The fine art of fashion retail or “we do that one in red”

Posted on June 12, 2014 by fortewinks

My Lanvin suit today.

My Lanvin suit today.

Frock shopping is not a loved pastime: browsing is anathema. If I need something new to wear, I work out what it is and where to find it.

The “where” is important because I am a fan of the independent boutique where the art of a good sale is not lost on the assistant, more often than not, the owner.

In the summer of 1982 aged 19, new to London and with a series of smart Autumn weddings to attend I wanted a suit, something timeless, something elegant. I trawled Oxford Street, Regent Street, Chelsea, Notting Hill, all the places an aspiring young woman might go. With a month of fruitless searching behind me, the Summer Sales arrived.

Heart in mouth, I ventured to Bond Street. Here I found nothing but rails of fancy, frilly summer stuff, not what I had in mind at all. In Beale & Inman, a furiously expensive woman’s store I was hesitant to enter, a kindly over-smoked voice asked what I was looking for. It belonged to a well coiffed blonde sales assistant, a lady of a certain age.

“I need a suit for a few weddings in the Autumn … you don’t have it here. …”
“Describe it,” she said. “I might be able to help.”
“Classic cut, nipped in waist, narrow skirt, elegant.”
“Go and have a coffee and come back in half an hour; it’s in our Autumn collection in a warehouse round the corner.”

Sipping coffee nearby, I considered whether or not I should return; a temp on temping wages could never afford anything from Beale & Inman. With trepidation I returned and dear reader, she had it. The suit, by Lanvin. It fitted like a glove; everyone in the shop said I must have it yet at £450 there was no choice but to hand it back. Feeling slightly sick, I told my Sales Lady I simply couldn’t afford it.

She steered us to the back of the shop and quietly asked for the date of the first wedding. She also asked how much I was earning each week. Then she scribbled something onto a scrap of paper and gave it to me with a wink. For the next few weeks I worked a lot of overtime and every Friday, visited Beale & Inman with my next installment.

I still have the suit; it is a thing of light and silken wool, berry red with a fine black herringbone. The fit is nothing short of crafted beauty and were the shoulders not quite so Joan Collins, I’d wear it today. I think of my kind and pragmatic Smokey Lady often and was reminded of her many moons later, in another boutique, this time a little independent place just off Carnaby Street.

I was due to attend The Races with a new boyfriend and sought something swanky. Black suede steel-heeled Charles Jourdan shoes came from Bang Bang on Goodge Street but the day before Race Day I was still bereft of a dress, one which came loaded with politics and a very particular agenda.

Devoting the afternoon to pursuit of the frock, the clock ticked towards 5pm and I began to despair. Entering a sassy looking boutique just off Carnaby Street I explained the occasion to a helpful assistant who without missing a beat passed me a just-above-the-knee, silk, pale grey shift dress, well tailored, simple, sexy.

It fitted like a glove but still I wasn’t sure. Doubt etched across my face.

“There’s something you’re not telling me?” said my assistant.
“There’s a woman going … one who I happen to know is after my man.”

She smiled.

“We do that one in red.”

With another many moons gone by since then, last weekend I explained to the manager in Future Vintage why a new dress was much needed. She picked out for me a black lace Diane von Furstenberg shift. Looking in the mirror that exhilarating perfect glove moment returned … oh joy.

Thank you Ladies. Thank you for your patience, your collaboration, your wisdom, your expertise and your wit all of which combine to create a message for purveyors of fine fashion everywhere, for service excellence is where the future of retail (and my happiness), must lie.

© Giovanna Forte 2014

Three of my local London boutiques where service and honesty also prevail:
Start London
11 Boundary
Dress for Less

Posted in Family, Feminism, Life and romance, London, Shopping, Uncategorized | 1 Comment

Face to a Name: the dementia care revolution unmasked

Posted on April 24, 2014 by fortewinks

Identi-Knits. Miss the pet you left at home? Here is a miniature twin to comfort you. Made for patients by Volunteers at Yeovil District Hospital.

Identi-Knit.
Miss the pet you left at home? Here is a miniature twin to comfort you. Made for patients by Nurses and Volunteers at Yeovil District Hospital.

One rainy January afternoon, I made my way West to meet up with a business colleague for a long overdue exchange of news.

Over coffee in the congenial surroundings of Soho House, Jake Arnold Forster described his work with organisations and inspired individuals to improve care for elderly and dementia patients.

Our musings prompted a memory from years earlier, the recollection of a very simple thing that had made my own elderly mother’s stay in hospital a far kinder one, after yet another hip operation. Mother used to sit up in bed watching the busy staff rush to and fro’ and, being a sociable sort, would occasionally attempt to engage them in conversation, for which there was little time.

To keep her occupied and her mind engaged we brought in photographs that she could look at; they might even prompt memories and make her smile. We selected one of her in younger days and propped it up on her bedside table. Implicitly, the hospital staff could see that her dementia and age were simply the most visible facets of the frail lady sitting up in bed, her real persona now less obvious. The photograph that reinforced her identity made a slight but powerful change to how she was perceived; her friendly manner and still sparkling smile were the visible manifestations of an interesting life lived well, something now acknowledged by those who cared for her.

Our idea to display her more youthful photograph very simply helped to present the face behind the name and its symptoms. When care staff is faced with unrelenting queues of elderly people it must be hard to recognise the vivacity and light of former years, hidden beneath a demeanour slowed by confusion and dimmed with age.

I described to Jake the concept of a simple protocol: ask relatives to provide a sheet of paper featuring a photograph the patient might like best of themselves in younger days. Add three things about them that could start a conversation or just an interesting exchange of words when routine procedures are taking place.

“That,” said Jake, “is a Campaign.” It came to pass, then, that one of his companies COBIC joined forces with Forte Medical to set up Face to a Name. We quickly constructed a Facebook page that immediately attracted followers, contributors and lots of support.

Four days later, The Times wrote about Face to a Name; the journalist Tom Knowles, having taken the time to sound out opinion from established Elderly organisations, wrote an optimistic piece that resulted in a marked increase in Facebook traffic.

People posted pictures of their elderly relatives, mothers, fathers, uncles and aunts. They wrote things about them that might help in the event of a hospital visit; they confirmed that having followed the idea, the photos and descriptions were helping carers to relate to their relatives with more compassion. The Campaign went viral on Twitter and was boosted enormously through direct contact by people in the medical profession already putting the idea into action.

