Trendy Vertus

A Japanese court has issued a rare ban against demonstrators who have hounded screenings of an Oscar-winning documentary exposing the country's infamous annual dolphin cull.

Yokohama regional court ordered members of a right-wing protest group to stay away from a theatre showing The Cove, which depicts the slaughter of 23,000 dolphins every year in the fishing town of Taiji.

Bullhorn-wielding ultra-nationalists have repeatedly descended on theatres that plan to screen the 92-minute movie, denouncing it as anti-Japanese. They say the documentary is a front for the direct-action conservationists, Sea Shepherd, which they denounce as a "terrorist" group. A general Japanese release of The Cove has been stalled for over a year amid fears of protests and even violent retribution against cinemas.

But film distributor Unplugged decided to take on the protesters on condition that the movie's makers block the faces of the local people it depicts. Over 20 theatres have agreed to screen it after a group of directors and publishers stood up to defend it, turning the controversy into a free-speech debate.

The court ban comes after a proposal to solve the bitter whaling dispute disintegrated this week at the conference of the International Whaling Commission in Agadir, Morocco. The vacuum left by that failure will likely lead to more action by conservationists – and retaliation by the Japanese authorities.

Tokyo yesterday placed the Sea Shepherd leader, Paul Watson, on an international wanted list as part of a campaign against eco-warriors who target the whaling industry. Japan's Coast Guard accuses Mr Watson of ordering an attack on its Antarctic whaling fleet earlier this year, when activists allegedly pelted the whaling crew with a mild acid.

Sea Shepherd's boat, the Ady Gil, captained by Peter Bethune, was destroyed in subsequent clashes when it collided with a whaling ship.

Mr Bethune is likely to be found guilty of obstructing the hunt and injuring a whaling crew member when the Tokyo District Court announces its verdict on 7 July.

Greenpeace activists Junichi Sato and Toru Suzuki also face lengthy custodial sentences on charges of trespass and theft after they tried to expose the alleged embezzlement of whale meat aboard Japan's main whaling ship, the Nisshin Maru. The two intercepted one of dozens of boxes of whale meat they say were sent illegally by the whaling crew to addresses across Japan. The authorities responded by ignoring the claims and launching a ferocious campaign against Greenpeace.

The court order, requested by the distributor, is a rare piece of good news for anti-whaling campaigners.

An Unplugged spokeswoman told the Japanese press that they demanded the ban after protesters targeted the company.

Last night an ultra-nationalist, Makoto Sakurai, promised no let up in his group's campaign. "It's full of lies and distortion of our culture by Westerners who hate Japan," he said. "We are right and we will continue."

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As a self-respecting citizen of the digital world, you doubtless pay plenty of attention to security.

You will have chosen a fiendishly clever password for your email. You are diligent in logging out of financial websites after you have dealt with your affairs. You have probably even upgraded the privacy settings on your Facebook profile, to keep every Tom and Dick and Harry from prying.

That's quaint. But against you is ranged a much more sophisticated army. Legions of tenacious computer savants are trying, at every passing minute, to fight their way to your personal data, through tunnels carved out of code. Through the websites you trust. Through the devices you use, so many more of them these days connected to the internet and therefore – potentially – to them, the hackers.

The worst security breaches just get bigger and scarier. Thousands of people's credit card details held by the retailer TK Maxx: hacked. Even the mighty Google, storing Gmail accounts used by human rights activists in China: hacked.

And there is also an increasing stream of low-level hacks, exposing numerous dangerous holes in even the most apparently trustworthy software and devices, from Citigroup's mobile banking app for the iPhone to the iPhone operating system itself. These sound like bad news.

But here is a curiosity. Most of the time, these holes become public not because a company fesses up after some important data has been stolen, but because the hacker reveals the hole without stealing anything. So you are under attack – but don't worry. Most hackers are trying to do you a favour.

