Cocktails; fat cats; top security universities

The Hippobag was duly collected, having been well and truly filled with assorted rubble. How satisfying.

A group of us had a nice night out for Claire’s birthday on the 12th, starting off at Las Iguanas for cocktails. This may be one of the many areas in which I am probably a traitor to my sex, but I can’t really get excited about cocktails – sweet gunky drinks with random bits of fruit in them. Give me a glass of wine any day. I did try a margarita, and a couple of others whose names I’ve forgotten. Then we decamped for a nice dinner at La Tasca where Ali and I shared a decent bottle of Rioja.

Had booked last Thursday and Friday off as part of a plan to have a day out by myself somewhere before going on to my parents’ house to stay a few nights. In the over-optimistic assumption that spring must be well on the way, I had omitted to consult any weather forecasts so was surprised to receive an agitated phone call from my mother early on Thursday morning saying that there were severe weather warnings for their area. “Pah”, I thought sceptically, and set out – however, by the time I got into Gloucestershire and up onto Birdlip Hill, it was snowing quite heavily so, reluctantly, I considered it prudent to omit my planned visit to Painswick Rococo Garden and drive straight on to my destination, via a slight detour to Waitrose at Abergavenny where I managed to spend around £50, mainly out of annoyance. The country lanes that form the last part of the journey were indeed quite snowy by the time I reached them, so it was probably sensible not to have left it any later.

I was invited to assess whether Mum’s cat Lydia had lost any weight since I had seen her at Christmas, as she has apparently been on a strictly restricted eating regime, including low-fat Iams. She did indeed look marginally slimmer, so it would seem to be having some effect. Here she is lying on her back in appealing fashion. Think she was resting rather than simply beached.

On the Friday Mum and I took a trip out to The Weir Garden, a National Trust property near Hereford, in an attempt to view some snowdrops in the light of my aborted visit to Painswick. We had a pleasant walk around the 10-acre garden on the banks of the Wye. The Wikipedia piece on the garden mentions that notable birdlife can be viewed there depending on the time of year – I don’t think I spotted any though I wouldn’t recognise a goosander if one landed on my head. I did see a cute little wren when it briefly landed on the wall in front of where Mum and I were sitting.

On the Saturday, my parents and I ended up having a bit of a drive around Herefordshire, initially to seek out the church where my father’s great-grandparents got married. After some negotiating over directions we did eventually locate this, though couldn’t get inside as it was locked. Mum did go and knock on the door of the neighbouring cottage to ask if they had a key (they didn’t), while Dad and I hid round the side of the church in embarrassment. We then drove on to Newland and had lunch at The Ostrich, followed by a brief visit to the church over the road, apparently known as The Cathedral of the Forest (though its real name is the Church of All Saints). We then parked at the car park at Cannop Ponds and had a brief and chilly stroll along the side of the ponds before calling it a day. Shame as I’ve only been to the Forest of Dean once before and could have quite fancied a walk – but quite possibly it would be better later in the spring.

My Dad cooked a lovely curry in the evening, all the more impressive given that he had had to replace the diced lamb in the recipe with stewing steak.

Travelled to High Wycombe today to stand in for our Director at a meeting at Bucks New University. As there is no practical way to travel by train from Reading to HW, I made use of Arriva's excellent 800 bus service to Wycombe Bus Station via Shiplake, Henley and Marlow. Most of the hour-and-a-quarter route is a pleasant meander through country villages and affluent riverside towns (until one gets to Wycombe, where it all goes a bit downhill). And, at £6 for a return ticket, I feel I have saved my department money as well as saving the planet by not driving. Am currently bathed in glow of thrifty eco-smugness.

The meeting was held at Bucks' new Gateway building, which would appear to have security levels that would not disgrace the Ministry of Defence. I had received an email the day before confirming my attendance at the meeting, and informing me that on arrival I should sign in at reception where I would be issued with a visitors' badge (which I would be obliged to wear for the duration of my visit) and escorted to the meeting room by a university representative. This did indeed happen, although as I arrived early I asked the meeter-and-greeter if I could perhaps go somewhere for a cup of tea first - this flustered him somewhat but he did duly escort me to some sort of eating and drinking 'zone'. I had taken about two sips of my cup of tea before he reappeared to collect me, explaining that three other delegates had just arrived and it would be easiest if he took us all up together. I thought about asking "Can't I just make my own way up when I'm ready?", but thought better of it - I soon saw why as both the lift and the conference room door required swipe cards to operate them, resulting in a constant stream of people having to knock to get back in from the toilets. Although I'm all for sensible security precautions, this did all seem somewhat OTT.

I had thought about taking a photo of the Gateway building to illustrate this entry, but given the security levels I was a bit worried that this might result in my being taken out by a strategically-placed sniper. There's a picture here if you scroll down the page.

My ex-boyfriend Andy lived in Wycombe during the time we were together, so I spent quite a bit of time there in 1990-91. I never cared for the place, although my view was no doubt coloured by the succession of squalid shared houses that Andy lived in. In at least one of these, the kitchen was almost certainly dangerous to human health, so that we only ate microwaved food in Andy's room. I remember one cosy dinner for two being a microwaved roast-dinner-in-a-box eaten sitting side by side on Andy's bed. Simpler times ...

Wycombe also has one of those town centres where to get anywhere on foot you seem to keep having to go through dank concrete underpasses. It probably has its nice bits, though.

