The bonding of the angry

St Andrews students greet Gordon Brown with 'righteous loudness'

Rent is a thorny issue at St Andrews - we have some of the very highest student accommodation prices in the country. Several years ago the University introduced year-on-year increases which have crippled many student budgets, with demand for even the cheapest accommodation skyrocketing and the most expensive accommodation — an 'eco-hotel' on the outskirts of town — left half-empty.

My hall last year was towards the lower-middle end of the price-range, despite being a beautiful Victorian building, once a hotel. My year was the last year of its life as a student residence — it was sold for a fortune in a high profile transaction to a developer who is busy converting it into luxury timeshare apartments for golfing visitors.

Meanwhile, much of that money has gone towards funding the building of an extension to those top-of-the-range student flats (they become a hotel over the summer). Economically very sound for the University, and perhaps, yes, a little ecologically sound as well—the apartments have won a Green Tourism Award — but certainly not the best deal for students.

I mention all this because a few days ago those new flats were officially opened by Gordon Brown, fulfilling a long-standing promise. We politically-interested students discovered the news only a week before — I saw it in the student newspaper that Sunday. I think my reaction was the reaction of many: What an opportunity!

At the beginning of this academic year Tony Blair visited St Andrews to host talks on the progress of peace in Northern Ireland then, as with the Brown visit, there was no doubt that we had to demonstrate about something. When so much of your life is spent expressing anger at government policy and bottling up a fury against the administration, the opportunity to let it all go in a public display of feeling is very much relished.

The decision this time was to use the visit as an opportunity to tackle the rents issue, both locally and nationally—protesting our own student accommodation prices and also a government housing policy causing a great deal of suffering for many. It was going to be a motley protest, though, with individuals wanting to seize the chance to express anger over militaristic foreign policy, Trident renewal, and, in my own case, greenwashing — the University's and the government's. I resented my University using its “eco-flats” to build up an image of sustainability when I know it falls far short of many people's expectations, and I resented Brown making the visit a trifling contribution to his own pale green branding.

Pulling a protest together in a week is no mean feat, and the group of students who organised it did an amazing job. They had to make banners and placards, organise a protesting space with the University and the police, and advertise the demonstration—that before any of the extra organising, such as alerting the media, could be done. In the end, a couple of dozen students showed up, which by St Andrews standards was a great success.

“Bombs fall! Rents rise! You've got to prioritise!” was our official chant, and that was what greeted a smiling Gordon as he stepped out from his (presumably hybrid) monster of a vehicle. He dashed into the reception of the flats before we could get a good yell in, though, and so we had to wait a full hour before getting another pop at him. Someone brought a Clarsach out to play peace music. Inside, some enterprising resident of the flats set off the reception's fire alarm, disrupting the proceeds and causing much hilarity among the protesters. By the time Gordon darted back to his car, we'd come up with a new chant: “Who bought all the nukes?” to the tune of a popular football anthem . . .

The event was a great first move for the newly-formed Lower Rents Now! Coalition, but for me it was also something more than that: it was an expression of frustration and a bonding together of the angry. It is always a wonderful thing to get together with like-minded angry people just to shout. Demonstration's not just a way of effecting change — it's also a show of solidarity and opportunity to get righteously loud in public.

It's a little bit risky and frowned-upon to admit that, I think. There's often a feeling amongst activists that we've always got to be working at our hardest for change, and that the image of demonstrators as a bunch of self-gratifying hippies has got to be avoided at all costs. There is a truth in that, but there's also a danger in being self-righteous — not least that the demands we place on ourselves lead to what's known as “activist burn-out” — the frighteningly high turnover rates in activist groups due to exhaustion and frustration.

I've been thinking a great deal about these issues recently, and the 'Brown-washing' demo had me thinking about it some more. Our elected student representative for accommodation issues, who is also a good friend of mine, made a speech to our rally—from the other side of the fence. He did commend our efforts, but to me it also sounded a little like he was claiming his own efforts — engaging with the University in productive conversation, rather than just shouting — were far more fruitful. And there's a truth in that, too, and I had to think about it. At first I just got angry with him — though he's a friend, we're very divided ideologically — but I've had time to settle and think about it some more.

There's a tendency amongst campaigners of both stripes to divide along exactly those lines—those who engage ('reformists', to put it crudely) versus those who demonstrate and use direct action ('revolutionaries'). But I'm seriously worried about dividing ourselves up so. It seems to me that I'm perfectly capable of having a productive conversation with those I'm in opposition to, as well as chanting footballing anthems as they escape. I don't have to be a different person in order to do that — in fact, if I had my way I'd wear the very same clothes. The tactics aren't in opposition, or even just complementary: they can all be part of the same battle-plan, fought by the same people. Dividing ourselves down the middle does our cause no great service.