The war for our data rages beyond our ken (or certainly beyond mine). I couldn't tell you what an "exit node" is, let alone put a "sniffer" on one. But there is a good place to start: Las Vegas. For 18 years, hackers have been congregating in the city around this time of the summer for an event called DefCon. First they came in their hundreds, fearing arrest; now they come in their thousands, to marvel at the professors of their dark arts. The latest was at the start of this month. Digital cameras were hacked. Two dozen phones from the crowd were lured to connect to a completely bogus phone network constructed out of $1,500-worth of ham radio equipment. A cash machine was installed with software so that it would spew money to anyone with the code. The face that DefCon presents to the uninitiated could not be more intimidating. Bring a "clean" computer, it urges, or else assume that you are going to be sharing the contents of your hard drive with thousands of strangers. As for journalists who might show up: "If you are a major network and plan on doing a two-minute piece showing all the people with blue hair, you probably shouldn't bother."

Most terrifying of all, a computer programmer friend gleefully pointed me to a YouTube video showing an undercover NBC reporter, with a camera hidden in her handbag, being drummed out of the event three years ago. But with a clean laptop in my carry case, and my heart in my throat, it was off to DefCon 18.

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Last month, as outgoing CEO Stuart Rose told the press that "the worst effects of the recession [were] behind us", it was hard to imagine that there was a time not so long ago when the only thing keeping Marks & Spencer afloat was knickers. In the troubled years – roughly from the mid-1970s to the late 1990s – before it was reborn as the foodie destination for the busy office classes, the public perception of the high-street giant was that it was stodgy, out of touch and good for little more than clothing senior citizens and supplying reliable, value-for-money, unsexy underwear.

It's impossible to say exactly when or how that changed. Think M&S then and you might conjure up images of boil-in-the-bag meals and comfy slippers. Think M&S now and you may well be lucky enough to picture the bikini-clad Brazilian model Ana Beatriz Barros, an equally exotic array of orchids, melt-in-the-middle chocolate sponge puddings and the wholesome, reassuring face of Percy Pig.

Marks & Spencer has never been known for creating iconic brands or following fleeting fads (this is a store, remember, that chose not to accept credit cards until 2001); a sense of history and the bigger picture has always been part of its retail DNA. But somehow, in spite of the fact that he spent years sharing shelf space by the tills with such un-family-friendly products as bars of Swiss Extra Fine Dark Chocolate, Percy Pig – a jelly-and-foam confection flavoured with fruit juice – has emerged as something of a cult classic.

Loved by fashionistas (he made it into Vogue's "Hot List" in 2008), marathon runners, children, their mothers and anyone who ever needed sugary (but fat-free) help to make it through the office day, two Percy Pigs are now scoffed every second in the UK. And this in spite of no advertising, no mission statement and no snappy slogans. He brings home the bacon, too: more than 10 million bags are sold in the UK every year at a little over £1 a bag; you do the maths.

A Facebook appreciation group for Percy has, at the time of writing, more than 234,000 admirers. Lewis Hamilton told the M&S magazine that this was the one product he couldn't live without. Calvin Harris admitted to another magazine that he used to steal them before he became a famous pop star/DJ. A blog written by an ambulance controller tells of the time a crew was sent out to get some Percys only for a man to go into cardiac arrest nearby. "Fortunately," the controller writes in an entry entitled "The Percy Pig Incident", "G602's pig run had put them in just the right place... If the patient lives, it'll be entirely down to those Percy Pigs."

Quite how far these middle-class Haribos had entered the vernacular became apparent standing in a snaking queue at the end of a working day in a busy M&S Food to Go. As stressed Londoners inched towards the pay points desperate to avoid eye contact, one businessman at the till turned around and said loudly to a fellow suit: "Sorry mate, sorry, can you pass the Percy Pigs." Blank stares. "Er, the Percy Pigs. Yeah, the Percy Pigs. Can you pass the Percy Pigs." As Queue Man tried to outstare his feet, it became apparent that Till Man would not leave without his fruity booty. Pigs reluctantly passed, we could all move on.

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The dream of eco-friendly, fashion is not wearing well. While high-profile new eco-clothing lines from the designer Katharine Hamnett and Pretenders singer Chrissie Hynde may give the appearance that it is boom time for environmentally friendly fashion, stagnant sales figures are leading analysts to question whether there really is a market for sustainable style.

Hamnett will launch her long-awaited organic jeans line – seven years in development – at Paris fashion week in October, while Hynde is collaborating with her Welsh producer-boyfriend J P Jones to create a rock-inspired eco-fashion line of handbags, skinny jeans and cowboy boots.

