An Evening with Paul Watson

Paul Watson should have been on my radar years ago.

I didn't go to film school, so I can't really be labeled a philistine. I'm just happy his work has entered my documentary lexicon now.

I subscribe to an e-bulletin for a bi-monthly arts and culture event called Ebenezer Presents... based at a way-off-the-beaten-track venue called the Seed Factory in Aller, Somerset. Not everything on their events list appeals to me, but a night entitled: 'Splat! A Fly on the Wall, An Evening of Conversation with Paul Watson' caught my eye and I decided to go, accompanied by my mum who lives not far from Aller.

Paul Watson's repertoire spans approx. 300 documentary films, and yet I hadn't heard of a single one. Watson is said to have spawned the reality TV genre in the UK, and this was plenty enough of a draw for me to make the journey from Bristol on a wet January evening.

Watson hates modern reality TV programmes, and he made this exceedingly clear in his opening sentence. I should have defended it as I work in the industry, but I can see how his fly-on-the-wall style has been eaten up, and mutated into a colder, less authentic way of portraying 'real life'.

I do side with Watson, especially after watching a montage of his work, and a feature length documentary titled 'The Fishing Party' (a portrait of 4 racist, misogynistic toffs enjoying a watery, rum-fuelled jolly in Scotland - which apparently was Margaret Thatcher's most hated film!). 

Watson's main bugbear with modern documentary is that there's not enough time spent with contributors. Directors don't self-shoot, they watch from remote galleries with hot-head operators controlling multi-rig cameras. From the very start of his career, Watson was truly in the thick of it all. Through the lens, he's witnessed: death, marital breakdown, and had puke sprayed all over him.

I agree that you loose a sense of intimacy with fixed rig cameras and there's never enough money in the budget to spend a decent amount of time building trust with your contributors. Although programmes like 24 Hours in A&E and First Dates give you unique access to some very volatile and unusual situations - the contributors are not spilling their hearts out to a filmmaker who's been filming with them consistently for 6 to 12 months.

Trust is something that is lacking when the cameras are fixed to walls and ceilings rather than being an extension of the filmmaker's body.

We have an appetite for mindless, rambling, product placement-heavy TV now so I've no doubt that the industry will provide fixed-rig formats and 'structured reality' shows for sometime to come. Programmes like TOWIE and MIC are basically soap operas, except the 'actors' don't have to try too hard to learn their lines.

Like any genre of popular culture: documentary production has strayed from its origin in an avant garde fashion - but there are always going to be purists sticking close to the roots of the movement.

I'm guilty of watching (and making) mindless TV: sometimes I just need a warm, colourful, sugary piece of escapism.

However, there is nothing more engaging and tantalizing than immersing myself in a proper independently made feature documentary authored by someone who's spent a year or more with their subject(s), stayed by their side while the subject wrestles with their personal demons. To Molly Deneen, Vanessa Engle, Louis Theroux and Asif Kapadia I will now add Paul Watson as my top-ranking UK documentary filmmakers.

Their films may be uncompromisingly intimate, beguiling or tragic. Their films will also undoubtably make me question the nature of humanity and how we fit into this crazy, topsy-turvy world of ours.

They keep my brain ticking over and encouraging me to be brave and dare to make challenging content too.

Links to articles and interviews with Paul Watson:

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/tvandradio/3560798/Paul-Watson-The-Family.html 
http://www.bafta.org/television/features/paul-watson-a-life-in-television 
http://www.theguardian.com/media/2006/nov/20/mondaymediasection4
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/programmes/newsnight/7140605.stm 

Mendip Marauder

What kind of title is that I can hear you thinking?

Sounds like some kind of distressing encounter in the countryside?

I'm actually talking about a running race, that sits within the 'Ultra' marathon category. 30 whole miles across the Mendip hills spanning the hinterland between Wells to Weston-Super-Mare.

My old friend Maeve and I have been testing the waters with half marathons over the last few years (I've done 5 in total). 

We can get round in sub 1hr 50 mins, we know about pacing and fuelling for endurance. We decided collectively that we need to stop procrastinating and test our strength by entering something more challenging.

The London Marathon is too big and busy, and the other popular marathons are expensive (and probably overrated) so we began researching off-beat races in the UK and further afield.

We looked into the Medoc (my personal front runner), more akin to a French jolly: you're given wine as well as water at pit-stops and fancy dress is encouraged, a Danish 'moonlit' marathon and a music-themed race in Portugal where rock bands play live at every significant juncture.

But via Maeve's contact at The Guardian, (a running correspondent) we learnt about the Mendip Marauder. We were assured that it's a well-organised race on mixed terrain.

One of the biggest selling points for us was the fact that the organisers generously give you the scope to complete the course in 8 hours.

Marvellous. We could crawl it and still finish in time. 

Some people will think we're crazy for jumping from half to ultra, but we've agreed that we're not going to take it too seriously. We'll walk up the big hills to preserve energy, take lots of healthy snacks and generally treat it more like a Duke of Edinburgh's Award expedition.

I know I will be fine getting to half marathon fitness. I could be ready for that in 5 or 6 weeks. 

For my last half marathon (which I completed in 1hr 44 min after completing a 60 mile cycle ride and attending a wedding in the same weekend!), I did some 15 mile runs around the North Devon coastline in training, so I think I'll be fine bridging between 15 to 20 miles.

I'm not feeling so confident about the remaining 10 miles I'll have to muster up energy for. My worst nightmare would be to pick up an injury before or during the race. 

To avoid this I'm going to apply a more mixed approach to training: running, cycling and swimming to build endurance rather than solely pounding the pavements/trails every weekend.

Obviously I will put in a few mega-long runs (aiming to do one or two 26 mile runs in July), but I know I'll avoid boredom and blisters by employing a triathlon style approach.

