‘Is that legal?' Hospo identities share weirdest customer requests
Difficult requests, intriguing orders and just plain weird queries are a daily challenge for our chefs, waiters and bartenders. And Australia's best have to keep on their toes, because they might be called on to puree steak frites in a blender or asked to make a cocktail with breast milk, or accommodate a diner who wants to wield a sword at dinner.
But back to that possum. Moscovitz, who recently opened French-Japanese restaurant Bellevue Woolloomooloo in Sydney, said the request for a marsupial main course came not at the new venue on Finger Wharf in Woolloomooloo, but from a regular customer at his Glebe restaurant, Bellevue Cottage.
'They wanted a private function for 50 people,' he said. With possum the star of the show, Moscovitz's first thought was, 'Is that legal?' He briefly pondered practical matters, like how you'd even cook it? 'I'm guessing like a rabbit,' he said.
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Sydney Morning Herald
a day ago
- Sydney Morning Herald
Searching for something to read? Here are 10 new books
From a celebration of reading, to war heroes and Donald Trump's economic policies in our non-fiction round-up, to a creepy cli-fi thriller and a queer black comedy in fiction releases, this week's reviews have something for almost every reader. Happy reading. FICTION PICK OF THE WEEK A creepy mix of cli-fi disaster fiction and psychological thriller, Emmanuelle Salasc's My Sister arrives in the English-speaking world in a brisk translation from the French by Penny Hueston. It's a tale of twin sisters, Clemence and Lucie, reunited in the remote mountain village of their childhood, about30 years after Clemence left it and her sister behind. What has she been doing all that time? She doesn't have time to reveal all before a siren goes off – a warning that the glacier above the village is in imminent danger of cracking and laying waste to all in its path, as it did 150 years ago. Lucie is desperate to evacuate with the rest of the town, but her sister demurs – claiming she's on the run, among other things, and manipulating Lucie into staying in the shadow of ruin. With panic on one side, and preternatural calm on the other, a game of cat and mouse ensues. Salasc writes with enviable crispness, and she laces the central conflict with an exquisite sense of psychological cruelty and menace and mystery. You'll find yourself wondering which twin to believe as this tale of sibling rivalry and ancient dread unfolds. Monica Raszewski follows her previous novel, The Archaeology of a Dream City (shortlisted for the 2022 NSW Premier's Literary Award for New Writing), with Crimson Light, Polished Wood, a compassionate meditation on legacy and loneliness. Falling in love with schoolteacher Margaret, Leonora emigrated from London to Melbourne. Near the novel's opening, Margaret dies of cancer and Leonora finds herself locked in a potentially acrimonious legal battle with her partner's grieving, but bigoted, mother over the estate. Meanwhile, Leonora has developed a complex bond with Polish neighbour Anna, introducing Anna's daughter Lydia to art and literature in a way that leaves an indelible impression. It is from Lydia's perspective that the novel is largely drawn, and Raszewski captures the intensity and ambiguity of the intergenerational friendship with tension and tenderness. This is a delicately wrought queer novel that stakes out contradictions of inheritance and belonging – their tenuousness, their ferocity – while allowing enough scope for the reader to interpret characters, events and emotions in more than one light. Described as an 'all-round chaos merchant', Nell Jenkins is suddenly compelled to perform acts of filial piety against her nature. She fled her childhood home in Aotearoa New Zealand at the first opportunity as a teen, but now her mother's had a stroke. Her brother nursed their father through cancer, so it's Nell's turn to care for their mother. Her homecoming isn't exactly badly timed – Nell has an ongoing issue with her former boss (who is also, messily, her ex-girlfriend), and a stocktake of her life in Sydney is warranted. Soon, though, Nell's anarchic approach to sexuality re-emerges, and she winds up having sex with people she probably shouldn't – the brother of her dead best friend from childhood, and Katya, beguiling assistant to a washed-up TV psychic, Petronella Bush, into whose orbit Nell is inevitably drawn. Unresolved – and indeed irresolvable – grief does lie behind some of the sexual antics and unfulfilling romantic cul-de-sacs in Dead Ends, deepening the emotional ambit of this queer black comedy from the other side of the ditch. Music, love, literature… and sheer dogged perseverance. They're all you need to sail through a nightmare world, right? I suspect there'll be more than a few readers who baulk