The ventures are brave. Earlier this month, Edun – the organic, fair-trade label launched by Ali Hewson, the wife of U2 frontman Bono – posted yearly losses of a whopping £5.8m. While global sales of organic cotton are rising, a recent report from the Soil Association estimated that sales of organic textiles in the UK flatlined in 2009, remaining at 2008 levels of £100m – a tiny fraction of the country's £30bn clothing and textile industry. Experts have cited the recession, a lack of fashion-led eco-designs and even growing consumer indifference as possible reasons for this lack of growth.

"Many companies slowed their programmes in 2008 and 2009 because of the economic climate and the lack of finance," said Simon Ferrigno, an organic cotton consultant. Cotton makes up about 90 per cent of the UK's organic textile market. "There remain problems with consumer awareness and education. Celebrities in this sense are a big help in bringing consumers on board."

The power of celebrity endorsement was demonstrated with the much-trumpeted launch of Emma Watson's new collection for the Fair Trade, environmentally friendly brand People Tree. While the firm claims the Harry Potter actress has given sales a lift, it was unable to back this up with figures.

Industry watchers believe that environmentally friendly fashion needs to be more design-led if it is to compete. "As much as I admire eco-shops, it has got to be in mainstream fashion shops," said Hamnett. Her 30-piece denim collection is going to be sold in major upmarket retailers, and will cost between £100 and £150.

"The eco look for me is the kiss of death; it has got to be just the same as other clothes," she continued. "A lot of people who weren't from a fashion background went into organic clothing, and fashion is a highly competitive industry. The fact that it is ethical or environmentally friendly isn't enough."

Other brands have shrugged off disappointing sales growth, saying they are motivated not by demand from their customers but by a belief in the long-term advantages of environmentally friendly practices.

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A performer whose intuitive brilliance and originality speak for themselves ...' Bo Burnham. Photograph: Murdo Macleod

Like heavy rain, and terrible flyers, one thing you can rely on at Edinburgh is the comedy award panel failing to reward the standout show on the fringe. Yesterday, Bo Burnham joined an illustrious pantheon that includes (in the last handful of years alone) Doug Stanhope, Hans Teeuwen, and the Pajama Men – which is to say: hilarious, out-of-the-blue, talk-of-the-fringe comedy acts that fail to win (and, in those cases, aren't even nominated for) an ex-Perrier gong.

The gossip earlier in the week was that the judging panel were so unanimous about Burnham's superiority they were thinking of creating an extra award for him, just to level the playing field for everyone else. That seemed crazy – and yet it's something like what's happened in the end. The excellent standup Russell Kane won the Foster's comedy award, with a very good but not great show. And Burnham, who by the judges' admission "electrified" the festival from day one, was given the panel prize, which awards acts who distil that most conveniently nebulous of qualities, the spirit of the fringe.

Maybe it's the happiest outcome. Kane's career will deservedly benefit from the award; Burnham is back off to the States and probably wouldn't. But the result looks like a fudge, and Burnham's consolation prize looks sheepish. On the BBC Review Show last Friday night, and in Prospect magazine this month, the cultural cognoscenti turned their gaze on comedy, and bemoaned a newly professionalised, homogenised artform, in which mavericks are less visible than ever. By relegating to second place a young performer whose intuitive brilliance and originality speak for themselves, the judges missed the opportunity to defuse that criticism.

When I interviewed Kazuko Hohki of the Frank Chickens last week, she reminisced about her 1985 Perrier nomination, when the prize rewarded not only funniness, but innovation. (Imagine, nowadays, a shortlist with the likes of Theatre de Complicite and Frank Chickens on it.) Novelty is still a factor: last year, the award favoured the new and weird (Tim Key) over the dependably funny (John Bishop). This year, the pendulum swings back, to an act whose 2010 show breaks no new ground.

Congrats, all the same, to Russell Kane, a comic who's not afraid to be smart, nor to talk about the real, working-class world from which he hails. But in years to come, if we look back at the Foster's comedy award at all, we'll look at Bo Burnham as (yet another) one who got away.

drive from www.guardian.co.uk

Yesterday we freed several hundred illegally caught bluefin tuna, just a week after our ship the Steve Irwin left Malta.

