Britain in a Day
Some time ago, the creators of Life in a Day let the world know of a second project: Britain in a Day. This had much the same premise as its precursor: Everyone across Britain films their life for one day with what ever video recording equipment they have, mobile phones, camcorders, or digital SLRs, and submits all the footage to YouTube so that the team behind Britain in a Day can sift through the hours and hours of life, searching for something that resoundingly says “Britain.”
The day for filming was Saturday the 12th of November and, having seen and loved Life in a Day, I took it upon myself to take part.
Beloved First GreatWestern
Arriving in Cheltenham, I have high hopes for an interesting subject for my obsession. My brother meets me at the station and one of the first words out of his mouth are “I’m hungry.”
Not one hundred meters from the station, the smell of battered fish and deep-fried chips wafts past. My nostrils flare and my mouth waters. We enter a terracotta clad fish and chip shop.
“Esteem coming through is there?” Its owner, a red and white striped apron slung around his neck, interrogates me about the not-cheap camera around mine. “Askin’ for trouble mate. Askin’ for someone to smack you over the ‘ead.”
“Not with me here,” says my brother. Yah. Sure.
“Martial arts expert are ya? I’m combat trained. My weapon’s the knife and the rifle.”
He says it with such sincerity that I’m not quite sure whether or not to take it as a joke. Not even a smirk passes his lips as he goes about preparing our food. Luke stutters as he thinks up a response.
Think of 4 characters. “Mine’s the, er, MK41. MK41 Carbine.”
“Oh yeah? Interesting weapon choice, that one.” The chippy’s reply is immediate and flawless.
I cant help but grin as I see an old man standing off to one side—the only other customer—chuckling away to himself as he watches the unfolding conversation.
Flummoxed, we pay for our lunch and head out the door. I follow Luke as he leads me down an autumnal road lined with half-bare trees and carpeted with moist brown leaves. We head towards the centre of town, stopping at Montpellier Garden to chow down on our meal from the chip shop.
On the high street the light is already fading as it nears to 4:00pm. After a quick session in the gym—which I wont digress too much in to for the sake of boredom and length—we collected Luke’s good friend Mia from her place of work and headed for the Student Union.
We grab a drink and settle around a pool table. Luke has said numerous times over the past few weeks that he has become obsessed with pool. A game is set up and the crack of the first break sets the competition in motion.
Luke drops low at the side of the table, squinting down the cue at the white orb—calculating, adjusting. The cue slides across his thumb and forefinger as he prepares. In a swift, smooth motion the white shoots across the table.
Nothing is potted.
And so begins an artful game of pool; a battle of skill and precision—or in my case mindless luck. I pull back and strike in less than a second, not thinking or caring where I might wish the white to end up. Sometimes I’m lucky, mostly not.
It is only through the help of having Mia on my team that I stand any chance at all.
Luke has potted 6—us, just 3.
He taps the white and it bumps the red, sending it rolling towards a pocket. Good shot. He’s down to the black.
End of the game?
He takes his shot and pots the black neatly in the corner. As he is raising his arms in jubilation the white knocks in to one of our many yellows still left on the table. The pocket welcomes the white into its arms, ruining Luke’s celebration and bringing us—the amateurs—ahead as resounding winners.
The win is addictive and we play again.
And again.
I can see now how this marvellous game has become Luke’s latest obsession.
After a good few games, and an even scoreboard, we decide to break for dinner. Outside the dark has set in, switching on the street lamps and headlights to give the world an orange glow with passing flashes.
Heading on to 9:00pm, the pubs and clubs on the high street are now overflowing on to the pavement. Raucous laughter and elated shouts echo between the buildings as merry people stagger from their table to the bar once more.
We head down a side street, leaving the babble behind us on the promenade. Mia is taking us to a converted court-house for dinner: Jamie’s Italian.
The majestic building has been transformed into a restaurant: its courtrooms and hallways occupied by tens of chatting customers dining on fresh Italian cuisine; the dungeon below used for the WC.
They are full, not surprisingly considering the decor and bubbling atmosphere, but we are directed to the bar upstairs to wait for a table. I feel like a kid in a castle circling up the huge stone steps, the walls stretching upwards and adorned with elaborate frames. In the bar, the light is dim and shadows sit at the edges of the room with wine in glasses on the tables between them.
It is not long before we are beckoned to our table in a grand room. I am sat facing the chefs’ playpen; rich fennel salami and discs of pecorino hang from the rim of their pagoda.
Flames leap from the stove as they toss steamed cockles in a sauce of white wine, butter and lemon, throwing in generous amounts of parsley and garlic; one hand stirring, the other pouring, the Sous drizzles on Extra Virgin Olive Oil from the hills around Kranidi, Greece; and behind him another chef takes great care as he pounds a lump ciabatta dough, pressing and folding and kneading, sprinkling flour at intervals.
Our food arrives and for a moment we are lost in the flavours; a rich carbonara for me with a sauce of mozzarella, cream and garlic, a hint of lemon dashed in making it tangy and sweet.
I try some of Mia’s black risotto.
The midnight blue squid ink seems to hold all the flavours of the sea; crab, mussel, oyster, seaweed, salt; it is the smell of the ocean, the soft pang of smoked salmon, the smooth feeling of oily sardines, and I relish it.
As I am scouring the plate clean with my fork, savouring every last iota of creamy carbonara, our waitress arrives and asks if we would like to see the dessert menu.
How can we resist?
I had always had doubts about Jamie Oliver and his cooking fiasco. A while back I tried a recipe of his for some sort of onion soup and I was not wholly impressed. This dissatisfaction lasted for years with me effectively boycotting all things Jamie and always being obnoxious about his claim to fame—a voice nagging in the back of my head: “How is he so popular? He’s not even that good a cook.”
When my fork cut through the melting chocolate brownie before me, letting out a steam infused with chocolate and apricot scents, my feelings towards Oliver changed.
It was only a small portion, but with the richness of chocolate mixed with more chocolate and chocolate sauce drizzled on top I struggled to manage half. Switching with Mia, I changed the palette and let a creamy panna cotta melt in my mouth, the accompanying compote of peach and pear swilling around my tongue.
I was surprised, though not at all dissatisfied, with the quality of the gourmet we had be presented with. Either Jamie had moved on to better things in the last 4 years or I had picked the short straw with the onion soup.
Sated, Luke and I waddle back to his house, bidding Mia farewell as she parted ways.
Although not entirely successful on the filming side—I had missed several golden opportunities—it had been a good day. I have no expectation that my footage will be chosen for Britain in a Day, but at least I tried.
Now—when I come to watch the completed film—I will be able to look through my video of the day and see that as I was talking with my brother whilst eating chips at Montpellier Garden someone in Britain was on a roller coaster; as we were playing pool in the SU there was someone filming a bee on a flower; and as we relished the exquisite food of Jamie’s, someone, somewhere, was relaxing in a pub, beer in one hand, another in the other.
“If you cannot do great things; do small things in a great way.” – J. F. Clarke
Perhaps one of the many small things captured today can be great.
We’ll have to wait and see.