The first was Dr Ros Taylor, CEO of The Hospice of St Francis, Berkhamsted. Here, highly enquiring and structured research is being conducted by by Sarah Russell, Director of Education and Research. Sarah is working on a very similar but more intimate protocol, the results of which are being monitored. The team here applies similar empathy to all other aspects of their work in the most practical manner. Ros and Sarah are keen to collaborate and to help develop the Face to a Name ethos using their detailed knowledge and understanding of a very specialist area of care.

Next, Jake reported that Yeovil District Hospital NHS Foundation Trust is also already using photographs and specialist software to improve the lot of Dementia patients in their care. The pilot for their scheme has been pioneered by Janine Valentine, Nurse Consultant in Dementia and Elderly Care and with the backing of Paul Mears, the entrepreneurial and inspired CEO of that Trust, is making amazing progress. A new Dementia ward was recently unveiled by Michael Eavis, whose mother enjoyed superlative care at Yeovil.

This new ward has been carefully planned and is astonishing in its light, bright simplicity. Pictures by local photographers grace the walls; a modest exhibition space shows mementos brought in by patients, bringing familiarity and warmth to a clinical setting. The initiative I liked most was the introduction of Identi-Knit dogs, hand made by volunteers to sooth and reassure those patients who have left a pet at home.

Last month I visited both St Francis Berkhamsted and Yeovil District Hospital and in both cases was mightily impressed by the thought, research, care and determination with which cleverly simple ideas are being tested, revised, tested and applied … and the cost? Given the seismic shift in quality of care that results from this work, the price tag attached to what both teams are doing is negligible, for it seems that putting a face to a name can make the difference between a sick and deteriorating patient and a happy and recuperating one.

So what next? St Francis Berkhamsted and Yeovil District Hospital have been introduced to each other and will share with Face to a Name the effects of their work. In just a few months we will have evidence to show the longer-term results of their simple but highly effective thinking and, more critically, their doing.

I am certain that the pioneering work of these Champion organisations is being mirrored by other centres of excellence up and down the land. We must now galvanise those in authority into listening and to implement Face to a Name wherever the elderly are cared for. Even the most basic system can so easily be adopted and adapted by every elderly care setting and woven into the accepted fabric of a standard admissions protocol.

The ultimate Face to a Name aim is to build a simple website, where anyone can produce their own document to be stored in a cloud library. The basic three-point information we recommend may be enhanced by the kind of information encouraged by The Alzheimer’s Society “This Is Me” document. When a patient arrives in the Elderly or Dementia Ward  their Face to a Name information can be quickly and securely accessed by nurses.

Now imagine yourself in hospital, aged and unable to communicate with those around you, unable to articulate what you need and when. Think of the dejection, the loneliness, the fear of knowing your wellbeing lies in the hands of someone who sees you only as a blank and wrinkled canvas.

If you want to support the national revolution in dementia care, please visit our Facebook page, upload the photograph and information that will help nurses of the future recognise the face behind your name, then “share”.

The pioneering work of our Champions and others means that Face to a Name has evolved from a Campaign to a Movement, a transition described again by Tom Knowles in yesterday’s Times. With your voice behind us too, we can ensure that our Movement translates into the vastly improved care of elderly patients long into the future.

After all, one day it could be you.

…….

If you are interested in the elderly and dementia care revolution, please visit some of the remarkable people and organisations I have encountered through Face to a Name:

  • CareScape: a groundbreaking scheme for dementia patients and their carers in Crawley
  • My Life Software designed specifically to assist people with dementia and their carers
  • Whose Shoes, blog by Gill Phillips catalyst for change in dementia healthcare
  • Many Happy Returns, inspirational dementia-friendly products by Sarah Reed
Posted in Business, Family, Friends, Health, Life and romance, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

UK Trade and Inspiration

Posted on March 12, 2014 by fortewinks

Flags of the World by Stephanie Marrott

An established oxymoron in my business book is the concept of sound, creative advice from a Civil Servant. This is a breed without entrepreneurial experience. They haven’t felt the pain, have they?

My company makes a very clever British invention that has set a new gold standard in urology diagnostics; so clever in fact, that in 2009 its first incarnation beat both Microsoft and Apple to Best of Show at the Design Week Awards. Not long after this accolade, we received interest from the USA. I called UK Trade and Investment and was allocated an International Advisor to help establish an appropriate strategy to tackle the healthcare market in this huge territory. A very young woman duly arrived and after much deliberation and musing about our medical device’s possible advantages at Festivals, she suggested that we put it on QVC. She was shown the door.

Times, it seems, have changed. Yesterday I met the new generation UKTI International Advisors and found them to be informed, experienced, considered and firmly rooted in the culture of enterprise, innovation and good business practice. More than this, they have surrounded themselves with entrepreneurs who have done it, done it well and who are happy to pass the baton of success to another wave of innovators.

Explore your Business Potential: this somewhat understated clarion call arrived via email, from UKTI a few weeks ago. Given the recent emergence of business openings for us in Spain and the USA, the call had pertinence and weight. I drilled into the invitation and liked what I found – this wasn’t just relevant, this spoke directly to me and to my business. This was serious stuff.

Classrooms and I have never been comfortable companions. Spying the rows of spindly chairs facing a large screen in the oddly ornate setting of the St Ermin’s Hotel, misgivings mounted and I gave myself until midday to stick this out.

Unwitting of the conflict in my head, the UKTI folk greeted me warmly. I blinked at this group of efficient women and affable men and wondered quite how the day would pan out. I was directed to an upstairs area where, observing my compatriots I considered my conundrum over an exceptionally good coffee. Coffee, I have found, is the bellwether to any occasion and this one augured well.

Of the modules on offer I had opted for four: The Road Ahead; Communicate Effectively Overseas; Maximise your Profit and Free up Resources. These may not excite you but they certainly tickled my fancy and kept their promises. Each hour was thoughtfully crafted with our Facilitators presenting insight, advice, new ways of thinking and a widening horizon that shifted into wonderful focus; they spoke to (not at) us, bestowing a vision of hard won but implicit success and gave us the tools to achieve it. By lunchtime I was fizzing with delight, realising that this remarkable resource was open for business not just today, but tomorrow, next week, next month and long after that.

My unlucky brush with an inexperienced Advisor five years ago destroyed any faith I had in Government support; the benefits lost to me since then are too many to mention but suffice to say, I will seize them now. For here are people who understand my company’s huge international potential and who want to help us achieve it; experts to guide us into our ripest territories, research and introduce prospective partners, help with business strategy, actuality and delivery.