I've already made a few investments to bridge the void to ultra running: a decent pair of Saucony trail shoes, a squashable water bottle that will fit into a running belt, Compede plasters (I'm blister-prone) and a book written by American guru ultra pro Scott Jurek who has done loads of 100+ mile races on a vegan diet. I may try some of his recipes too.

I'll be fascinated to see how my body reacts to the strain of the extra milage, if my mind can block out the physical pain in those 20+ mile runs. At the moment I'm feeling quite positive and excited to finally be pushing for a really big personal goal.

If I hate the Mendip Marauder, at least I'll be with Maeve and we can cry together. 

I'd be content giving up running for good and saving my knees from further disintegration. 

At least the Mendip Marauder is a small race (less than 200 participants), and thus there won't be too many spectators watching as my beetroot red face and haggard body limp over the finish line on Weston beach in August.  

Fingers crossed there won't be a heat wave - for once in my life I will be preying for light rain.

Cornish Supper Club

                                         

What better way to say au revoir to 2015 than by being beside the sea side, pottering around the cobbled streets of St Ives: dodging the persistently pelting precipitation. 

The continual torrent of rain and blustering gusts ensured that our bikes lay dry on the back seats of the car rather than upright , tackling the hills and coastlines as (rather optimistically) intended. Instead of being active, we had to give in to the weather and become holiday slobs. 

Sometimes you just have to admit defeat and enjoy doing nothing much at all.

During an amble along a backstreet (St Andrew's Street) on our first day, we saw a blackboard with dates written on it, beside what looked like a residential house. Pinned to the inside of window was a menu and more details about Hidden Kitchen and Dining. 

I took down the contact details. Most of the month's supper clubs were crossed through with red chalk pen (fully booked), which we thought had to be a good sign. Luckily there were a few spaces for January 1st, so I hastily called to book. 

Hidden Kitchen was my first supper club experience. If I was shy (like I had been in adolescence), it might have been a nightmare. All 17 guests seemed to arrive at once, and we were thrown into a cosy, well presented reception room - promptly offered champagne and canapés by the hostess and her assistant. 

There was one instantly obvious character in the room (Ray) who could have been mistaken for the host - he had a demeanor that reeked of confidence mixed with curiosity. It soon became clear that his wife (Mags) would also be fighting for the top dog 'character' position. They batted their seemingly innocent marital banter around like a scene from Abigail's Party. 

I am by no means dissing Ray and Mags. They were very amusing and helped break the ice: without them, we may not have partaken in much pre-dinner mingling. 

Turned out that Ray and Mags were from Harrow, but had a second home in St Ives (the old Post Office), and about 8 of our party were their house guests. The whole gang had a mischievous rapport that, (for the prudish) might have bordered on vulgar. They liked a drink too, so only continued to get brasher and more innuendo-driven as the night progressed. 

Tim and I are used to eccentrics, so this behaviour was no bother to us. The remainder of the party (a Brummie family of 5), arrived late, with no time to spare for the pre-dinner mingling. They sat together at one end of the gargantuan table - but although they seemed a smidgen fish-out-of-water at first, they soon began to embrace the high-jinx. 

I happily ogled the delightful dining room furnishings and interior design as our starter was served (a post-dinner chat with chef James revealed that the vintage chairs were all Danish, bought on Ebay. James took pride in telling me about his cunning money-saving trick of matching a midnight blue Farrow & Ball paint colour at B&Q.) 

The banquet style table (which seats up to 20), was gloriously rustic, cut from what looked like one giant piece of wood - complete with nobly bark edging all the way along both sides. James selects work from local artists to adorn the walls - these change seasonally and are all for sale. 

James came out to introduce each course, which was an intimate gesture that added to this type of bespoke dining experience. 

Our main course was superb: herb crusted salmon, risotto of parmesan and rocket with a generous splash of salsa verde. Massive platters of garlic green beans and roasted peppers provided a gorgeous buttery accompaniment. 

Fixed menus are perfect for indecisive people like me. 

The wine and conversation cracked on fiercely: there were some very interesting people in the mix. Plus everyone had one binding commonality: our love of St Ives. St Ives in the winter, St Ives in the summer, the conflict between second home owners and the locals - we covered all the bases. Although Tim was sat by my side, we barely spoke to each other all night!     

Ray and Mags swapped places just before dessert: I think perhaps they were worried about missing out on some juicy gossip at the other end(s) of the table. Mags moved in opposite me - she wanted to know everything. It was hard to avoid her eyes and questions. She's a teacher, so I guess she's used to being domineering and driving debate. Very sweet though - bags of character. She reminded me of Dorothy Parker in her latter years: slim, keen drinker, inquisitive, serious bob. 

Dessert was a scrumptious orange infused Tiramisu. Rich but not too filling, a zingy finish to a delightful evening. 

James and his wife Georgina (the evening's true host) mingled with us as we collected wet weather gear and braced ourselves for the first big rain storm of 2016. 

What a lovely couple. From a post-Cornwall gander at their website - it becomes clear that these two are no strangers to hosting intimate and luxurious dinner dos. They have a history of hosting Alpine chalet dining experiences for VIP guests. 

It's obvious they know their stuff. Their hosting approach is my favourite type: relaxed and attentive (in an inconspicuous way). 

Good luck to them - I hope Hidden Kitchen continues to thrive. 

They're doing something new in a coastal town steeped in a multitude of steadfast traditions. But times are changing and I'd advise anyone heading down that way to give it a whirl.

Going to a supper club might mean stepping out of your comfort zone briefly, but I can assure you: without noticing it, you'll be gently nudged back in... you may even have some new friends come the end of the evening. 

    

http://www.hiddenkitchenstives.co.uk/