Having recently returned from an eventful anti-whaling campaign in Antarctic waters, I've discovered the Mediterranean brings different challenges. The engine room has turned into a sauna and sleeping is hard with the soaring heat radiating through the deck above. We are in one of the most overfished seas in the world and have been patrolling the area south of Malta for illegal fishing operations.

In summer the waters of the Mediterranean are calm and warm. Warming up from the east, once the temperature near the surface reaches over 20C, it is an ideal spot for bluefin tuna populations to spawn. The bluefin tuna is a highly prized fish, which finds its way into the Asian markets as a sushi delicacy. But this increasing demand for the fish has taken its toll on the Mediterranean populations, of which 85% has disappeared in the last 50 years.

Day and night we encounter fishing vessels. Our radar is dotted with targets but until yesterday all of the French, Italian and Tunisian vessels we have come across had fishing permits and were frequently escorted by French or Maltese patrol ships. It is no surprise they don't take chances, with both Sea Shepherd and Greenpeace currently active in the area.

With European navy and coastguard vessels patrolling the waters around Malta and in the Tyrrhenian Sea, we decided to enter Libyan waters, an area known for illegal and unregulated fishing. The country claimed a 62 mile fishing zone off its coast in 2005 and has since stopped any independent observers or patrol vessels from entering. Inspectors from the International Commission for the Conservation of Atlantic Tunas (ICCAT), which manages the bluefin tuna fishery, have been hindered from doing their work.

Illegal fishing is believed to be widespread in the area, with one important bluefin tuna spawning area in the Libyan zone of the Gulf of Syrte attracting many fishermen. Greenpeace planned to head into Libyan waters a couple of years ago, but shelved the plan. While neither the EU, nor other Mediterranean countries acknowledge Libya's new fishing zone claim, no nation has dared to enter the disputed waters.

The situation is getting desperate for a fish that is set on a course towards extinction in the near future. In recent years, many attempts to give bluefin tuna added protection through the conventional political processes have failed. In this light, the willingness to directly intervene against illegal fishermen in this most lucrative type of fishing operations might be one of the last chances to get attention for the issue and get the species better protection to ensure its survival.

drive from www.guardian.co.uk

Gravy

When the Royal Society of Chemistry wanted to find the perfect gravy recipe as part of their 2009 Year of Food project, they went to Yorkshireman and chemist John Emsley. He uses all the elements of a traditional roast to make his gravy, from the meat juices to the water the vegetables are boiled in, which add nutrients as well as flavour. “The perfect way to do the Sunday meal is with gravy from the joint. Why waste the nutrients?” he says.

Start by cooking the joint on a bed of halved onions, carrots and celery, which juices from the meat will slowly trickle on to. When the meat is cooked, remove it from the roasting tin along with the vegetables. Sprinkle a small amount of plain flour over the meat juices and fat.

Stir to form a dough – or roux – by gradually adding the water you’ve boiled your accompanying vegetables in. John says it works best with cabbage water. “If you boil things like cabbage, you lose nutrients into the water. Using that water in the gravy adds an extra little depth – it’s a way of putting that back into the meal.”

Stir the gravy until all the meat juices and Marmite-like deposits on the bottom of the roasting dish have dissolved. Add iodised salt to taste and a teaspoon of soy sauce. Perhaps a surprising addition, soy sauce is a crucial ingredient because it reaches our fifth taste, what the Japanese call umami. Simmer to reduce the liquid to the right consistency, stirring occasionally, and then pour all over your traditional roast.

Soufflé

Penny Lewis, who runs cookery courses at The Culinary Cottage near Abergavenny, South Wales, which deal with supposedly tricky dishes, is confident that anyone can make a soufflé that is lovely and light. “Most people are just frightened of it,” she says. “You do need a good whisk, and a clean bowl. Have it all in place before you start, and the oven at the right temperature – having the right equipment and ingredients to hand is important so you can time it right.”

Preheat the oven to 200C. Generously butter a 15cm soufflé dish and coat with finely grated parmesan. Separate four large eggs. Melt 30g butter in a saucepan, stir in 30g of plain flour, half a teaspoon of mustard and a pinch of cayenne pepper. Cook for a minute or two, remove from the heat and stir in 225ml of full-fat milk. Return it to the heat, whisking until thickened, and continue to cook for a few minutes while continually whisking.

