Latest 7 magazine

This week Katie highlights the hypocrisy of the UK’s anti-American feeling

Here’s an entertaining social experiment for you: think back to the last time you saw a prime piece of American-bashing (comedy panel shows, dinner parties or newspaper columns are all ideal). Got it? Good – now replace ‘American’ with an oppressed racial group. There we go. Doesn’t it feel good to have a chuckle about our superiority to those lazy, ignorant, war-mongerers who can’t even find Europe on a map of the world? Good harmless fun, eh?

With so many ethnicities now off limits it’s good that we’ve still got a whole race we can take out our small-island prejudices on. In fact, slagging off Americans is the safe brand of middle-class racism you can happily bring to the dinner party without scaring the servants.

For added entertainment value, don’t forget to toss these bon mots into the conversation, preferably with a sage nod of the head:

1. “Of course, those Americans don’t really get irony…” No, of course they don’t. That’s why The Simpsons never really caught on there, The Smiths were never popular, Dorothy Parker couldn’t get her poems published and Quentin Tarantino’s movies are all taken entirely at face value.
2. “American TV is rubbish – that’s why they adapt all our best shows.” You’re right, American TV is rubbish. Which is exactly why Channel 4 and Five don’t prop up their schedules with American imports night after night.
3. “They refuse to travel and don’t
   understand world geography.” While us Brits are a nation of
   seasoned travellers, all fluent in five different languages, who can pinpoint Moscow on a map within nano-seconds.

“Slagging off America is the safe brand of middle-class racism”

The sad thing is that now the government’s shot and the economy is going down the pan, being anti-American is the one thing that binds the English together. It’s a warm, fuzzy communal feeling that, no matter how bad it gets, at least we’ll never be as low as those stupid yanks.

Which begs the question – if the UK is so hugely superior, why do we insist on importing the worst excesses of US to these shores and taking them straight to our hearts?

We might have once merrily guffawed at US coffee cups with “danger: contents hot” on the side – until we fell in love with Starbucks.

We also used to rightly take the piss out of their litigious lawyer-driven justice system, but that doesn’t seem so funny now that daytime TV is routinely interrupted by no win/no fee ‘personal accident agencies’.

And what about Guantanamo Bay? We seem happy to sit by on the sidelines while our country’s Government extends the time suspected terrorists can be held without charge.

We may moan and bitch about the US, but the fact is that with the NHS in jeopardy, student loans a distant memory and a McDonalds on every corner, we could well wake up one day as the 54th State without George Dubya even having to sort out an invading force.

Pretty neat of them, huh?

Andrew Kay dines in style with great views at The Beach House

In January I will be celebrating my 21st year living in Britain’s most exciting and truly cosmopolitan seaside resort. When I first arrived I was amazed at how run down and under-utilised the beach and seafront were. It still amazes me that buildings like the Kingswest were ever granted planning permission to construct huge almost windowless seafacing walls. Surely the beach and channel views are one of our most attractive assets? I only hope that, despite Luddite intervention, we eventually get our Marina tower, our Frank Gehry and the hilarious ‘dildo and donut’ erection at the West Pier. Surely the anti campaigners time would be better spent lobbying for the systematic removal of the ugly Marina ‘bunkers’ and the vile Odeon.

Brightonians had for too long seemed hell bent on ignoring the seafront, then suddenly, boom, renaissance, bars, cafés, clubs and restaurants – the lower promenade was reborn. It took a little longer for the upper levels of King’s Road and Marine Parade to join in the fun but finally we are seeing improvements there too.

‘‘The pier may well be a gaudy geegaw, a bastardised artifice with architectural Asperger’s, but it’s truly lovely’’

I recently enjoyed an evening at Number One, the new bar and Bistro at The Queen’s Hotel. Reclaiming a seafront space, used for years as a paint store, they have created a stylish new venue with great drinks and fabulous views. I haven’t eaten there but it gets top marks for location and style.

On the other side of the pier is The Beach House. Now for years, this venue has struggled to find a niche. To be frank, it’s not the prettiest of buildings, a bit utilitarian. It went from gimmicky telephone bar to gay bar but never really took off. But now as The Beach House someone has had the good sense to maximise on one of its greatest assets – the view. Previous incarnations have seemed hell bent on gimmicks and cabaret, all ignoring the obvious solution. Stop trying to lure in customers with drink deals and drag and start turning people round to see the spectacle that is the pier. It may well be a gaudy geegaw, a bastardised artifice with architectural Asperger’s, but it’s truly lovely, in all its tacky splendour. So what do you do, you refocus your view, no longer on the bar or the crossdressing comic, but on the fabulous spectacle across the road.

Downstairs the bar has been given a far more sophisticated look, cocktails above lager. Upstairs, the multi-platformed interior has every vista turned to the sea. New spaces have been created from old to add a sense of luxury, intimacy and of style.

I was rather shocked, I don’t know what I had expected but it certainly wasn’t this. I joined my old friend and publishing colleague Mr JL at the bar before dinner and had a swift G&T. It was the start of a slippery road to totally indulgent heaven. After one drink we climbed the stairs to our table on one of the balconies overlooking the pier. Here we tucked into great foccacia and olive oil and accepted a couple of Martinis, gin for me, vodka for him. JL had dined there a few times before so was happy to steer me through the menu. We both started with beef carpaccio. It looked pretty but skimpy when it arrived, but on closer inspection I discovered that the slices were rather thick. It turned out that the slicer was on the blink. Promised parmesan was missing but soon remedied and by this point we had moved on to a good red wine at a sensible price.

