Forked strawberries; Summer Exhibition; launch of the boat

Firstly, delighted to report that my CfBT geranium is flowering nicely and still seems to be flourishing. So pleased I rescued it from airless overheated office hell. This particular geranium was one of several given out at a team Away Day in 2006 - the day has pleasant associations and the geranium has a certain amount of sentimental value. (Ignore the state of the window in the picture. I do clean them occasionally. Well, OK, not very often.)

While on the subject of organic matter, while innocently getting my breakfast earlier in the week I came across this forked strawberry, placed cunningly, and not entirely accidentally, inside a mug. Foolishly, I have allowed Ruth to become aware of my long-standing fear of mutant and/or oversized fruits and vegetables. Historically, my sister Hannah would take great pleasure in chasing me around the kitchen armed with an enormous field mushroom or similar.

Last Thursday, courtesy of one of CfBT’s directors (a convoluted story), Ruth came by two free tickets to a private viewing of the Summer Exhibition at the Royal Academy, organised by the Hay Group. We duly presented ourselves and were allowed in, and spent a couple of hours wandering around - there's certainly a lot to see, as it spreads over several rooms all crammed full of exhibits. Damien Hirst's nude silver man without skin occupies centre stage but there's plenty of other stuff. We were also plied with champagne and delicious canapes so well worth going to.

At 8:00 am on Friday morning Ray and I were standing ready at the Thames and Kennet Marina looking at his boat on the back of a lorry and awaiting its launch into the water – him eagerly, me with some trepidation, especially when Ray announced his intention of driving the boat himself from the launch area round into the marina. In the end, once actually on the boat, he sensibly abandoned this idea and phoned the marina office to get one of the chaps to come and do it. I had been recruited partly to act as official photographer, so took over 100 photographs of the entire exercise ending with one of the boat safely berthed.

Ray and I had one of our frequent breakfasts on Monday at the oddly-named but lovely Julia’s Meadow on King's Road. It’s very much an office workers' café (it doesn’t open at weekends) that mainly specialises in sandwich fillings and takeaway baguettes etc but also does breakfasts including, what is officially (according to a panel of one) the best coffee in Reading. I always have a black Americano (or two) and a bacon sandwich (white bread, no sauce). The perfectly lovely owner/manager now just says ‘The usual?’ whenever I go in, which is kinda nice.

Book Group met at the house last night to discuss Melanie McGrath’s Silvertown, an everyday tale of miserable, poverty-stricken East End folk. I found the historical and geographical detail more interesting than the fictional(ised) story. Mildly ashamed to realise that I had had no idea how many (over 20,000 Londoners) died in the Blitz. I suppose I had been imagining it was a mere handful of people caught outside a sweet shop. I had been hoping that the removal of teeth episode wasn’t a general custom, but Ali, one of our members, commented that two of her aunts had had all their teeth removed for precisely the same reason that Jenny does, i.e. to save their future husbands money on dental bills. Blimey. I’ve never visited the eponymous London suburb but must once have looked across the Thames at it when Ray and I visited the Thames Barrier and associated visitors’ centre some years ago. It looked to be - as it evidently was in Jenny's time - dominated by the huge Tate & Lyle refinery.

The bunnies behaved themselves tolerably and my friend Claire, a former veterinary nurse, appeared to have managed to soothe them into a calm, almost trance-like state by the end of the evening, something that unfortunately didn’t continue into the next day. As of today, Harley has officially mastered the staircase and has been trotting inquisitively around the first floor. Ruth’s theory that rabbits don’t climb stairs would appear to have been proven to be complete cobblers.

Marina; rural crafts; gym

The bunnies appear to be settling in well, and appear more or less house-trained, which is nice. In an effort to find out more about my new housemates, I have been flicking through Dykes’ and Flack’s ‘Living With A Houserabbit’ for tips on rabbit habits and care. Their crepuscular nature (new word learned, courtesy of D and F) would seem to make them quite well suited to folk who work during the day, as they seem happy to be quiet during the day – see daytime shot of Lola under the coffee table – and then run round like mad things in the early morning and evening.

Last Saturday I went with Ray for a first visit to the Thames and Kennet Marina, where he will be mooring his new narrowboat. The narrowboats are housed in their own marina, while cruisers are moored in another marina next to it. Was favourably impressed – seems a pleasant spot and the facilities look pretty good from what I can judge. We found Ray’s berth and then went for a drink at the Waterfront Bar and Bistro on site.

Drink at the marina

In the afternoon we went for a visit to the University’s Museum of English Rural Life (see my 11 March entry for photo). This used to be housed in prefabs on the Whiteknights campus but moved to a new permanent home in 2005, in the former St Andrew’s Hall (there’s a history of St Andrew’s Hall here - it was designed by Alfred Waterhouse and was apparently originally known as 'East Thorpe'). In fact the bulk of the exhibits are housed in a new extension – I’m not sure what the old hall itself is being used for but I think there are lecture and reading rooms there. It’s very nicely laid out with lots of interactive exhibits, although as I have only limited interest in rural crafts and agricultural machinery, it’s not somewhere I could while away a large amount of time. Ray found it interesting though and interacted with several of the exhibits, including trying on some traditional smocks and watching a video about hurdle making.