The surprises didn’t end there; our Facilitators were really rather entertaining. Robert, the charming and erudite twin of Melvyn Bragg; entrepreneur David with his pearls of wisdom concerning the making of profit; and Andrew who brought alive the very real need for cultural and linguistic research around our intended markets.

Our fascinating and lively day was punctuated by a talk with supremo James Averdieck, founder of Gü, who took us on the seat of pants journey we all want to replicate, the tale of an idea come good, of precocious talent, stress, sleepless nights and ultimate success. From James we learned that anything is possible if you want it enough; an apt message for an ambitious audience.

The day drew to a close and I emerged into the sunny St James’s street with a spring in my step and plans aplenty. A firm strategy is now on the agenda; with next generation product launched, volume manufacturing underway, a highly experienced sales team for the UK and Ireland taking effect, Forte Medical can start to prepare itself for the world.

The right bits of it, in the right way, of course.

Posted in Business, Export, London, Travel | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

A tale of clever women and country cottages.

Posted on February 24, 2014 by fortewinks

L_JOU19N_JOULES_WELLY_NAVY-FLORAL_AThe charms of a weekend in the country have largely eluded me over thirty years as a Londoner, mainly because I feel safe in these smokey streets. So when invitations to go there began to arrive, I thought long and hard.

Beautiful Boyfriend is from the countryside. My first nerve wracking country jaunt was to his very own natural habitat and I unexpectedly found it suited me rather well. I was happy to gaze at the green open space, I rather enjoyed the changeable weather and I very much liked the warm and welcoming people that live there.

On this visit, it came to pass that I met Z; blonde, vivacious, brain like a bandsaw. She is a long-standing family childhood friend with BB’s interests at heart and upon meeting an ostensibly arriviste girlfriend, had every reason to observe me carefully. As it turned out we got along fine. Z is not just sassy, smart and slightly scatty but also a successful self-made businesswoman, linguist and party animal.

Before too long, we received an invitation to her cottage in the country. This particularly picturesque panacea to London life is nestled in the Cotswolds, somewhere as yet unexplored by Fortewinks and therefore, of interest. More compelling still was the idea of a weekend with Z, who did not disappoint.

Our glamorous chauffeusse collected us from a misty station at the appointed hour and before long, we drew into a tiny drive. Her immaculate cottage had been thoughtfully crafted to squeeze the last millimetre out of its nooks and crannies, the result being spacious, elegant and deliciously luxe.

Saturday brought a trip to the nearby market town with its traditional shops purveying everything from sweets to suits, shirts to shotguns. Z pointed out the sights and airily waved her arm across swathes of hill and dale confiding that numerous A-listers had discreet places nearby: Ruby Wax, Kate Moss, The Camerons et al.

We visited delightful delicatessens and bought food for dinner that night; we were due to dine with Z’s neighbours. Rest assured, well connected though our hostess happens to be, our guests were none of the above but instead we were treated to the company of a remarkable, interesting and witty couple.

The Neighbours were academics: artistic teachers with well-honed, informed and utterly logical opinions on education, sculpture, technology, literature and the future of the generation destined to look after us in our dotage. Perhaps one day they will have the opportunity to impart these visionary views to their political neighbours. One can hope

Sunday involved wellington boots and dogs.

Those that know me even slightly will understand my brevity and tone here. Reader dear, the dogs were lively and outside was damp and muddy with bracingly cold air that wrested from my eyes tears of pure Sauvignon from the night before. But wait! The skies were blue, the grass super-green, the air fresh and yes, I thoroughly enjoyed our traipse through the fields and lanes of Oxfordshire. Indeed, I loved spending time with Z and my two and a bit days in the country. As luck would have it, another invitation was to arrive on the horizon within a few short weeks.

This time, it was K, another vibrant, smart, sassy, self-made and enterprising friend who extended an invitation to her country hideaway. BB and I drove out on a Friday afternoon to this most comfortable of cottages nestled into the Suffolk countryside.

Our first evening was spent chatting together at table, with soup, cheese, bread and a good bottle of Chianti. BB and I were installed into the “guest wing” of this tardis hideaway, our bedroom atop the narrowest stair that rose from our very own snug, itself attached to an en-suite bathroom; luxury indeed. Saturday morning arrived with blazing sunshine, blue skies and the most splendid views across fields of long undulating grass.

The afternoon that followed a lazy lunch in Aldeburgh was slow and mellow; we arrived back at K’s to find her wrist deep in ingredients for dinner to which were invited her friends from round about. This particular party of brains hailed from the world of enterprise: design, finance, publishing and media. The food was a joy and the conversation joyous, vivacious, interesting, challenging, funny. As K’s non resident guests peeled off into the night we too dispersed to our beds, happy and exhausted.

Sunday brought bacon toasties, coffee and newspapers. K and BB embarked on some ambitious gardening, ably assisted by your narrator, watching from under a woolly blanket, on the sofa within. Oh happy day.

Garden duly nipped and tucked, we drove to Orford for a bracing quayside walk before setting off on our return journey to The Smoke. As we wove our away through the lanes and byways of Suffolk, I felt a little wistful.

I also wondered at our luck in finding ourselves guests of two clever, independent, social and intellectual meteorites, who were happy to share with us their stimulating friends and beautiful country cottages.

When, I wondered, should we introduce them to each other … ?

Reader, I shall keep you posted.

Posted in Art, Business, Entertaining, Family, Feminism, Food and wine, Friends, Life and romance, London, PR, Shopping, Travel, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

High five to fingers and thumbs (and a wink to the limbs as well)

Posted on January 28, 2014 by fortewinks

Image

Tiny galaxy of pretty pots

The ceramics came first.  Last summer I happened upon a friendly neighbour who mentioned that her former-almost-daughter-in-law was involved in setting up an earthy new local venture.

Former-Almost had apparently joined forces with like-minded artists to create a ceramics studio within some railway arches in nearby Haggerston. Turning Earth is contemporary not just by way of construction, but also in concept as its flexible facilities welcome the beginner, the amateur and the professional potter alike.

The idea of getting down and dirty with clay somehow appealed, a welcome distraction from the graft of growing my own business. I explored and enrolled with younger daughter, The Exocet.  A few short weeks later, Exocet and I were working cheek by jowl on the Beginners Course within this marvellous enterprise.