at the rose-coloured glasses I Cheerfully Refuse puts on, and I count myself among the chipper refuseniks on that score. Leif Enger has created a jarring picaresque that's hard to get invested in and is ultimately too shallow to succeed as allegory. What starts as a cosy love story set in a lakeside town on Michigan's Upper Peninsula, turns into a bleak and wildering voyage when Rainy, a musician, sets sail upon Lake Superior after his wife Lark is murdered. Lark's passion for reading and literature was intrinsic to their romance and the idealisation of both carries Rainy through, trenchant and largely unchanged by disaster, delivering unlikely blasts of optimism in the face of a grim world. And it is societal collapse-level grim – so grim for many, in fact, that a suicide drug known as 'willow' has become popular. Rainy has the drug aboard, though as he veers from coast to coast on the lake encountering a motley mix of stragglers, strangers and escapees, he stays immune to the disillusionment claiming others. Unfortunately, Rainy never really develops or grows, other characters can feel like mouthpieces, and the episodic plot militates against depth, refusing to coalesce behind anything more defined than vague platitudes of a stoical variety. The Stars Are a Million Glittering Worlds Gina Butson Allen & Unwin, $34.99 Running away from a catastrophe for which she feels responsible, guilt-ridden Thea escapes her life in New Zealand through travel, eventually joining throngs of others in San Pedro, a Guatemalan town that's become a party destination for international backpackers. There, she meets the attractive Chris and his partner Sarah, before another tragedy strikes, building a new layer of guilt and secrecy. The novel wends its way through 15 years. Thea finds a partner with secrets as consuming as hers, and although their relationship becomes gnarled by what they can and can't hide from one another, Thea chooses to abandon a rootless life running from her feelings in favour of a settled one in Tasmania. The truth will have its due, however and, during the pandemic era, amid lockdowns, pressure mounts to reveal dual mysteries from the past. Despite the clanger of a title, The Stars Are a Million Glittering Worlds is rich and deft literary fiction – it's full of vivid, sharply observed travel writing, all nested within a psychologically intricate examination of the effect of guilt on human personalities and relationships. The Economic Consequences of Mr Trump Philip Coggan Profile Books, $17.99 When describing the wrecking ball of Donald Trump, celebrated British economics writer Philip Coggan likens him to a Marvel character looking at the global trading system and shouting 'Hulk, smash!' He might also be an overgrown baby throwing a tantrum and smashing his toys. Except they're not toys. Like the election of Trump himself, his trade wars amount to a mass exercise in self-harm – but it won't be confined to the US. As Coggan points out, clearly, with a mix of the amused and bemused, the tariffs will be paid, not by foreign companies, but American ones, which will pass the cost on in increased prices for domestic goods. Coggan is also deeply aware of the history of such economic folly, likening Trump's tariffs to Churchill's decision in 1925 to move England back on the gold standard – which eventually resulted in the general strike of 1926. Underpinning that move, and MAGA (not to mention Brexit), is an absurd nostalgia for the lost paradise of imperial greatness. On top of this is the sheer uncertainty of world trade now – policies issued one day, being reversed the next. The only certainty is that those who voted for Trump will be the ones hurt most, and the already obscenely rich will get richer through tax cuts for the wealthy. This is brilliant synoptic analysis. Australia's Aviation Heroes Colin Burgess Simon & Schuster, $36.99 In April 1918, Australian reconnaissance pilot Jack Treacy was a pallbearer when the Red Baron (shot down by Australian anti-craft) was buried. As the body was lowered, however, the ground gave way, and he nearly went to the grave with the German ace. It's one of the more comic tales in this record of Australian airmen in war and peace – often taking pivotal roles. In 1942, no-fuss Queenslander Donald Bennett, for example, founded the Pathfinders squadron, which went ahead and dropped flares over target areas – highly dangerous. A more flamboyant character was fighter ace Clive 'Killer' Caldwell, who downed five Stukas in one operation. This account of their exploits and of others, involving interviews with many of the flyers, goes from the rough and tumble days of WW1 (when the life expectancy of a pilot was five flying hours) to the Korean War. Dramatic times, dramatic tales. When counsellor and educator Lael Stone talks about 'owning' your story, she means facing up to it. For more than 