloys usually provides for reasonably long life when refrigerated. Three weeks would be a safe maximum keeping time”, the announcer announced.
Wow! Talk about cutting the atmosphere with a knife. It was so soppy, but silly sassy Sally hadn’t realised that the Brighton party guests only ate organic food with its shelf life rating of minus zero.
Bless! She went the colour of her half eaten Saveloy, and was looking ready to beat a retreat back to trendy Reading. That was until the Cavalry arrived in the form of Argus columnist Sir Adam Trimmingham who broke both the ice and a news embargo that Brighton Council were to finally ban, along with plastic bags, estate agent boards!!!! The dinner party chatter went absolutely ballistic, especially given that several local celebrity estate agents and a friend of the editor of Latest Homes Magazine were in attendance. Adam had hit a raw nerve in the festering open wound of property price chatter.
This is a topic I feel very strongly about, not least because we live in a conversation area. I was chomping to add my three penneth but Simon my Tuc Tuc driver was voraciously defending the Council. (He always does this but only because he used to date a cleaner/scrubber at the town hall.) Penny from the Polish supermarket said the signs looked unsightly and totally spoiled the way history looked, except the pink ones which she quite liked. Sally Taylor proclaimed she would never have been able to purchase her Off Plan, Buy To Let, Duplex, at the old children’s hospital if she hadn’t seen a for sale board. Eventually Melvyn, the voice of intellectual reason, turned to me and asked me to pronounce on the topic. The guests fell silent except David Van Day who was way out of his depth and still harping on about Saveloys and a burger van he once had.
“I see it this way”, I said, “If all the estate agent boards were removed what would there be to read?” As if as one the room nodded with informed recognition. “It’s just another example of the Nanny state”, I continued. “My neighbour’s daughter Rufus learnt to read by looking at the signs on her way to nursery, her very first words were Austin and Grey. Banning signs could be educationally counter productive and could put seven people out of work.” Melvyn said he hadn’t thought about it like that. To be honest I don’t think any one had.
Lets face it, it’s not often that one has a truly original thought. I felt quite proud, and only wished Hermione the intellectual of our Tin Drum Latte Club could have heard me. Still I expect tongues will wag and it will reach her sooner rather than later.
Steve Coogan’s Masserfarrati screeched to a halt outside, all eyes diverted to the opening door excepting for mine; I was watching incredulously as cheeky Melvyn Bragg deftly scooped Sally’s unfinished Saveloy off her plate into his guilty mouth.
Coogan made his usual beeline in my direction promptly sitting between Melvin and me. Sometimes he can be quite ‘obvious’, but he is a darling and he does sponsor the Seven Dials traders’ pantomime. This year they are doing Macbeth the Panto at the West Hill Hall.
Steve and I had a lot of catching up to do. I told him I had just sacked my new PR agent. In eight weeks she had got me offers of just two jobs. The first to be the face fronting Ashtons Chemist’s new ad campaign. I was flattered but declined. Nine years in Drama School with three bronze medals just to grin and hold up a box of Durex? No way. The second role was to appear in a new celebrity reality TV show for Channel 3 plus 4. This was a Ricochet creation to rival Brucey’s Saturday night ballroom show to be called Strictly Kosher. Basically I had to spend 12 weeks on Montpelier Crescent living in a mock up of a Tel Aviv bedsit surviving on just a diet of gefilte fish and matzos balls. I have never heard anything so ridiculous in all my life. Six weeks would have been OK, but 12?? They got Jade Goodey instead. Bless. She needs the work.
The glugging, gassing, & gossip went on until the early hours of Thursday morning. We talked about the world and everyone in it. We talked about the expectation for the annual local traders’ sponsored Dials Christmas lighting display winter wonderland of lights festivities. The glut of local off licenses. (There are now only nine). We salivated over house prices and school catchment areas, the value of the pound against the dollar and whether you could or couldn’t buy organic Saveloys in Waitrose. It was a long, long, long, long, long, long session and when Melvin Braggs’s son Billy finally turned up and explained Melvin and Steve Cougan had been hospitalised after an almighty punch up, we knew a good West Hill Dials time had been had by all and it was the best moment to call it a day.
Merry Xmas to all our readers.
Coming soon the Pizza Girl awards.
Vote at www.brightonpizzagirl.blogspot.com.