Overeating; bedside tables; DIY SOS

Last Friday Ruth and I went to South Street Arts to see comedian Laura Solon doing her live show ‘Rabbit Faced Story Soup’. Have to confess to being unfamiliar with Laura prior to the show, although Ruth had heard and liked her on the radio. The show was entertaining although I struggled briefly to keep awake during part of it – less a reflection on Laura than on our not-so-light pre-show supper (see next paragraph).

For a (supposedly light, but actually quite heavy) pre-show supper, we ended up going to the Art of Siam, a Thai restaurant in Reading’s ‘The Walk’ shopping centre. The last time I went there was the night before my BA graduation in 1996 – am surprised that it’s survived given that the shopping centre has never managed to successfully fill its units for any length of time. When it first opened, it was peach-coloured and named ‘King’s Walk’ – as of a few years ago, it’s now black and named ‘The Walk’, presumably in an effort to revitalise it. It has a website stating that it is designed to “suit the needs of upmarket specialist retailers” (given the fortunes of the centre, I'd suggest that there aren't enough people in Reading who shop at such retailers). It’s also described as “a shining light in Reading” – ironic, given the new black décor. At least, since the Oracle was built, the balcony of the first floor ‘Dolce Vita’ restaurant (originally a brasserie, now a pizzeria) no longer looks out straight into a multi-storey car park – bit of a design blunder, that one.

Digressing rather: Retrowow mentions the car park in question, the Yield Hall car park, and its bigger brother the Chatham Street car park, apparently built by the same designer. When we used to come into Reading for the day as kids, Mum usually used to park in the Chatham Street car park. Even by the 1970s, I remember it seeming scruffy and smelling of wee. I suppose the exterior design was quite cool in a way though. Both car parks have now been demolished.

The master bedroom now has two cool new Walnut S side tables from Dwell. Had almost given up my quest to find a bedside table after last year’s Furniture Today fiasco (did eventually cancel the order in question, after the replacement failed to turn up because they had forgotten to load it onto the van – thanks, that was a day of my annual leave) but have become keen on Dwell’s modern, decent quality and generally rather super furniture – we also purchased an office chair recently to replace the old and mysteriously stained Staples number.

It was a weekend of targeted destruction in the house, with the master bedroom fireplace and the third bedroom ceiling both coming a cropper. With the recent passion for all things Victorian looking set to continue, I had thought that it might enhance the house to have an open fireplace in the master bedroom – not actually to USE or anything, just to look good. The fireplace had, unfortunately, been bricked rather than boarded up, so Ruth knocked the cr*p out of it while I ferried the rubble downstairs in buckets and into an open Hippo bag in the front garden (v. useful, these, especially if you don’t have a car). The plan is to re-use the cast-iron fireplace that we removed from the second bedroom last year – for now it’s just wedged into the gap but will be properly fitted at a later date. Harley has already found out how to wriggle under the fireplace into the rubble-y space underneath – in fact he showed a keen interest in the whole process and was not noticeably deterred by the noise and dust. I remain in doubt as to whether his level of fearlessness is a good thing in a small prey animal.

To keep my end up, I dismantled an old and cheap IKEA chest of drawers that had had its day. All went smoothly once Ruth had pointed out which bits required an allen key rather than a screwdriver. Well, I mean. I’m used to having men do this kind of thing.

As the Hippo bag wasn’t full, Ruth also decided to take down the ceiling in the third bedroom, the possible new-bathroom-to-be. The job was necessary labour as we want both insulation and a Velux window fitted, but appallingly messy and dirty. Am currently giving the room a wide berth, although we will have to clear the rubble away this coming weekend. It’s definitely not my home office any more.

Statistics; tree relocation; Hip and Thigh

The bunnies’ concerted work on the dining room wallpaper continues – managed to photo them ‘in flagrante’ last week. They looked round briefly when I took the photograph, but obviously decided that I posed no serious threat and carried on.

Went on a day's statistics training last Thursday at Reading's Statistical Services Centre, which proved a useful refresher, and we were able to download the SSC's useful Excel add-in SSC-Stat. I have to say my head does not naturally get itself round such probably elementary notions as confidence intervals, so the occasional refresher is useful.

Saturday morning saw the re-homing of a small silver birch tree from the garden, a job that has been on the to-do list for a while but delayed by necessity to wait until sap had stopped rising and then necessity to wait until ground had thawed enough to get a spade into. I had been keen that the tree should go to a good home and my boss Paul came up trumps by offering it a home in a small patch of local woodland owned by his mother-in-law. Ruth and Ray dug it up and tied the root ball, while I, true to form, made tea and watched helpfully. The tree was then loaded into Ray's van - my estimate of its height as being around 7 feet was pointed out, in unnecessarily blunt terms, to have been slightly inaccurate - and driven to its new location, where Paul had helpfully already dug a hole of just the right size. A seamless procedure.

Last night's Book Group meeting was enlivened by the hostess' having taken up Rosemary Conley's Hip and Thigh Diet, so the table was laden with more chopped raw vegetables than I think I've ever seen gathered in one place, together with Weight Watchers crisps, low-fat dips made with yoghurt and pure air, etc. Luckily there were a few other more tempting offerings available for those of us who eschew diets. Dessert, along with the usual array of chocolates, fondant fancies and mini-Victoria sponge cakes, included Weight Watchers brownies, which caused a certain amount of intrigue - suspected that they are low-calorie mainly by dint of being about the size of a postage stamp.

My only flirtation with the Stepford-esque Ms Conley's hugely successful diet was over 20 years ago, not long after it came out, when Mum and I briefly decided to go on it. Neither of us lasted very long. There's a brief and not particularly complimentary summary of the diet's main features here.