20 years, she has been dealing with individuals and families who are existentially held back because they don't. A painful past leaves psychological 'imprints', which, if not addressed, can result in repeated patterns of behaviour. This, in turn, stops us from moving on and living 'authentic' lives (authenticity being a key term throughout the book). To an extent, it may sound like psychology 101, but when she delves into such notions as 'the dark night of the soul' and the possibility of rebirth that's written into the concept, she does it from a deeply personal point of view (the traumatic birth of her third child), as well as from case studies put together over the years – all of which ground her theory in lived experience. She tends not to quote her sources, but it was difficult not to feel that – with frequent mention of the 'authentic' and 'individuation' – the ghosts of Heidegger and Jung were not far away. A very accessible self-help guide. One of T.S. Eliot's greatest poetic gifts was his sense of the rhythm of language, the child Eliot often making up a line, getting halfway, and finishing with 'dum-ta-dum'. The rhythm told him the sentence was unfinished, and that very rhythm was the key to finding the words. Teacher/librarian Megan Daley, in this updated version of her 2019 publication, emphasises the centrality of reading to a child from birth in developing a sense of the 'rhythm of words' and a 'network of language'. She takes us on the journey of becoming a reader from the cot to adolescence, noting the need for young people to enjoy reading, but also the need to develop their skills. She covers the waterfront, such as the benefits of an embracing diet of genres, also saying children shouldn't be protected from darker texts – a female student once asked her where in the library the 'sad' books were. Incorporating the contributions of authors, this is a first-rate guide for parents, teachers and carers. When Gwyneth Paltrow was filming Shakespeare in Love – which, apparently, she initially rejected without having read the brilliant script that gave her an Oscar – she seems to have made herself quite disagreeable. Despite its claims to being definitive (Amy Odell interviewed over 200 people from family to colleagues and friends, but never interviewed Paltrow, as much as she tried), this biography, often as not, highlights the problem any biographer has to face - the impossibility of getting inside the head of the subject. Odell takes us back into a childhood (father film producer, mother actress, Stephen Spielberg her godfather) that was almost designed to produce a Hollywood star. She also delves into Goop, her company that markets wellness products, much to the horror of the US medical profession. What comes through is the paradoxical nature of her subject; constantly in the spotlight, but elusive and often retiring. Odell attempts to give us a portrait from all sorts of angles, and not just her good side.
The Age
a day ago
- The Age
Searching for something to read? Here are 10 new books
From a celebration of reading, to war heroes and Donald Trump's economic policies in our non-fiction round-up, to a creepy cli-fi thriller and a queer black comedy in fiction releases, this week's reviews have something for almost every reader. Happy reading. FICTION PICK OF THE WEEK A creepy mix of cli-fi disaster fiction and psychological thriller, Emmanuelle Salasc's My Sister arrives in the English-speaking world in a brisk translation from the French by Penny Hueston. It's a tale of twin sisters, Clemence and Lucie, reunited in the remote mountain village of their childhood, about30 years after Clemence left it and her sister behind. What has she been doing all that time? She doesn't have time to reveal all before a siren goes off – a warning that the glacier above the village is in imminent danger of cracking and laying waste to all in its path, as it did 150 years ago. Lucie is desperate to evacuate with the rest of the town, but her sister demurs – claiming she's on the run, among other things, and manipulating Lucie into staying in the shadow of ruin. With panic on one side, and preternatural calm on the other, a game of cat and mouse ensues. Salasc writes with enviable crispness, and she laces the central conflict with an exquisite sense of psychological cruelty and menace and mystery. You'll find yourself wondering which twin to believe as this tale of sibling rivalry and ancient dread unfolds. Monica Raszewski follows her previous novel, The Archaeology of a Dream City (shortlisted for the 2022 NSW Premier's Literary Award for New Writing), with Crimson Light, Polished Wood, a compassionate meditation on legacy and loneliness. Falling in love with schoolteacher Margaret, Leonora emigrated from London to Melbourne. Near the novel's opening, Margaret dies of cancer and Leonora finds herself locked in a potentially