Ouch. And the worst thing is that by this stage in the novel we know something of Brenda. I actually found myself questioning whether she does talk too much. And so found myself wondering whether an entirely unreasonable statement had any kind of justification. And so again, after the laughter there had come a stomach lurch. It’s all similarly queasy and unsettling. It’s tremendous artistry. It’s a novel with a uniquely woozy feel – a jelly-legged sense of uncertainty – that feels all the stranger because the sentences appear so superficially straightforward. Their day of freedom fails to live up to all their expectations. It's starts with the non appearance of the van they'd booked as transport and gets steadily worse because instead of a wine-fuelled picnic in the grounds of a stately home, they have to enjoy their repast on a patch of grass near the road. It all ends in in tragedy. Two words come to mind: absurd and squalid. At the end of the novel, one can appreciate its tight construction, so wonderfully bookended and foreshadowed, but it’s one of the least predictable books I’ve ever read.

Ostensibly, The Bottle Factory Outing focuses on two mismatched young women, Brenda and Freda, who share a shabby bedsit while also working together at a local wine bottling factory. While Brenda is mousey and pessimistic, Freda is loud and outgoing, forever dreaming about the life she would like to be living – preferably that of a successful actress surrounded by friends and family. Freda and Brenda are two young women living and working in north London. Freda, aged 26, is a large, flamboyant and assertive blonde, with aspirations of going on the stage. The privately educated Brenda, aged 32, is more reticent and strives to avoid confrontation: she was previously married and lived in rural Yorkshire, but has left her husband and moved south. The two live together in a dismal bedsit, sharing a double bed, although Brenda insists on a barrier made up of a bolster and books to separate their respective halves. By day they work as labellers in a wine-bottling factory owned by Mr Paganotti, an Italian. Despite occasional moments of effective comedy, "The Bottle Factory Outing" is an uninteresting story whose plot is ludicrously unrealistic. The writing style is dull and uneven and the characterisation is largely unconvincing. I simply could not believe that two individuals like Brenda and Freda would ever be friends with each other, let alone share a bedsit - and even a double bed (albeit with a protective barrier of books and bolsters to ensure the preservation of each other's private space). The actions of several other characters also seem highly improbable. These include a visit from Brenda's gun-toting mother-in-law and the disposal of a dead body in what can only be described as a most ridiculous manner. There are occasions too when the dialogue is unconvincing. At one point, Freda says the following words to Brenda: "You are not flotsam washed up on the shore, without recourse to the sea"! It is simply not credible that, given what we know of her character, Freda would speak in that way. I am afraid I simply could not believe the astonishingly grotesque conclusion of the story or the actions of the individuals involved. And I really didn't care about most of the major characters. The story line revolves around an outing that Freda has engineered in an effort to spend more time with Vittorio. Brenda wants no part of the outing or Freda's plan but the ever optimistic and slightly bullying Freda lives by the following philosophy: Jordison, Sam (18 October 2013). "The Bottle Factory Outing's unsettling brilliance is short but barbed". The Guardian . Retrieved 3 January 2023.Bainbridge tended to write autobiographical novels, often adding a murder into the mix to spice things up... this is no exception. But the outing itself goes on for too long- almost half of the book- and I found myself willing it to be over, which is not my usual response to Bainbridge's writing. It seemed to me inevitable who the victim would be, even how the body would be disposed of. Peter Tinniswood in The Times writes "This is a superb novel. It is taut in construction, expansive in characterization, vibrant in atmosphere and profoundly comic". [7] You are not flotsam washed up on the shore, without recourse to the sea,’ continued Freda. She was lifting one vast leg and polishing the toe of her boot on the hem of the curtains. ‘When we go on the Outing you bloody well better participate.’