Gloria sat me between the hirsute cultural egg head Melvin Bragg and BBC South Today’s anchor woman Sally Taylor at a recent West Hill dinner party. Joy of joys how we laughed as we dined and gorged on tepid Sing Li Saveloys. (It was a Monday and all the Dials Chefs were in London recording their celebrity TV cooking programmes). Melvin, who to my amazement had never heard of, let alone eaten, a boiled Saveloy lustily eyed the vivid red sensation laid before him but refused to eat it until he had Googled its antecedents on his pocket Blackberry computer. Only then and then only did he greedily tuck into its succulent boiled flesh. This he did not only with relish but also with mustard. Within two huge bites he was belching gratification and informing everyone (by now he had the floor) that Wikipedia had revealed that Saveloys were made of pig brains, his all time favourite food. It was then that Sally TV Taylor chimed in using the cod mockney accent she usually reserves for her celebrated links, “The nitrate content of Saveloys usually provides for reasonably long life when refrigerated. Three weeks would be a safe maximum keeping time”, the announcer announced.
Wow! Talk about cutting the atmosphere with a knife. It was so soppy, but silly sassy Sally hadn’t realised that the Brighton party guests only ate organic food with its shelf life rating of minus zero.
Bless! She went the colour of her half eaten Saveloy, and was looking ready to beat a retreat back to trendy Reading. That was until the Cavalry arrived in the form of Argus columnist Sir Adam Trimmingham who broke both the ice and a news embargo that Brighton Council were to finally ban, along with plastic bags, estate agent boards!!!! The dinner party chatter went absolutely ballistic, especially given that several local celebrity estate agents and a friend of the editor of Latest Homes Magazine were in attendance. Adam had hit a raw nerve in the festering open wound of property price chatter.
This is a topic I feel very strongly about, not least because we live in a conversation area. I was chomping to add my three penneth but Simon my Tuc Tuc driver was voraciously defending the Council. (He always does this but only because he used to date a cleaner/scrubber at the town hall.) Penny from the Polish supermarket said the signs looked unsightly and totally spoiled the way history looked, except the pink ones which she quite liked. Sally Taylor proclaimed she would never have been able to purchase her Off Plan, Buy To Let, Duplex, at the old children’s hospital if she hadn’t seen a for sale board. Eventually Melvyn, the voice of intellectual reason, turned to me and asked me to pronounce on the topic. The guests fell silent except David Van Day who was way out of his depth and still harping on about Saveloys and a burger van he once had.
“I see it this way”, I said, “If all the estate agent boards were removed what would there be to read?” As if as one the room nodded with informed recognition. “It’s just another example of the Nanny state”, I continued. “My neighbour’s daughter Rufus learnt to read by looking at the signs on her way to nursery, her very first words were Austin and Grey. Banning signs could be educationally counter productive and could put seven people out of work.” Melvyn said he hadn’t thought about it like that. To be honest I don’t think any one had.
Lets face it, it’s not often that one has a truly original thought. I felt quite proud, and only wished Hermione the intellectual of our Tin Drum Latte Club could have heard me. Still I expect tongues will wag and it will reach her sooner rather than later.
Steve Coogan’s Masserfarrati screeched to a halt outside, all eyes diverted to the opening door excepting for mine; I was watching incredulously as cheeky Melvyn Bragg deftly scooped Sally’s unfinished Saveloy off her plate into his guilty mouth.
Coogan made his usual beeline in my direction promptly sitting between Melvin and me. Sometimes he can be quite ‘obvious’, but he is a darling and he does sponsor the Seven Dials traders’ pantomime. This year they are doing Macbeth the Panto at the West Hill Hall.
Steve and I had a lot of catching up to do. I told him I had just sacked my new PR agent. In eight weeks she had got me offers of just two jobs. The first to be the face fronting Ashtons Chemist’s new ad campaign. I was flattered but declined. Nine years in Drama School with three bronze medals just to grin and hold up a box of Durex? No way. The second role was to appear in a new celebrity reality TV show for Channel 3 plus 4. This was a Ricochet creation to rival Brucey’s Saturday night ballroom show to be called Strictly Kosher. Basically I had to spend 12 weeks on Montpelier Crescent living in a mock up of a Tel Aviv bedsit surviving on just a diet of gefilte fish and matzos balls. I have never heard anything so ridiculous in all my life. Six weeks would have been OK, but 12?? They got Jade Goodey instead. Bless. She needs the work.
The glugging, gassing, & gossip went on until the early hours of Thursday morning. We talked about the world and everyone in it. We talked about the expectation for the annual local traders’ sponsored Dials Christmas lighting display winter wonderland of lights festivities. The glut of local off licenses. (There are now only nine). We salivated over house prices and school catchment areas, the value of the pound against the dollar and whether you could or couldn’t buy organic Saveloys in Waitrose. It was a long, long, long, long, long, long session and when Melvin Braggs’s son Billy finally turned up and explained Melvin and Steve Cougan had been hospitalised after an almighty punch up, we knew a good West Hill Dials time had been had by all and it was the best moment to call it a day.
Merry Xmas to all our readers.
Coming soon the Pizza Girl awards.
Vote at www.brightonpizzagirl.blogspot.com.
Labels: Billy Melvyn bragg seven dials, brighton, Dials. Pizza Girl. Brightonpizzagirl