Remove from the heat. Then stir in between 85g and 110g of either strong cheddar or gruyère cheese, followed by the egg yolks and salt and pepper.

Whisk the egg whites in a very clean bowl until they are stiff but not dry. Gently fold in the cheese mixture with a metal spoon, and pour into a soufflé dish. “Run your thumb around the top edge of the dish, for the ‘top hat’ effect,” suggests Penny. Bake for 25 to 30 minutes until it is golden brown and well-risen. To check if your soufflé is ready, open the oven door slightly (but not before 20 minutes has elapsed) and give the dish “a gentle shove” – if it just wobbles, it’s ready; if it is very wobbly, allow five more minutes.

But the real key to soufflé success is to eat it quickly. Penny’s final rule? Make sure your guests are at the table and ready to eat when you get your soufflé out of the oven.

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If you want women to drink beer, whatever you do, don't call it "bitter". Try "brunette", "blonde" or "golden" instead, or mention "floral", "honey" and "caramel" flavours. Finding the right words to describe real ale is an important business; even more so when attracting new consumers.

"We've been brainwashed into thinking it's not right for anyone with heels and lipstick to drink beer," says Annabel Smith, Britain's first and only female beer inspector.

"We're still stuck with the beard-and-sandals image of the real ale drinker. Women are conditioned from quite young to think bitter is not for them. And then it never features in their repertoire of drinks."
In fact, women are turning to real ale in ever-growing numbers. In the space of one year, the number of women drinkers trying real ale has nearly doubled from 16 to 30 per cent, following a concerted effort by the Campaign for Real Ale (Camra) to make the drink less blokesy. Now there are 1.3 million women drinkers of real ale, as erstwhile fans of gin and tonic, and wine, are being won over to the brew's aromas of vanilla, banana, honey and chocolate.

Research showed many women wouldn't even try real ale because they didn't know what it was, where to start or because they thought it would taste too bitter. Women were turned off by the misconception that real ales are alcohol-heavy. In fact, some are as low as 3.4 per cent ABV (alcohol by volume), and consequently light, refreshing and low-calorie.

So bring on the golden beers with names such as Organic Honey Dew, Waggledance or the award-winning Triple Chocoholic chocolate stout – a dark ale which Smith declared "blew my socks off when I first tasted it". While connoisseurs will lead real ale beginners towards the lighter, fruitier brews, in blind tastings women in fact also like the darker porters.

And increasingly, brewers are accompanying their ale with tasting notes for fledgling drinkers. Pubs are happy to offer samples for beginners, and enlightened publicans will suggest beers to accompany food. While this all taps into current sensitivities about the provenance, ingredients and methods of producers, brewers still have far to go in targeting women, says Smith.

"It wasn't that long ago when bottled lagers were advertised by busty blondes," she says. "You've already lost half your market." Marketing and packaging have been slow to catch on too, she adds. Perhaps laddish names such as Skull Splitter and Dogs Bollocks don't endear themselves to a female market. And then there are the glasses. While some women drinkers pride themselves on enjoying a pint, many are simply turned off by a large measure in a clunky glass.

So some pubs have introduced one third-of-a-pint glasses along the lines of the smaller European measures. Some beers have their own glasses – in Belgium, after all, different beers are served in their own particular glassware. "It's a common misconception that beer is always served warm and flat in an ugly glass," says Smith. Stemmed glasses – so popular on the continent – are appearing in British bars, and do much to persuade women who think the traditional pint and half-pint glasses just too masculine and unappealing.

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John Hinchliff in one of his fields. Around 90% of Britain’s blackcurrants are used to make Ribena. Photograph: David Levene/for the Guardian

The dusty earth flies up in clouds behind John Hinchliff as he strides down the path between rows of blackcurrant bushes, their leaves wilting in the afternoon heat and exhausted branches weighed down with clusters of glossy berries. "We could do with some rain," he says. "I am obsessed by the weather. My entire life is dependent on it." This year's blackcurrant crop is looking bountiful, but it wasn't looking so promising earlier in the year. "Blackcurrants need a cold winter, so we started the year with a full expectation of lovely blackcurrants," says Hinchliff. "Then we went into one of the most miserable springs, which was worrying. But nature is a wonderful thing and I think the bushes have come through it fantastically well."

