A Very British Affair
Adultery, gambling and comfort eating
Tongue in throat, hand on arse, not a care in the world. Looks like the (now former) Health Secretary may be the only one having a hot girl summer after all.
For someone in my position (Westminster journo) a political sex scandal involving a minister feels more satisfying than scandalous sex involving me. The Sun front page prominently displayed blurry stills from CCTV footage showing the very married, supposedly very busy Matt Hancock intent on snogging one of his closest aides. And I have never felt more alive.
There’s something inherently British about this whole saga, the peculiar tension between puritanism and shamelessness that always results in a shocking splash in The Mail and a wave of voyeuristic outrage.
It’s at times like this that I wish I was a tabloid journalist - I can see it’s not a noble endeavour but it would certainly allow me to fully embrace my mean streak and reconcile the instincts I’m less proud of. I’m not sure how good I’d be at that, though, because inevitably I always feel terrible for the wife.
A married man shagging a coworker that was hired in dodgy circumstances is bad enough, but this story is made worse by the fact that Hancock was the Secretary of State for Health during a pandemic, the same man who told us we couldn’t hug our mothers was caught breaking his own rules. The cheek, the nerve, the audacity!
It does make you think about the way the world goes round. Matty is arguably one of the most ridiculed men in this country, he is seen by some as being responsible for the tragic loss of life as a result of his response to the COVID crisis. The queen herself referred to him as a ‘’poor man’’ - although she went on to add ‘’he is full of…’’ without completing the sentence. We catch your drift, Lizzie.
It’s all jokes and fun, but “poor men” like Hancock are always winners: they enjoy money, power and even manage to get laid. He may have resigned, but he wasn’t pushed out. His boss, unsurprisingly, had already forgiven him (because BoJo condemning anyone for their adulterous mishaps would be the ultimate joke). But still, one rule for us and for them, yada yada, and a predictable disregard for the consequences, since for these people there rarely are any.
Sweepstake Nation
The Euros are on and while I have little to no interest in football, this is one of the rare occasions in which I let myself get carried away by the sense of camaraderie and sit in a pub garden drinking Pimm’s while pretending to know what an offside is.
I support Italy, goes without saying. But I also have a rigid ranking of preferences in case my home team gets booted out. When asked what my second team was, I surprised the people in the beer garden by saying Ireland instead of England. They proceeded to point out that Ireland had not qualified for the tournament and was therefore not playing. And that moment marked the end of me being a bro at the pub ©.
I managed to find a way to make myself more involved in the process by signing up for a sweepstake. You know me, I am partial to a bit of gambling but the big bingo in Leyton is not really my vibe, so this was the next best thing. My dreams were shattered when I found out the team assigned to me was Croatia.
I mean no disrespect but as far as I know Croatians are not known for being good at football? Or maybe I’m just an ignorant goat? Anyway, I’ve already abandoned the idea of winning the £160 prize with which I planned to fund my lavish lifestyle as the last true socialite of Bethnal Green. Pity.
Blue at 50
“Hey Blue
And there is a song for you
Ink on a pin
Underneath the skin
An empty space to fill in”
This week marked the 50th anniversary of Joni Mitchell’s iconic album Blue, a 35-minute-long anthem for those of us who go through life feeling like “a cellophane wrapper on a pack of cigarettes”.
A spiral of bittersweet dwelling on the emotional disabilities we accept we can no longer correct. It’s not a happy record - and the feelings weigh heavy, but its candour lifts you up, making you feel light but never hollow.
Recipe: “Spinach, Mushrooms and Almonds Risotto”
I got the idea for this the other day when my friend Jessie stayed over for an impromptu dinner last Sunday. She said she felt like having something cheesy, while my flatmate Silvia specifically requested a risotto. We were all coming out of a fairly difficult week, so we agreed that whatever we'd end up eating should feel like a hug from the inside. I wanted to enhance it by adding an ingredient that would provide a meaty feel to the dish without resorting to actual meat, since Jessia and Silvia are vegetarian.
I had to find a way to reconcile all these different dietary and emotional requirements. The answer was a no brainer: spinach and fresh mozzarella is a match made in heaven (smoked mozzarella and pumpkin are also a winning combination). I added mushrooms for meatiness - although you can easily ditch them if they’re not your thing - and red onions for brightness (and to trick my brain into thinking it was pancetta, which would also work fabulously in this recipe).
And here’s the story of how my spinach, mushrooms and almonds risotto came about.The dish was a success - and some of my Instagram followers have asked for the recipe. You can find it on my blog.
What I read
This piece about men with big thighs and tight shorts. I’ve read countless articles on men’s legs and shorts lengths and I don’t know why but it seems that most fashion editors have only just found out that men, too, have legs. Now if you’ll excuse me I’m off to buy a pair of short shorts. Liberte, Egalite, Primarke.
This Guardian article on female french footballers fighting France’s hijab ban on the pitch. A feature full of colour and humanity and only incidentally written by my friend and confidante Jessie Williams. Read it.
The NYT’s piece about 50 reasons to love Joni Mitchell’s Blue. Because it’s Blue week - and I can’t get enough of it.
What I listened to
Mirror by Sigrid. The first release from her upcoming album. It’s quirky, it’s fresh… it’s Sigrid. The song has been out for a month but the novelty has yet to wear off. It will make you shake your hips while waiting for the District Line train to Upminister. And that’s the way I like it.
Cherry-coloured funk by the Cocteau Twins. Another throwback - I don’t know much about the band, but their music has an undeniably evocative quality to itself. It’s pure funstalgia - and I am all here for it.
What I watched
Netflix’s Feel Good. A partly autobiographical dark comedy about a former drug-addict lesbian comedian (Mae Martin) who gets in a tormented relationship with a repressed, straight, posh woman named George (ew). I’ve watched three episodes so far - and while I may not finish the series (it’s darker than I would like it to be and Martin’s energy is too relatable and therefore very stressful) I still think you should give it a chance. Plus, Lisa Kudrow stars in it. Need I say more?
More stuff on my blog: www.thebulletbiter.com
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