Following last week’s fitness assessment, I returned to the gym this week to get an induction to the machines and a personalised fitness programme. Zita, the fitness instructor, led me around a bewildering array of machines and has done me a workout programme that should supposedly last about an hour – starts with a ten-minute warm-up on the exercise bike, then a few sets on about half a dozen other machines (some of which seem useful, some less so) then some mat exercises/stretches. Personally I think it’s a bit OTT for a beginner. Can see myself doing the ten-minute bike warm-up, then going for a swim…

UCCA and PCAS; gym; new house rabbits

A discussion in the office yesterday of the fees charged by UCAS for making applications to higher education led on to Jude and me (both being over 35) reminiscing about the former system of applying separately via UCCA to universities and via PCAS to polytechnics. My school had a policy of encouraging students to apply to the maximum number of universities and polytechnics, even if a particular student a) knew exactly which university they wished to go to and b) rightly or wrongly, had no intention of going to a polytechnic. Consequently I remember making several applications to polytechnics, including one to Brighton Polytechnic (now the University of Brighton) to do (I think) Librarianship. I didn’t turn up for the interview I was offered and feel that now might be an opportune moment for a formal public apology – I’ve no doubt it’s a fine institution. Perhaps not surprisingly, I think I received a formal rejection letter about a week after the interview date.

Have rejoined the health club that I resigned from last autumn on cost grounds as it has been suggested to me that the cost might be insignificant next to the health and other benefits (viz., less likelihood of being a grumpy cow). Previously I’ve only used the swimming pool (and fun add-ons such as the spa bath and steam room), but thought that to really get my money’s worth (and hopefully tone up a bit) I might give the gym a try. So went for a fitness assessment on Monday evening and spent about 40 minutes being put through my paces by a polite young stripling of a lad – included such things as the Sit and Reach test (a test of flexibility; I didn’t do very well) and a body fat measurement involving having little electrodes connected to your feet. Had gone in feeling reasonably OK about my fitness levels in certain areas, but came out feeling a little deflated having been marked only ‘Average’ on most things. Perhaps it’s a timely wake-up call to start upping the activity levels before the point of no return where old age lays me waste. Etc.

Bunnies

However, the big news this week is that as of this evening, our two new house rabbits, Harley and Lola, are in residence, thereby rounding off our wacky liberal version of the traditional nuclear family. Currently they're both sitting together in the cage they were delivered in, munching bits of hay and looking circumspect. The plan is for them to have the run of the ground floor once they're settled in (and house-trained). Have just taken the photo, with my phone so a bit grainy, and with flash turned off so as not to traumatise them. Am a bit concerned at the moment by Harley's persistent chasing of Lola around the cage in an attempt to mount her - hope this tails off soon once any residual testosterone has with any luck worked its way out of his body. Last thing she needs is to be sexually assaulted while trying to adjust to a new home. Anyway, as he's considerably smaller than her it looks rather absurd.

Fat Lava; Richmond skinless sausages; clematis

Ruth and I went for a stroll on Saturday morning up the Oxford Road, a major West Reading thoroughfare that’s known for its ‘local colour’ (prostitution and frequent drug busts). It’s an intriguing mix of halal supermarkets, Caribbean grocers, charity outlets and licensed sex shops. We walked up as far as Mid20C, an interesting little shop that claims, no doubt correctly, that it’s “Reading's first and only retro shop selling furniture, homewares and collectables from the 50's 60's 70's and 80's”. On this occasion we found that the whole shop had been temporarily given over to the ‘Fat Lava II’ exhibition, an exhibition of West German studio pottery of the ‘50s, ‘60s and ‘70s. See here to know more about the pottery. The shop was packed, though I discovered later that we had inadvertently turned up on the launch day – evidently it runs until 21 June.

None of the stuff really grabbed me though Ruth bought a small vase from among the pieces for sale. I’m sure it’s not a comment on pottery enthusiasts in general, but the clique gathered around the central counter had a vague look of a Star Trek convention about them: they were mainly male, several heavily overweight, and one with long unwashed hair and wearing a flannel shirt and a fleece, even though it was a baking hot day. One of the aforesaid gaggle waylaid Ruth after her purchase trying to explain who had painted her vase and how it was done etc and offering her a detailed tour of the rest of the exhibits, which she declined.

On Sunday we wandered up to the Oakley Road allotments to have tea and biscuits with Ray and commiserate over the white rot that has afflicted the onions and garlic he planted last winter. The RHS has this to say, not very encouragingly, about onion white rot.

As it’s been an uneventful week I’ll report that I got away with serving Richmond skinless sausages for dinner last night. I get occasional cravings for these little beauties, which are perfectly even, straight, stiff, pink little sticks of sausagey goodness. Here’s a sculpture I made out of some a while ago. Waitrose, perhaps unsurprisingly, don’t stock them, so I had to go to the Friar Street branch of Sainsburys, which I don’t normally venture into, to obtain them. (Sainsburys is a perfectly fine supermarket; it’s just that Reading’s Friar Street branch is full of mad people. On this occasion, I was held up at the checkout by the customer in front of me, a 60-something woman with a long grey ponytail who was swaying violently from side to side as she searched fruitlessly through her handbag for God knows what – she’d already paid.)

Finally: the clematis has produced three flowers so far! A record! Evidently it quite likes its new spot.