Hinchliff was born 51 years ago in a beautiful farmhouse overlooking the Kent countryside towards Canterbury cathedral in the distance, and still lives there today. He has been growing blackcurrants for 25 years. He introduced them to his family farm – "because as long as the quality is good, you are guaranteed to sell them". Every July and August in the UK, blackcurrants are harvested using machines that drive up and down the rows, hugging the bushes and shaking the fruit from the branches. The berries are almost certainly destined to be made into one thing – Ribena blackcurrant drinks. Around 90% of all Britain's blackcurrants are sold to the company.

In its marketing and on its bottles, Ribena likes to stress that every berry is grown by British (and a few Irish) farmers: over the last six weeks, 39 farms have been harvesting around 12,000 tonnes of fruit, which are sent to a squashing factory in Somerset. From there, the juice is taken to Ribena's factory in Gloucestershire, where it is stored in huge underground vats, processed and bottled throughout the year. Named after the plant's Latin name, Ribes nigrum, Ribena was developed by a Bristol-based food and drink company, HW Carter, and launched in 1938. Because blackcurrants have a high vitamin C content, free Ribena was given to children during the second world war when fruit such as oranges became hard to get. Despite the fact Ribena is now owned by the drugs giant GlaxoSmithKline, people still have an affection for it, often rooted in childhood memories.

However, Ribena appears to be on a bit of a PR push. According to research analysts Nielsen, sales fell 2.4% last year and 6.8% in 2008, and the brand has faced criticism because of its high sugar content and the revelation, in 2007, that two schoolgirls in New Zealand had tested its drinks and found it didn't contain the level of vitamin C that the company claimed, although GlaxoSmithKline always maintained that the claims made about the level in drinks sold in the UK were accurate. And for all its focus on British-grown berries, a glass of diluted cordial contains just 5% fruit juice (along with a hefty dose of sugar). Perhaps mindful of this, it recently brought out a range of drinks with 85% fruit juice (from concentrate), but the majority of the juice is from apples, not blackcurrants.

Still, the livelihoods of British blackcurrant farmers and their employees depend on GlaxoSmith-Kline, which obviously gives the company a certain power. Hinchliff says it does not abuse that when it comes to pricing, and it puts money into developing plants that can withstand warmer temperatures, so farmers should be able to continue to grow crops in the future, as climate change takes effect.

Hinchliff grows four varieties. "Each has its own characteristics," says Hinchliff. I wondered if Ribena tastes different from year to year, as wine does, but I'm told it doesn't. "Some varieties are early, some are late," he says. "The blackcurrant farmers couldn't harvest everything at the same time, so you end up staggering the season and spreading the risk that you won't get a good crop. It's a great success story for British agriculture."

In the next field, which is protected by a soaring windbreaker of ash, oak and cherry trees, the plants are around nine years old and would reach above my head were they not bowing under the weight of ripe fruit; once the berries are picked, they will spring back upright. "This is a great crop," says Hinchliff, hauling back a branch laden with black pearls. The berries are warm and dusty, and yield easily with a pop. "That's what I have spent 12 months trying to get."

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Former World No 1 Justine Henin will be sidelined for the rest of the year as she recovers from an elbow injury.

Henin has not played since suffering a partial ruptured ligament of her right elbow at Wimbledon and, while the 28-year-old Belgian expects to resume light training in October, she will not return to competitive action until next year.

"I'm doing everything required by my medical team to get a good recovery of the injury I had at Wimbledon," said Henin, who returned from an 18-month retirement in January. I took several medical examinations in recent days and [things] are going in the right direction, it is encouraging news. It is still a slow recovery, so I need to be patient again until the end of 2010.

"For my preparation for competition in 2011 I cannot take any risks, so I hope to go back to practice in October and I will work hard to get ready for the new season."

Henin, currently ranked 14, made a stunning return to the WTA Tour after her retirement when she reached the final of the Australian Open in January before losing to Serena Williams.

The seven-times Grand Slam winner carefully managed her return, focusing on the Grand Slam events, but suffered the injury when she fell during her fourth-round win at Wimbledon. She was eventually knocked out in the next round in three sets by compatriot Kim Clijsters.

Henin's first scheduled event of 2011 is at the Hopman Cup in Perth, which begins on New Year's Day.

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