Jeni Barnett

Jim drove up last Wednesday so we could have dinner with Rupert Ponsonby at the new Gauchos.
We were on time only we went to the wrong Gauchos.
Walking swiftly into the one in Spitalfields – all stainless steel and girls with headsets on – I opened my eyes very wide and speaking, very slowly, asked them, impatiently, to call the other Gauchos in Smithfields.
Finally after a taxi ride and a bit of a ruck we arrived one hour late.

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I made a decision to stay at home in the ‘Cottarge’ instead of going away.
I made a decision that sitting in front of the fire with the old git would be preferable to hanging around an airport, travelling through the night, being in someone elses bed and not knowing what the weather was going to be – and I was right.
Staying at home is out of the ordinary for me as I am always in London working, The cottarge feels cosy and welcoming. The colours are deep and warming and being in my own big bed with my books and the silence, waking up to the ‘oosbind and the cat, padding around on the carpets, having a bath in my own bath and listening to the wind in the trees, really is exactly what I need.
Not that I’ve been idle. For that I really do need to get away. But I have enjoyed my week so far – give or take Wednesday….

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The problem with venison stew with parsnip mash is that there is a fare bit of sugar in it – innit.
I’m all a bit spinny and nauseous.
My evening with the girls was short but sweet.
Thursday at LBC went well if a little frantic.

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When I interviewed TARELL ALVIN McCRANEY last week I had no idea I was in the presence of genius.
THE BROTHERS SIZE and IN THE RED AND BROWN WATER are two plays about young black people. Their relationships, using Yoruba myths, movement, music, theatricality, poetry, are played out with poise and power.
I went to see ‘Red and brown Water’ last night to quell my excitement.
I went to see the ‘Brothers Size’ as an antidote to all the excitment today. Brothers Size was as rivetting as Mr. Obama. Both brilliantly rivetting.
As Barak Obama’s fate was played out on my little telly screen so the slipknot of Mr. McCraney’s dialogue lingered in my mind. The lilting melody of the Southern States of America. Where, not surprisingly the Republicans held their power.

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It’s not the politics of envy but a fear that achievments are only ever described in pounds, shillings and pence, not to mention the yankee dollar.
Lewis Hamilton stands to be the first ever Billion Dollar sportsman.
One Billion dollars for a boy who drives a car round a track. No it isn’t any more complex than that. Yes he’s a 23 year old role model but worth one billion dollars? I don’t think so.
As homeless people treck miles, barefoot, to hide from death and find a life away from the killing fields, and as we await the outcome of the American Election, a single car driver stands to rake in more dosh than the Gross National Product of the Democratic Republic of the Congo – cockeyed values if you ask me.
And tonight, November 3rd, I dare to believe that Obama will get in.
As the old order totters before our eyes like a drunken sailor, replacing anxiety and fear with optimism and courage must be the only way forward.

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