One Small Thing: Viv Groskop
I don’t mean to be some kind of annoying, bragging kitchen appliance obsessive. I am even dimly aware that there is an anti-NutriBullet movement to which I would have very happily subscribed until the last few weeks. (From the Guardian, sniffily: “John Lewis is selling one every four minutes at £80 a go… Are the fancy juicers worth the money? Or are cheaper ones just as good?”) At the beginning of the pandemic, I had even forgotten that I owned a NutriBullet. The idea of hand-crafting a smoothie when you can very easily acquire one ready-made in a shop or cafe of any kind was, to me, the height of idiocy.
Then came the lockdown and an avalanche of alcohol, disappointment and Club biscuits. I was struggling to organise my time, bickering with family members, sleeping badly, waking up hungover and constantly moaning about the state of the world whilst feeling powerless to do anything about it. I felt ashamed because so many people were risking their lives on the frontline and I had zero relevant skills for this moment. I felt whacked over the head by the unexpected. And I felt pushed inexorably towards a pointless and narcissistic rapid mental decline. I love people and events. I love getting on and doing things. I thrive on the sense of forward motion that comes with putting things out into the world, whether it’s a book or a podcast or a comedy show.
Whilst I was cycling through all these selfish but inevitable thoughts, something in my subconscious reminded me that the long-neglected NutriBullet, dusty from years of obsolescence, was lurking at the back of a cupboard. It was first acquired half a decade ago when I was writing an article for a magazine about some godforsaken protein diet. I had pretended to use it once and then put it away in disgust. There had been times when I had thought, “Maybe I ought to use that…” But it seemed like such a hassle and I convinced myself that I didn’t know how to use it and it was all too complicated. In my state of pandemic paranoia, I convinced myself that if I could learn How to Work the NutriBullet, I would feel more competent and in control. This idea assumed Biblical proportions. The NutriBullet was the answer to everything. I untangled it from a decrepit sandwich maker and looked up “How to use a NutriBullet” on YouTube.
Somehow I had mystified the NutriBullet in my own mind. I had confused it for the Large Hadron Collider. It turns out it’s easier than using a kettle. To work it, you fill the jar, fit the lid, twist it into place upside down and turn it on. Strange though this may sound, this realisation filled me with a mixture of hope, joy and profound but useful self-ridicule. How many more things was I avoiding that were actually stupidly easy? What other completely imaginary obstacles was I putting in my own way? What other excuses had I invented in my own mind to avoid doing things that I might enjoy? What pleasures was I overlooking that were still possible, even during a pandemic?
Since then the blessed NutriBullet has been in service every day of this sodding lockdown for breakfast drinks, banana milkshakes and strawberry and pineapple pina coladas from the Bosh vegan cookbook (pictured). It is an extremely simple and pleasing habit that requires no expertise and not even very much thought about ingredients. There were side effects too. I started getting up earlier to make myself a (non-alcoholic) drink. I bought more fruit and vegetables to blitz. I started writing again, had a radio play commissioned, made two podcast series. That bloody NutriBullet gave me a shot in the arm when I really needed it. Basically I became a very slightly better person because of an electrical appliance. And I’m grateful for it.
You can find out more about Viv Groskop's work here and sign up for her newsletter here. Viv's books are available at Amazon, Waterstones and Hive. Just published, 'Au Revoir Tristesse' is a lighthearted look at how to bring more humor, happiness, and joie de vivre into our lives through French literature
Like many people the world over, Viv Groskop wishes she was a little more French. A writer, comedian, and journalist, Groskop studied the language obsessively starting at age 11, and spent every vacation in France, desperate to escape her Englishness and to have some French chic rub off on her. In Au Revoir, Tristesse, Groskop mixes literary history and memoir to explore how the classics of French literature can infuse our lives with joie de vivre and teach us how to say goodbye to sadness. From the frothy hedonism of Colette and the wit of Cyrano de Bergerac to the intoxicating universe of Marguerite Duras and the heady passions of Les Liaisons dangereuses, this is a love letter to great French writers. With chapters on Marcel Proust, Victor Hugo, Gustave Flaubert, Stendhal, Honoré de Balzac, Albert Camus, and of course Françoise Sagan, this is a delectable read for book lovers everywhere.
Viv Groskop is an award-winning comedian, writer, and broadcaster. She is the author of How to Own the Room, Lift As You Climb and The Anna Karenina Fix: Life Lessons from Russian Literature. She writes for the Guardian, Observer, and Financial Times and is the host of the chart-topping podcast How to Own the Room, featuring women like Hillary Clinton, Margaret Atwood, Julie Andrews, Meera Syal and dozens more talking about power, presence and performance.
'Groskop’s project isn’t really to look for literary jollity so much as to luxuriate in Frenchness as an escape from being English.' - The Sunday Times
'Groskop skillfully juggles memoir, biography, philosophy, and literary criticism to create a delightful tour through some of French literature's greats. As a guide she is top notch: witty, infectiously engaged, and always thoughtful. This book will charm both newcomers and Francophiles alike.' - Madeline Miller
'Viv Groskop's whip-smart and compelling take on French classics is deliciously entertaining. This book should be required reading for all bibliophiles!' --Lindsey Tramuta author of The New Paris and The New Parisienne