JL followed with a rack of lamb, a huge portion and cooked exactly as he liked it, pink and oozing. I chose slow roast pork belly with champ. The meat came in long, tender but crisp shreds on a bed of buttery mash dotted with scallions. It was comfort food presented as art, jolly nice. Out of the window the twinkling pier solicited attention, flashing and winking at every punter. JL finished with a cremé bruleé that didn’t even touch the sides. I chose a pavlova. It arrived in a wine glass, and was utterly delicious but not a pavlova by any stretch of the imagination, a shame really because it was a very nice dessert, but I do hate wrongly apportioned names.

After dinner we relaxed with a few more drinks and both agreed that we had enjoyed glamorous food in delicious surroundings with the best view in Brighton, and all without breaking the bank, a great addition to the city. I plan to return very soon to sample their Sunday lunch. I have to admit that I continued in my revellery that night, drinking far too much and ending up dancing at Revenge. Yippeee!

The Beach House, 5-7 Marine Parade, Brighton, 01273 608133.

Dani is bored of talking about Christmas, so talks about New Year’s Eve instead!

I’m quite bored of talking about Christmas now. Like Christmas itself, it’s great but quickly gets boring. You are really excited about getting your decorations out (which, it appears people are doing earlier and earlier, I saw a few houses decorated in the middle of November), but as soon as Christmas Day is gone you cant wait to get the baubles off that tree and your furniture put back in its rightful place.

So the next big thing on the calendar is New Year’s Eve. Which last year I messed up for my boyfriend and I because I had a panic attack and couldn’t face going out. We still had a nice evening but it wasn’t quite a party to celebrate bringing in the new year.

“What do you wear? What time do you go out? Where do you go? Who do you snog?”

But the problem is, unless someone you know is having a party, anywhere you go will be massively over priced and what with all your money tied up in presents now being found a place in someone else’s home you can’t really afford it. And what do you wear, what time do you go out, where do you decide to go and who do you kiss? Why do we kiss people at midnight anyway? How did that tradition start?

When I was little, on very special occasions (and I mean SPECIAL as spare money was rare) me and my sister would get a new outfit for something like New Year’s Eve. I think the only reason we ever got an outfit was because we only ever went to one NYE party. And as I’ve grown (and because I’m a girl) I feel the need to buy a new outfit for this New Year. Obviously I don’t have money for that so will be making the most of what I’ve got.

Although, on second thoughts, I only really want a new outfit because I always want a new outfit. It doesn’t actually have anything to do with the date. In all honesty I think New Years is over rated and doesn’t seem all that different from a regular night on the town.

You get all dolled up, you go and spend slightly too much money to be allowed access into a club that needs a good disinfecting, you buy a surprisingly expensive round of drinks, dance for a bit, and then the one thing that makes it different is that you count down from ten at one point and then hug everyone (or snog!). And because I’m Scrooge I cant work out why everyone seems to make such a big deal out of it! You can do that every day of the week if you so wish. And you can also, at any time of the year, decide to give up smoking/drinking/sleeping around/ biting your finger nails/ losing your temper. Why do people think they can only make a life changing decision at 12am on New Year’s Eve? You can decide to change you life for the better or the worse at any time of the day, month, week or year. So why do we all see NYE as something so ground breaking?

Even as I’m writing this I’m looking forward to the evening I have planned and I have no idea why! Strange isn’t it?! Well, whatever you’re doing, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Victoria Nangle reflects on 2007 and the comedy she’s seen in it

Brighton Festival, Edinburgh Festival, Brighton Comedy Festival, Fresh Meat, Brighton Comedy Fringe – it’s been a year for comedy, and that’s just the festivals that spring to mind. The one-off fantabuloso experiences that had me rolling in the aisles and grinning ear to ear – like Russell Howard, Pappy’s Fun Club and Nina Conti to pick a smidgen of the overall shows – if listed in full could just fill up this column as a list.

Watching local acts have the bigger spotlight turned on them, like Zoe Lyons being nominated for the if.commedie, Toby Whithouse making it to the final of So You Think You’re Funny 2007 (you woz robbed, Tobes!) and Seann Walsh supporting the likes of great talents Jo Enfield and Josie Long. Baby, we’ve come a long way, and we ain’t even started yet.

“I still feel like a little bit of voluntary incarceration wouldn’t be a bad thing”

The comedy circuit in and around Brighton and East Sussex has some fabulous talents and still more emerging blinking into the sunshine and warmth of a good crowd, only occasionally retreating from the cool blank stares of a ‘learning’ gig.

I’ve had a fair few learning curves thrown at me this year in my capacity as a new act on the circuit. Nerves have threatened to take over, trains have been cancelled and feedback hasn’t always been the kindest. But the times when it has worked, when I’ve connected with the crowd and I had that ‘Eureka!’ moment in November, when remembering I was supposed to be enjoying it, made me realise quite how far I’ve come.

It was this time last year when I was writing with trepidation about my first ever gig, preparing for it and promising not to run away and lock myself in the toilets. I still feel like a little bit of voluntary incarceration wouldn’t be a bad thing, especially the other day at a London gig when I was introduced as another female comic (“maybe they’re all exhibitionists, can’t be a bad thing – here’s Vicky Nangle!”). But by the time you read this I will have done 26 gigs. That’s a whole 25 gigs more than this time last year. That’s an average of two a month. I’ve almost impressed meself.

I’ve grown, by golly, and I’ve learned, but not a scratch on many of my contemporaries, who have been totting up over fifty gigs apiece and travelled a lot further and wider than I have doing it.

It’s all because of you. The people who want to see live comedy. Give yourselves a pat on the back. Live shows are so much more fun than a DVD. Thank you so much for supporting live comedy in 2007 – I look forward to seeing you again in 2008. We’ll have a blast.