I don’t think the era of the book is directly named, but it seems like the 60s or early 70s. Freda and Brenda are modern women of a sort; Brenda has run away from her hard-drinking, middle-class farming husband, and Freda has no relations other than an elderly and judgemental aunt. They rely on themselves, and to some extent on each other - although they each display contempt for the other’s eccentricities and shortcomings. Neither can afford to live alone, yet their bedsit (and shared bed) cannot comfortably accommodate them both. Having established her characters, Bainbridge brings them all together for a ridiculous and ultimately tragic day out in the country. It’s supposed to be a treat - a picnic, a day away, a sort of team-building outing - but again those words come to mind: absurd and squalid. Freda plans a seduction and Brenda hopes to avoid one, but the day unravels into something out of everyone’s control. Our 750ml sports bottle is ideal for the thirsty athletes amongst us. We find this bottle very popular with gyms, football/rugby/tennis/squash clubs and corporate banded sporting events.Patiently Freda explained that it wasn’t a bottle factory, it was a wine factory – that they would be working alongside simple peasants who had culture and tradition behind them. Brenda hinted she didn’t like foreigners – she found them difficult to get on with. Freda said it proved how puny a person she was, in mind and in body. The few Beryl Bainbridge books I've read are all slightly quirky and odd - populated with characters who, if they were flat shapes would be all corners and sharp edges rather than smooth and curved! This is no exception. And yet, on reflection I did enjoy it - and I judge that partly on the basis that I laughed out loud several times when I was reading this book! (that in itself was an uncomfortable feeling though as I read this book on the dreaded, evil, Kindle, while walking the dog in the park - the looks from other dog-walkers and park -users at the man with the dog suddenly breaking out into laughter will forever be in my memory and associated with this book!). Knjiga je kancer. Sve suprotno od onoga što je obećano. Radnja je neinventivna, dosadna, glavni likovi (ličkinje, likuše, likenjke?) su dve toliko stereotipno kliše žene, da je bilo bolno čitati. Uvek je jedna neodlučna i mutava mommy issues od muža pobegulja, a druga kamenjarka koja samo što ne počne da bije sve oko sebe kao Boda Tajson, ali joj feminizam bude ubijen u pojam čim vidi mačo Italijana. S druge strane nalazi se milion likova Italijana i jedan Irac koji su - pogađate - MASNO PROKLETO STEREOTIPNO KARAKTERIZOVANI. Da, Beril, svi su Italijani strastveni, svi zalizuju kosu. A najbitniji među njima - lepi maniri, brčići, macho look, obrazovan, još samo fali da drži spojene prste kad objašnjava. Irac - taman posla da ne bude narandžaste kose i kože tako da "svetli u mraku". Taman posla da se ne potkači "on je Irac, kako sme da ne zna katoličke običaje". Karakterizacija likova - minus hiljadu. Ja ne pamtim da sam neku ovako kratku knjigu sa ovolikim proredom čitao duže. U sinopsisu piše - komedija, ali je kraj tužan. Od komedije ovde nema ni K, Kursadžije su izmislile komediju za ovo. Od tužnog kraja - jok, možda patetika, i to pod slabo razjašnjenim okolnostima. S v a š t a. Freda cooks up the scheme of a factory outing, which is one quirky calamity after another ending in complete disaster. That's where the unexpectedly bizarre twist steps in. The Bottle Factory Outing is a novel inspired by Bainbridge's own experience of working in a bottling plant. At times offbeat, the humour is mingled with moments of poignancy particularly in the final scenes as the workers gather at a bizarre party in the factory attic.

Take a lesson from it then. It could happen to you. When I go I shall have my family about me – daughters – sons – my husband, grey and distinguished, dabbing a handkerchief to his lips …’ And the best thing is that Bainbridge offers the same pleasures (and nasty surprises) on a chapter-by-chapter level too. Just as I found myself reading and re-reading and doubting the meaning of individual sentences, so later events in the novel threw everything in the early stages into confusion. Hilarious passages about Brenda’s weak character, or the factory overseer Rossi’s wandering hands, take on sinister new implications following the gloriously ugly denouement. Beryl Bainbridge made it to the Man Booker prize shortlist a record five times but never succeeded in winning the award. The Bottle Factory Outing, her fourth novel was one of the shortlisted titles in 1974 but was beaten to the prize by Stanley Middleton's Holiday. Probably two stars for my personal enjoyment of it and four for its actual quality – so, three as a compromise. (And I still intend to read more Bainbridge!)Brenda, who was easily embarrassed, didn’t care to be seen gawping at the window. She declined to look at the roof of the hearse, crowned with flowers like a Sunday hat, as the coffin was shoved into place. Percentage of floor area with daylight factor >5% Unknown (existing listed building with shell and core fit-out) However, it's the relationship between Freda and Brenda that is the heart and soul of the book. But I hesitate to call it a friendship - it reads and feels more like a kind of social and emotional marriage of convenience than a friendship. And from the outset, the odd feel to the book is rooted in this slightly bizarre pair. Their first meeting is odd - Freda virtually force-feeding Brenda into being adopted/taken under Freda's wing(not a terribly cosy or safe place to be!!), after a chance encounter in a shop as Brenda flees from a disastrous marriage, a seriously mad mother-in-law and a husband who is the village 'soak' essentially! The oddness is maintained in their everyday lives - for example, separated at night in the bed they share by a bolster of books of all things! Brenda is her cowed dumpy roommate whose inability to stand up for herself has made her a life-long victim. Her latest ordeal is dodging the unwanted advances of the lecherous Rossi while trying not to hurt his feelings. I especially disliked how Brenda’s being subjected to constant low levels of sexual battery was portrayed as comic.

We’ve had strong interest from a range of occupiers, from well-known food production companies to local creatives. Many are attracted by the area’s excellent connectivity, local industry and the building’s heritage features. It is truly unique in a populous urban centre. Some inkling of those horrors comes when Brenda’s mother-in-law arrives and tries to shoot her with an air pistol. Prompting another moment of unsettling brilliance, as we look on the aftermath: The cars return to London, where Freda's body is placed in an upstairs storage area in the factory: the occupants of the Mini now become aware of what has happened. The next day, Monday, Maria, a fellow labeller, cleans and prepares Freda's body, dressing her in a white nightgown. Everything is concealed from Mr Paganotti, but after he has left for the day a funeral supper takes place, with Italian confectionery and plastic tulips. A plan is hatched for disposing of the body. It will be placed in an empty sherry barrel, one of a consignment being returned to Spain: the barrel will be marked as defective, and Rossi knows that this means it will be disposed of by being thrown into the sea at Santander. In the opening paragraphs, Brenda and Freda are watching the early stages of a funeral with the removal of a coffin from another flat in their building. As they speculate on the deceased – an old lady who lived with her cat – the differences between the two women become increasingly apparent.

When life gives you lemons but you've got no sugar and the water is tainted, say goodbye to the lemonade...