Exocet demonstrated an innate understanding of the material in hand. She produced shapely pieces on the wheel; her coil pot was nothing less than accomplished. My own talent came by way of nurture rather than nature with ever patient Stuart-the-Tutor gently encouraging my efforts into recognisable form. An initial wheel-thrown piece was reduced to an eggcup by the time I had finished squeezing its curves; my coil pot required first aid on the wheel. Things improved slowly but surely and the five-week course yielded a tiny galaxy of pretty pots produced by my progeny and I, of which we are rightly proud. Most importantly of all, Mother and Daughter emerged from every two and a half hour session glowing like a couple of Ready-Brek Kids.

Another RBK event arrived just before Christmas. Having listened to wistful memories of my piano playing days and an apparent desire to tinkle the ivories once again, BB (blogs passim) arranged delivery of a Casio keyboard, stand and stool. Too big to fit under our tiny tree, this jauntily illustrated pack sat conspicuously in the kitchen until three days before Christmas when Piano was unpacked. We found a home for her in the sitting room and she was settled right there.

Then the fear set in.

Piano and I observed each other. I sat with her and fidgeted. I stared at her keys, which would not speak to me. I attempted a scale or two. It became abundantly clear that my six piano grades (including five of theory) were long gone. Having summoned Piano into my life, I knew not what to do with her.

Back from the New Year break I found that whilst at home, Piano’s stare followed me. I avoided her. I listened to music, watched endless detectives on telly, read newspapers in bed; but still Piano was able to peep upstairs, round corners and find me. It seemed however, that her looks were becoming less accusatory, more cheeky. Perhaps?

Perhaps. A little seduced, I sat with her again to try scales and simple tunes. Yes, maybe I could do this after all. Didn’t I have someone helpful in my address book? A scroll through to find the Piano Tuner from days gone by led instead to Barnaby Green, a highly accomplished musician I knew from those very same days. Barney is also a composer. He plays regular sold-out gigs. It transpires that he teaches within Hackney and lives not a mile away. Who can resist such serendipity?

Barney has accepted the challenge to turn a grown woman’s musical ineptitude into something that might make the heart sing.  He spends an hour a week with me, tutoring, nurturing, encouraging, bollocking. I practice daily. After half an hour I allow myself a glass of wine, only to be sipped when a set of scales or a piece is right. Tonight I got through two glasses. After the dispensing of new work, I suspect it will reduce to a half.

Piano and I are getting along famously now; in fact, I can hardly wait to conspire with her at the end of each day. My fingers become itchy; I thrum scales on my desk and in my head. BB has, through Piano, given me an unexpected new love and I am happy.

Less happy was I last November when bereavement and persistent ill-health conspired to run me down to levels so low I could barely leave my bed for a month. During the most traumatic days of loss I vowed to pick myself up and somehow shape up, to manage life’s future challenges a little better.

Two days after my Mothers’ funeral, unwell and far from ready for anything new I walked into the very local Moss Pilates and faced a stranger. “Are you alright?” enquired the concerned Helen. An unexpected question that released clumsily contained grief. “My Mother has just died.” Calm, sympathy and kindness prevailed. “You’ve come to the right place,” she said and after some mopping up, I was shown around this lovely, shining temple to Pilates.

For approaching three months now, three times a week I cycle there at lunchtime and take part in relentless, reviving and oddly relaxing Reformer classes. My teachers are diligent, thorough, friendly, funny and reassuringly super-fit. My walk is more erect, my limbs stronger, my back pain-free, my abs far ‘abbier and for the first time in many months I’m feeling fine.

This tale gentle reader, is told to reassure you that coming over all fingers, thumbs and limbs is not just better than good, it is wonderful. I can recommend it all.

Posted in Art, Family, Feminism, Friends, Health, Life and romance, London, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Sicily and the art of slow

Posted on August 24, 2013 by fortewinks

IMG_0911.JPG

Perfect view in Palermo

Mr Smart, Head of Art is ultimately responsible. Chatting last term to Beautiful Boyfriend (mine, not his) he recommended as the starting point for our imminent vacanza, a swanky Palazzo apartment owned by a Countess he happens to know.

Palermo
It came to pass then, that on a dreamy day in July we arrived at Butera 28. Here, our light and lofty rooms were laid out with such achingly beautiful symmetry that from the bed, one could gaze through the dining and sitting rooms to a perfect window that framed an azure sea, sky and slender horizon.

Lovely Mr Smart, himself in vacanza, took possession of our first night. Steering us through landmark Palermo piazze and strade, he took care to provide reference points for our future sorties around town. A bijou bar drew us in for the first delicious holiday Prosecco and to watch the very Italian goings on around us. We didn’t loiter long though, for dinner and Mr Smart’s Sicilian Partner both called. SP is a collector of Barbie dolls, owning some 5,000 original examples; excited conversations ensued about the groundbreaking Twist ‘n’ Turn model, which of course I owned back in 196hmff.

The essential London antidote, five days in Palermo gave us lessons in the art of slow. A late and lazy start to the day, with chilly watermelon and steamy coffee in bed would drift into a light lunch and hazy siesta, after which we might venture out into an abated heat, to seek Sicilian treasure.

Jewels and gems aplenty were to be found; the flea markets yielded a pretty, pale pink antique glass lens, ancient silver pencil sharpener and some lace. The food markets were a-brim with fresh fish, fruit, vegetables and herbs, not to mention floury and flavourful pane of every description. We’d return home in deep debate about … dinner.

Palermo: sighs and scenes aplenty, drawn from architecture, art and true Italian artifice. If you visit, make sure you take in the mosaic-rich Cappella Palatina and the Museo Internzionale delle Marionette – a curious collection of puppets compiled by clever curators with an eye for the arcane.
……..

Pasta pesto (10 minutes)
100g fresh basilico. 100g fresh rucola, 3-4 spicchii d’aglio, 50g pinoli, 125g parmegiano, 2 limone, 125ml olio di oliva vergine, sale e pepe. Pasta fresca.

Toast the pine kernels. Finely chop or crush anything choppable or crushable, grate everything else, throw it all into a large bowl, blend with the olive oil. Add chilli if you fancy some extra heat. Season. Serve with fresh pasta. Sprinkle some halved baby plum tomatoes around the side for a bit of tricolore action. Ecco.
…….

Cefalù
We found ourselves in Cefalù due to a tiny window of opportunity between Palermo and the next six nights of our holiday in a nearby spot further up the Northern Coast.

An early morning €20 First Class ticket-for-two took us to this lovely place. Cefalù did not disappoint; a seaside city founded by the Greeks (some ancient remains lie hither and thither) its population of 14,000 anticipates the summer arrival of several million visitors.