acrimonious legal battle with her partner's grieving, but bigoted, mother over the estate. Meanwhile, Leonora has developed a complex bond with Polish neighbour Anna, introducing Anna's daughter Lydia to art and literature in a way that leaves an indelible impression. It is from Lydia's perspective that the novel is largely drawn, and Raszewski captures the intensity and ambiguity of the intergenerational friendship with tension and tenderness. This is a delicately wrought queer novel that stakes out contradictions of inheritance and belonging – their tenuousness, their ferocity – while allowing enough scope for the reader to interpret characters, events and emotions in more than one light. Described as an 'all-round chaos merchant', Nell Jenkins is suddenly compelled to perform acts of filial piety against her nature. She fled her childhood home in Aotearoa New Zealand at the first opportunity as a teen, but now her mother's had a stroke. Her brother nursed their father through cancer, so it's Nell's turn to care for their mother. Her homecoming isn't exactly badly timed – Nell has an ongoing issue with her former boss (who is also, messily, her ex-girlfriend), and a stocktake of her life in Sydney is warranted. Soon, though, Nell's anarchic approach to sexuality re-emerges, and she winds up having sex with people she probably shouldn't – the brother of her dead best friend from childhood, and Katya, beguiling assistant to a washed-up TV psychic, Petronella Bush, into whose orbit Nell is inevitably drawn. Unresolved – and indeed irresolvable – grief does lie behind some of the sexual antics and unfulfilling romantic cul-de-sacs in Dead Ends, deepening the emotional ambit of this queer black comedy from the other side of the ditch. Music, love, literature… and sheer dogged perseverance. They're all you need to sail through a nightmare world, right? I suspect there'll be more than a few readers who baulk at the rose-coloured glasses I Cheerfully Refuse puts on, and I count myself among the chipper refuseniks on that score. Leif Enger has created a jarring picaresque that's hard to get invested in and is ultimately too shallow to succeed as allegory. What starts as a cosy love story set in a lakeside town on Michigan's Upper Peninsula, turns into a bleak and wildering voyage when Rainy, a musician, sets sail upon Lake Superior after his wife Lark is murdered. Lark's passion for reading and literature was intrinsic to their romance and the idealisation of both carries Rainy through, trenchant and largely unchanged by disaster, delivering unlikely blasts of optimism in the face of a grim world. And it is societal collapse-level grim – so grim for many, in fact, that a suicide drug known as 'willow' has become popular. Rainy has the drug aboard, though as he veers from coast to coast on the lake encountering a motley mix of stragglers, strangers and escapees, he stays immune to the disillusionment claiming others. Unfortunately, Rainy never really develops or grows, other characters can feel like mouthpieces, and the episodic plot militates against depth, refusing to coalesce behind anything more defined than vague platitudes of a stoical variety. The Stars Are a Million Glittering Worlds Gina Butson Allen & Unwin, $34.99 Running away from a catastrophe for which she feels responsible, guilt-ridden Thea escapes her life in New Zealand through travel, eventually joining throngs of others in San Pedro, a Guatemalan town that's become a party destination for international backpackers. There, she meets the attractive Chris and his partner Sarah, before another tragedy strikes, building a new layer of guilt and secrecy. The novel wends its way through 15 years. Thea finds a partner with secrets as consuming as hers, and although their relationship becomes gnarled by what they can and can't hide from one another, Thea chooses to abandon a rootless life running from her feelings in favour of a settled one in Tasmania. The truth will have its due, however and, during the pandemic era, amid lockdowns, pressure mounts to reveal dual mysteries from the past. Despite the clanger of a title, The Stars Are a Million Glittering Worlds is rich and deft literary fiction – it's full of vivid, sharply observed travel writing, all nested within a psychologically intricate examination of the effect of guilt on human personalities and relationships. The Economic Consequences of Mr Trump Philip Coggan Profile Books, $17.99 When describing the wrecking ball of Donald Trump, celebrated British economics writer Philip Coggan likens him to a Marvel character looking at the global trading system and shouting 'Hulk, smash!' He might also be an overgrown baby throwing a tantrum and smashing his toys. Except they're not toys. Like the election of Trump himself, his trade wars amount to a mass exercise in self-harm – but it won't be confined to the US. As