To that end, what I'd like to have done would have been to have had a chat with Mr Brown — not as a student representative, and certainly not wearing a suit, but as an activist and demonstrator, explaining exactly why I'm in opposition, and why I'm so angry. I wonder if he understands why we were shouting.

I didn't get that chance. I did go into the reception area after he'd left to have a scout around, and made a move towards talking to some of the suits—all the usual University officials were there, as well as Sir Menzies Campbell, who happens to be our Chancellor. But the aghast looks with which my big black coat and silly hat were greeted as I entered intimidated me so much that I barely made an attempt. In fact, the only people with whom I could have a laugh with and a chat were the police who had previously been forcing our protest group to tow the line — they were queuing up to get perks in the form of the nibbles from the buffet. Just my side wanting a conversation clearly isn't enough.

HEINZ BAUMANN/GALLERY STOCK
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With the BBC Food’s collection under threat, here's how to make the most of online recipes

Do a bit of digging, trust your instincts – and always read the comments.

I don’t think John Humphrys is much of a chef. Recently, as his Today co-presenter Mishal Husain was discussing the implications of the BBC’s decision to axe its Food website (since commuted to transportation to the Good Food platform, run by its commercial arm), sharp-eared listeners heard the Humph claim that fewer recipes on the web could only be a good thing. “It would make it easier!” he bellowed in the background. “We wouldn’t have to choose between so many!”

Husain also seemed puzzled as to why anyone would need more than one recipe for spaghetti bolognese – but, as any keen cook knows, you can never have too many different takes on a dish. Just as you wouldn’t want to get all your news from a single source, it would be a sad thing to eat the same bolognese for the rest of your life. Sometimes only a molto autentico version, as laid down by a fierce Italian donna, rich with tradition and chopped liver, will do – and sometimes, though you would never admit it in a national magazine, you crave the comfort of your mum’s spag bol with grated cheddar.

The world wouldn’t starve without BBC Food’s collection but, given that an online search for “spaghetti bolognese recipe” turns up about a million results, it would have been sad to have lost one of the internet’s more trustworthy sources of information. As someone who spends a large part of each week researching and testing recipes, I can assure you that genuinely reliable ones are rarer than decent chips after closing time. But although it is certainly the only place you’ll find the Most Haunted host Yvette Fielding’s kedgeree alongside Heston Blumenthal’s snail porridge, the BBC website is not the only one that is worth your time.

The good thing about newspaper, magazine and other commercial platforms is that most still have just enough budget to ensure that their recipes will have been made at least twice – once by the writer and once for the accompanying photographs – though sadly the days when everyone employed an independent recipe tester are long gone. Such sites also often have sufficient traffic to generate a useful volume of comments. I never make a recipe without scrolling down to see what other people have said about it. Get past the “Can’t wait to make this!” brigade; ignore the annoying people who swap baked beans for lentils and then complain, “This is nothing like dhal”; and there’s usually some sensible advice in there, too.

But what about when you leave the safety of the big boys and venture into the no man’s land of the personal blog? How do you separate the wheat from the chaff and find a recipe that actually works? You can often tell how much work a writer has put in by the level of detail they go into: if they have indicated how many people it serves, or where to find unusual ingredients, suggested possible tweaks and credited their original sources, they have probably made the dish more than once. The photography is another handy clue. You don’t have to be Annie Leibovitz to provide a good idea of what the finished dish ought to look like.

Do a bit of digging as part of your prep. If you like the look of the rest of the site, the author’s tastes will probably chime with your own. And always, always, wherever the recipe is from, read it all the way through, even before you order the shopping. There is nothing more annoying than getting halfway through and then realising that you need a hand blender to finish the dish, just as the first guest arrives.

Above all, trust your instincts. If the cooking time seems far too short, or the salt content ridiculously high, it probably is, so keep an eye on that oven, check that casserole, keep tasting that sauce. As someone who once published a magic mince pie recipe without any sugar, I’m living proof that, occasionally, even the very best of us make mistakes. 

Felicity Cloake is the New Statesman’s food columnist. Her latest book is The A-Z of Eating: a Flavour Map for Adventurous Cooks.

This article first appeared in the 26 May 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The Brexit odd squad