Within minutes of arriving we were beachside; the hot-sand-in-the-toes moment was well worth the Palermo pause. We splashed about in the sublime and oh-so-salty sea for hours.

Come late afternoon we sauntered through the streets unbelieving of our good fortune and the richness of our holiday thus far. After a reviver at the piazza we climbed steep steps into the beautiful Cathedral, apparently commissioned by King Roger II in gratitude to God for saving him from a violent storm at sea.

The most arresting sight in here is the monumental mosaic of Christ Pantokrator, whose face bears Roman eyes and nose, Arab mouth and chin. One hand is raised in benediction, the other holds a text that reads in both Greek and Latin: “I am the light of the world …” A lesson for today’s religious muddle lies perhaps, within this great work.

Campofelice di Roccella
Our longest sojourn was at Campofelice di Roccella, within a modest villa that lay just five minutes walk from a long, clean, sandy and under-populated beach. Here, our luck grew to almost indecent proportions (time now, to salute BB’s diligent planning methinks.)

It was here, too, that BB excelled himself. The heat in our bedroom that first night was less than comfortable; on waking, he disappeared up to the discreet sundeck that had persuaded us into renting the place. He returned and silently dragged the mattress upstairs. Asking no questions (I know better) I left him to his machinations, hearing only occasional muffled thuds and snatches of song.

The outcome of this mysterious episode? Our sleeping arrangements had moved aloft and we slept thereafter under a beautifully constructed mosquito net and the sparkling starlit sky. BB even pointed out my sign Taurus. I have never before slept under stars. I have never before seen Taurus. I have never been away with a man who just happens to bring with him the clips and other necessaries with which to construct a substantial and effective barrier against small fanged flying things.

Over these few days we witnessed every sunset and even a sunrise from the beach. Swimming under a palette of pink and orange is happiness indeed; the rhythm of our even slower days here also took in a regular siesta, a movie, Prosecco, a passeggiata and were yes, structured around food and fine wine.

Our prevalent luck extended to a daily circuit of mobile vendors who arrived with clockwork regularity, plump, juicy fruit and vegetables and an assortment of pane to die for. Regrettably, the ice-cream van came only on day two; in our excitement we failed to unlock the gate in time … I’m told the Roccella ice cream is really very good.
…….

Crushed watermelon ice
Fill 1/3rd of a 2ltr water bottle with water and place in freezer for 24hrs. Scoop the flesh of ½ large watermelon into a bowl and crush to pulp. Shake the frozen water bottle vigorously to break-up the ice and then add the juice. Shake again and return to the freezer for an hour or two. Repeat daily. Take to beach.
…….

Balestrata
The grand finale: a few nights in la bella Balestrata. This resort-in-waiting gave us a bohemian apartment within an ancient building close to the sea, which we often watched from our balcony. The days here unfurled gently with the sound of the street rousing us from slumber. We awoke to open french windows, sheer, pale golden curtains billowing in a kind breeze, rooftops only just visible under the bluest of blue skies all seen through slender wrought iron swirls.

There are three beaches in Balestrata.

The first is smooth and long, cliff behind and sea afront. Groups of sun seekers scatter across the broad sand; there is no crowd, no clutter, no café, no bar, for the people who come here are self-sufficient. They leave no imprint of their stay on this unspoiled beach.

The second is smaller and trickier to reach. More private, it is less rewarding for the sunbather and swimmer but a goldmine for the explorer, with rocks and pools, wondershells and shimmering stones.

Beach three is the Papa. Away from the centre, out of earshot from the town, rickety bars have been erected along the prom; music blares, boys strut, girls pout, mothers cluck and fathers gaze from under snoozy eyelids. Everywhere there is Italian chatter and song, for this Balestrata beach is Palermo’s playground. There are no tourists here, no Inghlese, no Francese. Just Italians doing what Italians do best.

Food was clearly pivotal to our holiday, food that we bought and prepared ourselves (slowly). Sunday however is all about pasta and today, I wanted mine cooked by a pro. We strolled out to Trattoria da Geronimo. Here, the eponymous, round, smiling owner purveys true Sicilian fare and the sweetest Panelle: a fried chickpea confection which, sprinkled with salt, is served as street food. But Geronimo knows how to woo his guests with Prosecco, panelle and perfect pasta. We loved Geronimo.

And so, Balestrata and its beaches took us gently by the hand to the end of our holiday and now, to the end of this story.

There are of course many more tales to tell, but not here and not now.

© Giovanna Forte

Posted in Art, Design and architecture, Food and wine, Friends, Health, Life and romance, Travel, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

The last week in April: 100 midwives and a 50th birthday

Posted on May 21, 2013 by fortewinks

Birthday cakes My Birthday Cakes by Giorgia Maria

Last month I fell in love. I fell in love with Midwives and with Edinburgh. The combination contrived a fitting warm-up act to my birthday celebrations. To be specific, that birthday celebration.

Edinburgh is a place through which I have only surfed, specifically at Hogmanay long ago when I was Mrs McAllister, accompanying Mr McAllister to first-foot in Largo, Fife. I had only seen this stately city on the cusp of the New Year, in the throes of crazy Celtic carousing.  In April, the place is a different proposition altogether; quieter, brighter albeit with remarkable architectural drama. I explored it more thoroughly this time; Edinburgh is a great beauty.

I stayed at the Roxburghe, thus far the most recommended hotel to enter the Forte Medical Business Travel Directory. Good value, exemplary staff, small but perfect room, crisp cotton sheets and Oh Joy! A bathroom bereft of previous guests’ hair.

Dinner with Nephew took my first evening. An aspiring comedian, this young man has moved to Edinburgh to make his dream come true, in support of which he is working a 9-5 day-job. Nephew is somewhat precariously balanced on the first rungs of success; the recipient of excellent reviews to date, he is honing his craft and has bagged some slots at the Fringe. He is bright but dark, funny in a way that twists the soul. But you laugh. You can’t help yourself. Me? I wept with mirth; I love his humour. I am Proud Aunt.

After dinner (and a largely successful “dry” runway to my birthday), I meandered into the hotel bar: “I could murder a Scotch.” The bar tender smiled and gesticulated across  shelves and shelves of bottles, each containing its own unique tint of liquid gold; that honeyed, dewy stuff of which the Scots are justly proud.  “Which one?” she asked, with gentle equanimity. “Oh. Yes. I’d forgotten where I was. Sorry.” Lovely staff, see?