Coggan points out, clearly, with a mix of the amused and bemused, the tariffs will be paid, not by foreign companies, but American ones, which will pass the cost on in increased prices for domestic goods. Coggan is also deeply aware of the history of such economic folly, likening Trump's tariffs to Churchill's decision in 1925 to move England back on the gold standard – which eventually resulted in the general strike of 1926. Underpinning that move, and MAGA (not to mention Brexit), is an absurd nostalgia for the lost paradise of imperial greatness. On top of this is the sheer uncertainty of world trade now – policies issued one day, being reversed the next. The only certainty is that those who voted for Trump will be the ones hurt most, and the already obscenely rich will get richer through tax cuts for the wealthy. This is brilliant synoptic analysis. Australia's Aviation Heroes Colin Burgess Simon & Schuster, $36.99 In April 1918, Australian reconnaissance pilot Jack Treacy was a pallbearer when the Red Baron (shot down by Australian anti-craft) was buried. As the body was lowered, however, the ground gave way, and he nearly went to the grave with the German ace. It's one of the more comic tales in this record of Australian airmen in war and peace – often taking pivotal roles. In 1942, no-fuss Queenslander Donald Bennett, for example, founded the Pathfinders squadron, which went ahead and dropped flares over target areas – highly dangerous. A more flamboyant character was fighter ace Clive 'Killer' Caldwell, who downed five Stukas in one operation. This account of their exploits and of others, involving interviews with many of the flyers, goes from the rough and tumble days of WW1 (when the life expectancy of a pilot was five flying hours) to the Korean War. Dramatic times, dramatic tales. When counsellor and educator Lael Stone talks about 'owning' your story, she means facing up to it. For more than 20 years, she has been dealing with individuals and families who are existentially held back because they don't. A painful past leaves psychological 'imprints', which, if not addressed, can result in repeated patterns of behaviour. This, in turn, stops us from moving on and living 'authentic' lives (authenticity being a key term throughout the book). To an extent, it may sound like psychology 101, but when she delves into such notions as 'the dark night of the soul' and the possibility of rebirth that's written into the concept, she does it from a deeply personal point of view (the traumatic birth of her third child), as well as from case studies put together over the years – all of which ground her theory in lived experience. She tends not to quote her sources, but it was difficult not to feel that – with frequent mention of the 'authentic' and 'individuation' – the ghosts of Heidegger and Jung were not far away. A very accessible self-help guide. One of T.S. Eliot's greatest poetic gifts was his sense of the rhythm of language, the child Eliot often making up a line, getting halfway, and finishing with 'dum-ta-dum'. The rhythm told him the sentence was unfinished, and that very rhythm was the key to finding the words. Teacher/librarian Megan Daley, in this updated version of her 2019 publication, emphasises the centrality of reading to a child from birth in developing a sense of the 'rhythm of words' and a 'network of language'. She takes us on the journey of becoming a reader from the cot to adolescence, noting the need for young people to enjoy reading, but also the need to develop their skills. She covers the waterfront, such as the benefits of an embracing diet of genres, also saying children shouldn't be protected from darker texts – a female student once asked her where in the library the 'sad' books were. Incorporating the contributions of authors, this is a first-rate guide for parents, teachers and carers. When Gwyneth Paltrow was filming Shakespeare in Love – which, apparently, she initially rejected without having read the brilliant script that gave her an Oscar – she seems to have made herself quite disagreeable. Despite its claims to being definitive (Amy Odell interviewed over 200 people from family to colleagues and friends, but never interviewed Paltrow, as much as she tried), this biography, often as not, highlights the problem any biographer has to face - the impossibility of getting inside the head of the subject. Odell takes us back into a childhood (father film producer, mother actress, Stephen Spielberg her godfather) that was almost designed to produce a Hollywood star. She also delves into Goop, her company that markets wellness products, much to the horror of the US medical profession. What comes through is the paradoxical nature of her subject; constantly in the spotlight, but elusive and often retiring. Odell attempts to give us a portrait from all sorts of angles, and not just her good side.
Sydney Morning Herald
2 days ago
- Sydney Morning Herald
Straight white male writers are out there and thriving
I am a white male who reads. Most of my friends, male and female, are also avid readers. I find Jacqueline Maley's piece perplexing (' Why will no one publish the novels of straight white men?' August 10). Browsing my local bookstores, I find plenty of terrific modern (straight) white male writers – Chris Hammer and Mick Herron are two very different writers who spring to mind. There are many others too. Writing has never been an exercise in homogeneity. Certainly, the female voice has been stymied, but like so many things in our rapidly evolving society, writing seeks to accommodate new interests, tastes and views on the world. Reading has never been a universal pursuit, but with higher levels of literacy came higher levels of reading. The technological diversions of our world have more to do with declining levels of reading among males, but I think this affects young women too. Perhaps we are experiencing an ebb in the flow of those writing and reading novels; I'm not convinced. The stage is certainly bigger, the cast more diverse. Rather than make generalisations about straight white male writers, Maley could look from the other end of the microscope and see the expanding world of good writing, including from straight white males. Wayne Duncombe, Lilyfield I have long thought that literary prizes should be entered anonymously, ie, the author is not identified by name, gender or sexual orientation. Until this happens there will always be bias, depending on the make-up of the judging panel and the current climate of political correctness. You only have to look at the Demidenko farce. Anonymity would find out whether novels by straight white men are, in fact, any good. Jane Howland, Cammeray Heaven forbid that women and men of colour should get five minutes' attention as novelists, white men having had the stage for a couple of centuries. As the saying goes, when you are accustomed to privilege, equality feels like oppression. This might be a good time to remember that the first-ever novel is attributed to Murasaki Shikibu, a Japanese woman writing in the 11th century. Perhaps straight white men could try the strategy long employed by women writers and adopt a pen name. Mary Ann Evans, perhaps? Chris McGregor, Cabarita Jacqueline Maley might be interested but not surprised to learn that when my husband, Graham, was researching Charmian Clift for his PhD many years ago in our national library, all her files were stored under the name of her husband, George Johnston. I wonder, given the present interest in Charmian, if he is now relegated to second place in her files? Nola Tucker, Kiama Soft drug lunacy Catching serious criminals is hard (' Low-level drug users still being charged ', August 10), busting careless potheads or occasional party drug users is easy (it should be called Operation Fish in a Barrel). However, it makes the police feel useful if not actually effective, and it fulfills weekly quotas real or imagined. This is especially silly for a substance that is now medically sanctioned for tens of thousands of Australians. Julian Wood, Marrickville Reef hope lost Having just completed a holiday at Exmouth to visit Ningaloo, I can reiterate the heartbreaking destruction of the reef from the recent unprecedented bleaching event (' Race to save Ningaloo', August 10). What is even more heartbreaking is the continued expansion in WA of our fossil fuel export industry. The federal government is being dishonest by saying it is serious about addressing climate change while approving climate bombs all over the country. Also strange is the denial of many of the locals of the relationship between climate change and what is happening to the source of their livelihood. There are hardly any solar panels in an environment of unrelenting sunshine, with diesel generation supplying electricity and widespread support of the gas industry (Santos sponsors many businesses). Moreover, there are plans to dredge Exmouth gulf to open an industrial port. I fear there is little hope for Ningaloo and this unique world heritage area. Peter Gibson, Wentworthville Rain on parade I have observed two major Sydney events over the past two Sundays, and they compare and contrast significantly (' Winners and grinners cross the City2Surf finish line ', August 10). Similar rainy Sunday attendances of about 90,000 people. Similar levels of intended decency, ie humanity and charity. Both perfectly peaceful. The differences: The City to Surf's 14 kilometres of traffic interruption over more than six hours was, quite rightly, lauded by all. Last Sunday's bridge march, a couple of kilometres taking five hours, decried by many, including our premier. I perfectly understand that the Sydney Harbour Bridge is an important thoroughfare compared to the leafy eastern roads, but we have closed it for far more frivolous reasons than fundamental humanity. Why the difference, premier? Please explain. Kate Coate, Wangi Wangi After competing in 49 consecutive rain-free City2Surf races, the inevitable happened: it actually rained during my 50th race. Despite this, the mood of the entrants was upbeat and joyful. Congratulations to all competitors and to the organisers for a memorable race day. Steven Baker, Engadine Smart study option Congratulations to the people responsible for making the brave decisions to open Freshwater and Manly libraries as 24-hour venues for teenagers willing to study at odd hours ('Approaching midnight with a venue full of unsupervised teenagers', August 10). At last there is a designated after-hours venue where it really is okay to study, to collaborate until the wee hours, and to have the freedom to be with your mates and comrades outside the home. Congratulations to the students who are making good use of these facilities. Hopefully other venues will give this a go as well. It's a great solution for all sorts of problems faced by students who want to study. Mia David, Wollongong Learning shared Parnell Palme McGuinness is dead right when she says 'caring is intrinsically valuable whether it is delivered in the home or outside of it' (' The end of men? Let's end all that', August 10). In my case, as an 87-year-old, my beloved wife supported me for seven years while I studied for my honours arts degree part-time, so it was only fair that she should have the opportunity to study nursing, which she did. She used her student nurse allowance to employ a woman to help with the cooking and cleaning, leaving me to do the traditional male jobs and read stories to our three children. Andrew Macintosh, Cromer
