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Woody Allen’s breakthrough movie; it won four Oscars (best picture, best actress, best director, best screenplay) and established Allen as a leading auteur film-maker. Thought by many critics to be Woody Allen’s magnum opus, Annie Hall confirmed that he had “completed the journey from comic to humorist, from comedy writer to wit, and from inventive moviemaker to creative artist” (Saturday Review).

(Taken from Real Cooking by Nigel Slater)

I love a banger. Mild, herby British butcher’s variety, blow-your-socks-off fennel and black pepper Italian ones, or thick wodges of black pudding. Love them all.
To be good, really good, a sausage must be hot and sticky. It must sport that tacky, savoury goo that you get when it has been cooked slowly. It must be sweet, savoury, gooey, chewy and all at once. And a sausage should always be eaten when slightly too hot – part of the joy of a banger is to toss it around in your mouth whilst making sucking and blowing noises. A tepid sausage is a friend to no one.

Sausage suppers, bangers and mash, or grilled black pudding with creamy mustard sauce, are cold-weather food of the first order. I can think of nothing I would rather come in to after raking the leaves on an autumn afternoon than slow-fried sausages and a mountain of mash. Sausage hotpot comes pretty close. Or a woman with huge tits peeling off her sweater … where was I? Yes! Big hot sausages!

At the risk of upsetting sausage fanciers I honestly think that the plain butcher’s sausage is a tastier affair than all these fancy links around at the moment.

Choosing a sausage is not that difficult. Choose ones that are meaty and moist-looking, and perhaps freckled with pepper and a few herbs. It is best to avoid the butcher’s effort at originality until you have tried their house brand, which may be very good indeed. Some butchers really know how to make a banger. If in doubt, just go for a plump, friendly-looking one – banger, that is.

Black Dogs Defined

This is the best of me; for the rest, I ate, and drank, and slept, loved and hated, like another: my life was as the vapour and is not; but this I saw and knew; this, if anything of mine, is worth your memory.

(John Ruskin, Sesame and Lilies)

Whatever people say I am, that’s what I’m not.

(Alan Sillitoe, Saturday Night and Sunday Morning)

This is my letter to the world, that never wrote to me.

(Emily Dickinson, This is my letter to the world)

Safe upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand:
Come and see my shining palace built upon the sand!

(Edna St. Vincent Millay, Second Fig)

R.A.D. Stainforth

I was born before The Beatles’ first LP and brought up in the reeking slums of Jericho. I am in love with a woman called Hazel and in love with her daughter, also called Hazel, both of whom I met at Alcoholics Anonymous.

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