Up early then, to the MaMa Conference, a gathering of Midwives and Champions of Good Birth, where we had taken a space from which to promote the Peezy msu to the invaluable people who help bring new life into the world. All pregnant women have to provide regular urine samples and the difficulty of delivering this is commensurate with the growing size of Mother-to-Be. Yet it is right now, that an accurate sample is absolutely essential. An undetected Urinary Tract Infection can lead to pre-term birth or a low-weight baby and has been linked to increased risk of foetal or newborn mortality. Peezy msu seems to be an essential piece of kit and the Midwives present seemed to agreed. Sample packs were dispensed, names given and orders taken. The cost of a 90p kit was deemed by all to be worth the myriad mother-and-baby health and hygiene benefits. And so say all of us.

That evening, picture if you will around 100 Midwives and Guests gathering for dinner and Ceilidh… of the few men present, one threw some rock ‘n’ roll shapes with his MidWife, another kept himself quietly aside whilst a third performed handstands. During dinner we chatted animatedly – these are gutsy and interesting women. Once the music began we were on the floor and to a lady we danced. Oh how we danced; nifty moves and bonhomie filled the room. Had an outsider witnessed the goings on, they would have assumed implicit drug use. And they would have been correct … one free drug floated us all. Take my word for it and beware: group Oestrogen is powerful stuff indeed.

And so it came to pass that on this remarkable female high I returned to London, and to my 50th Birthday celebrations, which took place the very next day.

I awoke with both Girls in the house, and Beautiful Boyfriend by my side. On waking, BB presented a bottle of Bollinger, breakfast in bed and a pendant crafted by his own fair hand; a Taurus to decorate my décolletage. A lovelier gift I could not have imagined or expected. Yet there was so much to overwhelm from him, from My Girls and friends throughout the day, all of it suffused with love. Thank you all. Very much.

The hours progressed in a blur. Nicky at 3Thirty made my hair bounce; David Eyre orchestrated his signature, perfect Paella and Tapas for the late lunch attended by 50 friends, each invited for their friendliness, kindness and just-being-there-for-me, across the myriad highs and lows of my life thus far.

Ali, the Tornado managed the day whilst Exocet Giorgia excelled in her chosen profession, producing a veritable solar system of perfect cakes and bonbons upon which we feasted post-Paella. Graham Farnworth (he’s the one in the middle) arrived complete with guitar to deliver Bluesy Blues (a coup, given he’s booked until next year) and around him we chatted, drank and danced. We eventually decamped chez-Forte for an after party. The final guest was shown out at 4.30am and I retired to bed, older and no wiser.

The upshot of The Last Week in April was an extraordinary affirmation of every aspect of my lovely life. God bless daughters, boyfriend, birthday, business – and my lucky stars.

© Giovanna Forte

Posted in Business, Family, Feminism, Friends, Life and romance, Travel, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Does my bum look big in this?

Posted on April 13, 2013 by fortewinks

Image

Photo from modelmayhem.com

Preparing for a party some years ago, my Girls then aged 4 and 6 sat on on the bed to watch me dress and make-up.

After applying the final glittering touches I twisted and turned in front of the mirror, wondering if my new, high-fashion body-con creation was really doing its thing and asked the children “does my bottom look big in this?” The unedifying reply: “No Mummy. But your tummy looks enormous.”

A guide to Firm Abs in 30 Days and a fixation with sit-ups and crunches arrived. To this day when appraising myself in the mirror, I focus on that tummy.

Over the years criticisms received about my own body include: thighs like a toddler, big nose, fat arms, short legs, flat chest. Imagine if it were all true … I’d look like Geoff Capes with dwarfism.  As it happens, the combination of my less than perfect attributes creates a figure that even I think ain’t half bad.

Were Miss World to magnify any body detail in isolation from everything else, perhaps she too might find fault; we all do it. Better to zoom out and see the whole picture. Let what others see form your judgement because on this, the detail can be Devilish indeed.

To explore what fuels these obsessions, let’s visit the gossipmongers. Heat and its peer publications often feature celebrity pictures with the tiniest, most human flaws encircled and scorned. Untoned arms, cellulite, smile lines (wrinkles, apparently); all are fair game to the hacks that demand perfection from those in the spotlight. These people are presumably practically perfect in every way? I hope their glasshouses are triple glazed.

In truth, I quite like my celebrities to be flawed; I’m reassured by a red-carpet dress that’s artfully draped over a well-Spanxed thigh. I like seeing a less than perfect upper arm on an actress or singer my age, because it’s real and makes them no less starry.

In sixth form, my close friend Pia developed anorexia after the father she worshiped joked that her bottom had become more generous than he had hitherto noticed. This teasing yet casual remark made no doubt with paternal affection, led ultimately to her death. Watching my friend quite literally disappear before my eyes was terrifying; her beautiful hourglass figure became the enemy and the smallest hint of excess flesh a sin to be fasted away. Her spirit died long before her body; the flame of this formerly lively young woman was extinguished by starvation.

Unwitting father or bitchy magazine, its often others’ perception of us that creates body obsession. Out of context magnification can make a monstrosity of the most normal form.

Context is not the point, however, of the genital zoo that makes up the Embarrassing Bodies gallery. Here we find bizarre breasts, funny fannies and strange scrota. The cleverly maverick aspect of this collection though, is how the sheer variety of dimension and droop is designed to reassure us that other completely normal people have far odder completely normal bodies than us. View the most freakish anatomy in relation to the whole and rest assured, normality is restored.

Whatever any one of us thinks about ourselves, whatever unique peculiarities we identify, nature has already solved our personal puzzle by designing each component to fit with poetic and seamless synchronicity, no matter what our shape or size.

My own mild obsession is now irrevocably linked to the ageing process and a propensity to put on weight easily. An irregular gym routine, sit-ups, facial exercises and diet plans punctuate my days. But like it or not, the most powerful incentive to lose a few lbs is still a stinging personal jibe.

Asking a male friend for his opinion on my performance in a filmed interview recently, I mentioned that the camera angle wasn’t particularly flattering to my chin.

“Which one?” he quipped.

Did I say not half bad? Better get to work on the other half then.

© Giovanna Forte

Posted in Feminism, Health, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Carry On Construction: the modular home and merchant banker

Posted on March 28, 2013 by fortewinks

Image

Proliferation of Perrinesque pardons

My PR consultancy closed its doors some time ago, so I was surprised and pleased to be approached last November by a trio of Gentlemen to whom I had been recommended for management and media services. Flattering indeed.

The Gentlemen concerned were retired: Architect, Engineer and Merchant Banker, the latter responsible for managing the money. They exuded confidence and charm. The project in question was the launch of a modular housing prototype, a prescient example of good design drawn up some twenty years ago and whose moment has now arrived.

I enjoy good architecture, I love modernism and clever construction and am especially keen on fine finishes and intelligent technical touches, all of which are integral to this gem of a house. In all, the project was right up my Boulevard and straightforward to boot. A jolly Fiftieth Birthday celebration and the possibility of a holiday, hove into view.

My terms, including a modest upfront payment were met with enthusiastic acceptance. I sprang into action gathering the necessary expertise for branding and website whilst making detailed plans for the PR, marketing, project and on-site management.

The Gentlemen seemed pleased; however, as my initial payment fell overdue and the excuses elaborate, it became apparent that whilst the housing concept had solid foundations, the business behind it did not. Indeed, The Gentleman Architect abandoned the company leaving The Engineer and The Merchant Banker with a somewhat notional project. Before long, I found myself in a farcical maze of absent civil servants, maverick investors, lost files and Perrinesque pardons:

21st December
Thanks for all your sterling work to date; we are getting all our ‘bits and pieces’ together that you’ve asked for, and will collectively be in-touch. Reference payment, I know we are getting everything ready for settlement during today.

28th December
I had hoped to be able to pay the first batch of bills by Christmas, but lawyers have prolonged it all and it now looks as if it will definitely be next week. I’m so sorry to get off on the wrong foot, but it is an unusual form of funding which has taken a couple of months to get the necessary clearances and agreements. It is all now agreed, just needing a busy lawyer to complete it and we will shortly have a six figure sum available to us.

4 January
I am still bogged down by bureaucracy within a government department which does not return to work until next Monday and from whom I require a stamped form to enable the bank to transfer our money, so I anticipate paying everyone early next week.

10 January
In the current banking climate it is not unreasonable NOT to have raised the required funds and have the money in the bank. There was no point in pursuing a traditional banking route which obviously had little chance of being successful, and the way I decided was most appropriate for us is unusual and complicated which made it time consuming, but what has made things worse is a government department being closed for business between the 17th. December and the 7th. January and this has meant being unable to get a stamped form required by the lawyers to satisfy the bank until, hopefully, it is received today. This delay has caused us further delays in that our solicitor now has a meeting in Johannesburg on Monday and the banker in question returns next week also.

10 January
The project has overtaken the financial planning that we had started. And really, if our glorious Civil Service were operating properly we wouldn’t have had this hiccup. Anyway, we are there now, bar the shouting, so if you wouldn’t mind ‘sitting on your hands’ for a few more days, we will soon be getting payment to you.

17th January
I must emphasise that the funding is not of a conventional nature; it is complicated and involves a small private bank, the documentation being handled by one of the largest city law firms. We have now complied with every request on the documentation and await the return of the bank’s proprietor from a business trip to the USA this weekend to complete the deal. Until he returns we cannot make an appointment, but would hope to meet him on Tuesday or Wednesday next week, and assuming he is satisfied with everything, would expect the funds to be released almost immediately thereafter.

25th January
I only discovered on Monday that the banker involved in this deal had delayed his return from the States by a week and is back in his office next Monday, when we will work for immediate drawdown, assuming he agrees that the documents are in order.

29 January
The banker involved in our company fundraising duly returned to his office from a trip to the States yesterday, but found the documentation not to be as he wished it; this is being attended to but involves the civil servants in Leeds who caused the delays in the first place, and they are now saying that they have “no record” of the case. They usually take up to three weeks to reply to anything and while we are trying to hasten it, realistically there will be a further period before we can complete the deal.

8 February
The frustration continues in that the small investor is dependent on a maverick who bought his company and legally should be making regular payments and isn’t! In fact I sincerely believe that even today or possibly Monday that will get to us. The investor remains on side 100%, as does the main investor where we await the civil servants in Leeds to get their finger out and send the required papers to the lawyers; this should be imminently too.

18th February
Please bear with us a while longer; I hope to be able to pay your bill this week and possibly sooner rather than later. It’s been a nightmare dealing with people and Bodies whose word cannot be trusted, and we seriously considered going elsewhere at one stage, but I know it would take ages again from scratch and decided to persevere where we are.

22nd February
It’s not been possible to finalise the funding this week, but I shall be in a position to send the money we owe you either next Monday afternoon or on Tuesday; the legal agreement is now drawn up and we await the investor to sign it with myself. This is actually a smaller amount than we will need in total, with the main investor hopefully also coming to a drawdown situation not much later in the week.

8 March
The person handling this is not contactable today – a family funeral.

11 March
It should be in the next very few days, I hope! The interim investor had to postpone three arranged meetings last week alone due to his business. The people in Leeds lost their file; we have our lawyers on the case and hope it will be sorted swiftly as a result.

14 March
Unfortunately X was ill yesterday but is totally recovered today, so we’re one day behind plan; we are getting the Restriction entered in Court tomorrow morning and once that stamped document is copied to the solicitors who are acting for the private bank, the bank will release the funds to the client account, from where we draw down on demand with an invoice. The funds to cover invoices raised to date will be sent to me either late tomorrow or early Thursday and I’ll send it out immediately to everyone’s bank accounts.

19th March
Disappointment yet again, unfortunately. There is no problem at all with the investor, but he has today told our agent, who is a friend of his, that he wants to hand the cash directly to myself and wishes to do it on Thursday morning. I have of course met him previously, but was advised it was not necessary for me to attend any of the previous appointments when we tried to conclude the matter. So it should finally all be settled on Thursday after I’ve received the cash and banked it.

 20st March
I confirm that I am seeing the minority investor at mid-day tomorrow and will receive the money in cash. As I’ve told you before the investor is his own man and does what he wants when he wants to. He was due to complete on Friday, but an office problem held him there; he’s due to complete at 10.30 this morning.  The main investor has been very helpful after the civil servants lost their file. We feel we are at last making progress.

21st March
I went to the meeting place but the small investor called at the last minute to postpone it until tomorrow at the same time as an urgent business situation had occurred which he had to attend to as a priority. He is aware of our time needs for the cash and was extremely apologetic, but the fact remains that I’m unable to do anything until the same time tomorrow. He is a genuine responsible businessman and I’m certain that it will all be concluded satisfactorily tomorrow; he was embarrassed that the agent and myself had been put to a wasted morning and I had also wasted a 100 mile round trip.

22nd March
Astonishingly and happily my lowly debt was settled, leaving me oddly bereft of the entertaining world of Carry On Construction. I wonder who found the file?

© Giovanna Forte

Posted in Business, Design and architecture, Life and romance, PR, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Butterflies … and a debut on the BBC

Posted on March 6, 2013 by fortewinks

Image

Evan Davis on The Bottom Line
Photo courtesy BBC

“My name is Helen Grady, producer for Evan Davis on The Bottom Line. There’s a programme coming up on doing business with Government, for instance the NHS, and Evan thought of you.”

About eighteen months ago, I attended a Bookshop Barnie at Foyles, a splendid series of literary events run by my friend, razor sharp journalist and teacher of things architectural Austin Williams. The book being discussed was Made in Britain and its author one Mr Evan Davis, was there to present the case for his tome and field questions and comments from the floor. A hunch that the place would be packed proved correct, but I arrived early for my front-row seat and was happily introduced to the man himself by Austin. Naturally, I lost no time in showing him the Peezy kit that is ever present in my handbag.

I suppose it’s not every day a gentleman is presented with a mid-stream urine collection system by its enthusiastic Manufacturesse although, being Made in Britain, Peezy was apposite to the book in hand. He certainly didn’t seem to mind, indeed seemed very interested. I suppose that’s why he remembered.

Yesterday then, with butterflies abounding and peddles fixed firmly in the crook of my shiny patent peep-toe heels, I cycled away from Old Street to Millbank where the filming was taking place for as well as two slots on Radio 4, The Bottom Line goes out on the BBC News Channel,  World News TV and the World Service.

It was a beautifully warm, sunny day, not a breeze to ruffle my freshly curled coiffure (thank you Damian) and I sped through the remarkably quiet streets arriving some half an hour early. The beautiful Victoria Tower Gardens seemed like a good spot to calm myself, gaze at the river and the Rodin sculpture that resides there, cool down after the ride and, well, have a word with myself.

“This, Girl, is something you could never have imagined, a media opportunity to cap all media opportunities. Telly! Radio! You’re going out all over the world! Don’t f**k it up.”

My destination was a corner building that has always held a fascination; it looks out to the river with a quietly ornate façade. Slowly mounting the stairs I gazed at the high ceilings, the gracious spaces, the delicious unapologetic, dignified grandeur. And I felt very lucky.

Entering the BBC News reception, smiling friendly people with earphones gave a warm welcome and spun me through rooms colonised by long desks, and seemingly millions of faces looking urgently into millions of flickering screens, to the Green Room. There was Evan Davis looking immaculate in his trademark blue shirt (whoever irons it deserves a medal; I spent much time immersed in scrutiny, failing to find so much as the teeny tiniest creasette; even my Swiss-German Mother would be impressed and I could compose a whole other blog on her ironing standards).

There in the Green Room, I met fellow guests, the handsome and talented Jim Eyre, of globally acclaimed Wilkinson Eyre Architects (I have long been a fan so this was very exciting) and the piercingly clever Dr Uwe Krueger, CEO of Atkins one of the biggest design, engineering and project management consultancies in the world.

Producer Helen Grady, smiling, professional, with an unswerving attention to detail (her briefing had been utterly thorough) organised coffee and generally put me at ease. Before long, I was whisked away to Make Up.

Seating me in front of a very bright unforgiving mirror, Make-Up set to work with foundation and … well, the detail is something of a blur because this black art involved a great deal of opening and closing of eyes and a tale of how Evan had been showing Peezy to the women in the studio, seeking their opinions. Luckily, I heard, they were very positive. Certainly Make Up was onside; thank you Mr Davis.

Before long and sporting the (very flattering) cosmetic version of Photoshop I was escorted to the Studio and here, dear reader, the action began.

I was positioned as the proverbial rose between my two unthorny peers, the three of us facing Evan, who ran through the format, what we should and shouldn’t do  … “Please try not to bang the table, the sound is picked up really easily.” Inevitably, we all had our table-thumping turn during the two-hour session.

The experience thereafter was surreal; Helen had recommended I think of the session much like a dinner party, where discussion is free and flowing. Given the import of the event I had my doubts but indeed, it felt very much like a friendly occasion thanks to Evan’s easy charm and gentle direction, sometimes using the flicker of a hand to suggest a pause, a tiny smile of encouragement perhaps, the occasional something to make it all come together beautifully.

Around us in the dark, I was aware of cameras rolling, of silent figures capturing every expression, eyes missing not a detail, ears picking up every intonation. I wondered what they would keep in, cut out, magnify, fade. If Make Up is a black art, then Programme Making is sheer wizardry, and the Wizards calm, professional, kind … and inscrutable.

Things went very smoothly, there was an easy camaraderie between us; we liked each other and although my world is very different to theirs, my fellow guests, led by Evan, made it easy for me break in, to be very much part of what I feared would be a discussion dominated by bigger business matters than I have yet to encounter. But I learned that our experiences chime and that scale matters not. We all run businesses that flourish, that will continue to flourish because each of us is very good at what we do.

That, I suppose, is why we were there and I have come to understand that Forte Medical is not just good, but brilliant. The company is unique, smart, nimble and yes, rather pushy. We have to be to achieve our goal, for within a year from now we will have changed something radical within healthcare, replacing mediocrity in medical analysis and patient care with a new gold standard. Of this, I am convinced; how I will feel with mission accomplished I cannot imagine.

Without further ado, I will leave you to judge for yourselves the outcome of my happy afternoon at the BBC. Broadcast media is virgin territory, and I have no idea what will transpire … so with an intake of breath, I give you, The Bottom Line.

© Giovanna Forte

Broadcast dates and times:

BBC Radio 4 FM (92-95 FM, 103-105 FM)
Thursday 7 March 2013: 20.30hrs
Saturday 9th March 2013: 17.30hrs

BBC News Channel
Saturday 9th March 2013: 04.30hrs and 22.30hrs
Sunday 10th March 2013: 01.30hrs, 05.30hrs and 22.30hrs

BBC TV World News
Saturday 9th March 2013: 00.30hrs and 07.30hrs
Sunday 20th March 2013: 12.30hrs and 18.30hrs

World Service
Sunday 10th March 2013: 02.30-03.00hrs
Sunday 10th March 2013: Last TX 15.30-16.00hrs

Posted in Business, Life and romance, London, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment