Christmas preamble; mysterious cards; eating out

Hit the shops on Saturday morning expecting it to be hideous, but actually surprisingly non-busy. We stopped for a cup of something at the cafe in John Lewis and, instead of being queues out of the door as one would expect, there were actually plenty of free tables. Sign of the recession, or just of everyone cosied up at home ordering things off Amazon?

Went round to Ruth’s friend Katia’s on Sunday afternoon for drinks and nibbles. Katia’s boyfriend Nathan was apparently responsible for the nibbles and had gone all out to impress, even baking his own bread. Chatted politely for a few hours before making my excuses and heading home to wrap some gifts, leaving Ruth to stagger home some hours later.

Surprised to return home from work on Monday to a hand-delivered Christmas card signed from Susannah, Tony, Sparkle, Zula and Pippa. Not the faintest idea who they are, but I assume Susannah must be one of two women living at houses further along the same terrace who have both introduced themselves to me, while I have obviously then promptly forgotten their names. Must pay more attention to neighbours.

Progress South Central lunch at Blandford's

Very fine day off today, starting with meeting Ray for a pre-Christmas breakfast at Julia’s Meadow. The picture is of him trying to peel the ‘3 for 2’ label off the gift bag I had put his presents in. Class – really should notice these things. Spent the morning doing the remainder of my Christmas shopping, including a few essential purchases for myself such as a new hair straightener - an entirely reasonable purchase, as my sturdy BaByliss Convertible is about 20 years old and probably in danger of setting fire to my head. Then headed up to campus to meet a number of former Progress South Central colleagues for Christmas lunch at Blandford’s. In the evening, met Helen, Sarah and Lesley for a cosy pre-Christmas dinner out – as everywhere in the Oracle was packed, we ended up at the Royal Tandoori on Duke Street – never been there before but pretty nice.

Have discovered that having bedroom walls re-plastered during winter is perhaps not the best idea, as the plaster takes a while to dry during which time cold dampness seeps into every corner of the bedroom and, more particularly, bed. As Ruth's new friend, Handyman Paul¹, removed the radiators from the bedroom walls prior to the plastering work, we have no heating in the bedrooms which, obviously, enhances the whole effect. Have been using the time to reflect positively on the luxurious home comforts to which we become all too readily accustomed.<sup>2

1</sup>   'Handyman' is a courtesy title.  
²   A lie.

Canal walk; lovely plaster; EMA

Ray and I went for a canal-focused day out on Saturday 3rd, starting at the Oxford end of the Oxford Canal by Hythe Bridge Street and walking quite a way up, past a number of lift bridges, disused and otherwise (evidently these are a bit of a feature of the canal and were built to save money on brick bridges) and past a larger number of extremely scruffy boats surrounded by assorted junk. Seemingly a lot of these boats must be part of the Agenda 21 residential mooring scheme, which was evidently intended as encouraging sustainable development and encouraging those who wished to live low impact lifestyles, etc. According to this, the Agenda 21 mooring community was created in 2000 under a European Union initiative providing for official sanction of traditional communities (whatever the latter means). It looked to us as though the moorings need to come with a certain obligation on the boat owners not to then proceed to live like a tramp and to keep one’s boat in reasonable condition. We saw one elderly man with an incredible long white beard emerge from his wreck of a boat followed by three or four tough-looking cats, and cross the towpath to do whatever with a pile of stuff he’d stacked the other side of it. The fifth post here probably says it all. We walked up as far as Duke’s Cut, a route through to the Thames, and then turned back and stopped at The Plough at Wolvercote Green for a drink, before making our way back into Oxford. A round trip back along the Thames is scheduled for another time when there are a few more hours of daylight available.

Green walls with radiator

Before

Went to a free lunchtime concert on the 7th, apparently part of a long-running series of free lunchtime concerts held in the former St Michael's Church, a deconsecrated church on the OU's campus used for a variety of activities including belly-dancing. This one was a performance of seasonal Scandinavian music by Sirinu and the Swedish ensemble Laude Novella. Quite good, though they talked too much in between numbers. They played an interesting range of instruments, including the hurdy-gurdy - couldn't quite pick out which sound this was, but there was an ongoing buzzing noise throughout most of the performance which I initially assigned to a malfunctioning fluorescent strip light somewhere, but could actually have been the instrument itself, perhaps courtesy of one of the 'drone strings' referred to in the Wikipedia article.

We have, over the last two weeks (I say ‘we’, but actually Ruth has done most of the work) managed to actually get two bedrooms and the upstairs landing skimmed with a nice new coat of plaster. Ruth beavered away stripping all the wallpaper, getting a handyman in to fit the fire surround properly into bedroom 1’s chimney breast, fitting some missing skirting and removing two radiators from the bedroom walls (small flood ensued in bedroom 1, but we won’t talk about that). Bedroom 1 was looking pretty tatty after I removed the coving last year (which, I have it on good authority, it is IMPOSSIBLE to do without also removing some plaster) and given the water damage to one corner of the ceiling; stripping the wallpaper revealed the walls to have an unpleasant greenish tinge which lent the room an oppressive atmosphere for a few days. However, thanks to Mark the plasterer, the walls and ceilings are now beautifully smooth. So pleased with them I have been rubbing up against them at intervals.

After

Managed, with a bit of a rush job, to complete my EMA (end-of-module assessment) for T183, by putting together a simple six-page website loosely based on a site I have had vague intentions of doing for Ray and Darren’s business, but have never actually done. Here it is. Ended up getting a bit behind with the course and skipping the last two lessons, so my carefully-laid plans of methodically working through one lesson a week didn’t quite come off. Better get myself in gear a bit more for M255, my next course which starts in February, as it has four assignments and an EXAM.

Went for our Information Office Christmas lunch today to The Carrington Arms, in the village of Moulsoe, just outside Milton Keynes. Nice place and food – quite nouvelle but then one doesn’t need to overstuff oneself. We were joined by two colleagues currently on maternity leave, Emily, who brought her week-old baby, Baby Benson (negotiations were evidently still going on over its name), and Victoria, who had handed her two young children over to her parents for a few hours, evidently with a certain amount of gusto. Young Claire and I got a lift over in Galina’s electric car, which was interesting – not, as I’d been expecting, completely silent, but apparently some noise is added to avoid making people jump when the car approaches them. Currently there are evidently various perks for drivers of electric cars, including free road tax, free town centre parking and the like. You’d be a bit worried about it running out of charge on a long journey, but presumably there’s a mechanism to tell you when the charge is running down.

Have made various lists for Christmas, but the weekend will involve a frenzy of Getting It All Done.

Cotswolds; probation

Completely failed to even attempt to read this month’s Book Group book, Lionel Shriver’s So Much for That, but went along anyway to listen to others’ opinions of it, coupled with more assurances that anyone who hasn’t yet read ‘Kevin’ really must as it’s the best book ever. I MIGHT, OK. Or I might not.

Little Hattons

Ruth and I decamped to the Cotswolds on Friday for a hastily-planned three-night break courtesy of English Country Cottages, after our positive experience with them back in March. As we had less time on this occasion my main criterion had been to go somewhere that didn’t involve excessive amounts of driving to get there, so we chose Little Hattons, in a village called Frampton Mansell a little way west of Cirencester. The drive there was uneventful until we actually arrived at the village and discovered that our destination was located at the bottom of a steep-sided valley accessed by a narrow road with hairpin bends attached. There was a brief tense moment when we became stuck on a muddy bank which I had lurched onto quickly to get out of the way of an approaching lorry of inappropriate size; after Ruth had suggested I tried rocking the car backwards and forwards, and I think I had inexcusably told her to shut the **** up unless she wanted to ****ing drive, we managed to break free and reach our holiday cottage, where I managed to pull the car off the road after only a brief contretemps with a wall. Will get the rear bumper sorted out at a later date.

Sugar success

Met briefly with the owner, a Mrs Gerrard, a dead posh relocated-to-the-country-from-London type, who showed us around the attractive 18^th century cottage and left us to it. We went to make tea and realised that neither of us had remembered to bring any sugar. Having given up sugar in tea for Lent in my teens and never gone back to it, it never occurs to me to pack it, so I absolved myself of responsibility. As I refused to drive another yard, we set out to walk to the neighbouring village of Oakridge, where the file of useful bumf in the cottage informed us that there was a shop. After staggering up some very steep roads, we eventually reached Oakridge, where the shop was not immediately obvious, but we eventually found it and Ruth purchased a bag of sugar. The following morning we discovered a supply of sugar in one of the kitchen cupboards.

By the Norman Arch

On the Saturday we elected to drive into Cirencester, to have a look at its medieval/Roman/country-pursuity-charms. Only ever been there once before, on a school trip to the Roman Museum, which I remember finding dull as ditchwater at the time. When we eventually got there after abandoning attempts to park in the town car parks and retreated to the temporary Park & Ride set up at Cirencester College (good idea, that), we veered off immediately into a Barbour suppliers, where Ruth purchased a jacket, after some banter with the salesman about the attractiveness or otherwise of the Liberty print lining. We had a wander around the Farmers Market, where I sampled some quince liqueur, and then the Christmas market, which had just opened. Had an extended wander around with a brief break for tea and cake. I made us visit the church in the Market Place, awash with Christmas trees inside, which was quite pretty, and the Abbey Grounds, which are somewhat underwhelming although I guess the Norman Arch is quite cute. Here I am leaning against it.

If you want to know more about Cirencester, you can consult the Cirencester website, apparently the most extensive source of Cirencester-related information on the Internet. As you'd expect really.

On the Sunday I persuaded Ruth that we really should go out for a walk to explore the surrounding countryside. Rather to my surprise, she agreed reasonably enthusiastically and we set out for a tramp along the towpath of the former (extremely former) Thames & Severn Canal, while chiding Ray for our newly-developed interest in canals. Allegedly, restoration of the canal is afoot, but there was no sign of that having reached the section we walked along. The canal, completed in 1789, apparently always suffered from problems with its water supply (bit of a core difficulty, that), exacerbated by the steep hill it had to climb from its western end near Stroud up into the Cotswolds to the Sapperton Tunnel, at the time it was built the longest canal tunnel in Britain. We walked past at least six disused locks in the comparatively short stretch we walked along, so the waterway evidently had some steep climbing to do.

The Crown at Frampton Mansell

We were both surprised at the lack of any fencing or even warning signs around the lock basins, which are empty but pretty deep and an unwary child or dog could easily come a cropper. Perhaps ‘Health & Safety’ hasn’t taken over as much as the anti-PC brigade would like to think. We had a peek at the castellated Daneway Portal, the western end of the Sapperton Tunnel, and then briefly visited the churchyard at Sapperton before walking back along the road to Frampton Mansell. Later that afternoon we went for a late lunch at The Crown, Frampton Mansell’s pub and apparently ‘the perfect traditional Cotswold venue’.

Spent a couple of cosy evenings, one watching the 80s movie How to Get Ahead in Advertising, which I don't think I'd ever seen but which was rather darker than I'd imagined, and the other spent watching back-to-back New Tricks. Undemanding stuff.

The weekend ended up, although not planned that way, being a celebration of us both passing our probations and being ‘signed off’ in our new roles. I had a brief interview with Judith last week, during which she complimented my calm, well-organised approach (as I am usually recognised at work for these qualities, such praise has started to pass over my head somewhat – am waiting to have such exciting words as ‘dynamic’ and ‘maverick’ attached to me, though those are admittedly not qualities necessarily required of someone in my sort of job role). Still, nice to get the official letter from Nick confirming my post. I have also been offered an extension of my contract to a three-year as opposed to the original two-year fixed term, which is good news. Ruth had a two-hour long meeting with her boss Patrick in a noisy café (they obviously do things differently in London) but she has been given the OK also. Hurrah.

Diversity Compliance; family weekend; vests

Finally got around on Friday to completing the university’s Diversity Compliance online training module and taking the test. In return, I now have this handsome certificate. Additionally, I know know not to hurl abuse at black colleagues or to push disabled people down the stairs. The certificate can join the ranks of the leagues of minor certificates I have gathered over the years (DisplayWrite 4, anyone?), the first of which was probably my First Holy Communion certificate (left). My first chomp on the Lord Jesus was at our parish church in Newbury in 1975. Here I am, wearing my customary coy demure expression.

Drove down to my parents’ place early Saturday morning where Mum and Hannah cooked up a hearty brunch. We looked at some of the reams of old slides and negatives that Hannah has been scanning in and exclaimed over some old photos that evidently never made it into the family albums, including, perhaps not surprisingly, this one (right). Hannah cooked a roast chicken in the evening which went well other than a slight dispute over the correct amount of oil to drizzle/glug over the bird. On the Sunday we went out for a walk locally before going to 'Food for Thought' in Peterchurch for lunch.

My MK landlord has recently seen fit to install new electric heaters in the flat to replace the old bulky storage heaters. In principle this is great, were it not for the impenetrable instructions. Admittedly I have little patience with such things and after my first attempt to programme them was swiftly reduced to recriminations, banging head against the table etc. Ruth visited for the evening a week or so ago and spent half an hour or so in front of one heater with the manual, and eventually managed to programme it after a fashion. There remain three others to do but I was sufficiently grateful just to have heat out of one. It isn't seriously cold yet, but am stockpiling vests, thick socks etc in preparation.

Donnington; OU stuff; life and death

Have been extending my walk to work a few mornings a week recently in an attempt to pack in more exercise, now that darkness and cold in the mornings have forced me to abandon the early cycling plan – could cycle to work, but that would involve changes of clothes, showers etc, which is all too complicated (though a number of my colleagues do actually do this). Have, believe it or not, found quite a pleasant walk, north of here up through Woughton Park and Woughton on the Green – quite an attractive village which doesn’t appear to have any shops but does have quite a decent-looking pub – and then into Ouzel Valley Park and thence down to Walton Hall.

Met up with some of the Book Group on Friday 4^th for an early supper at Tampopo before they went to see We Need to Talk About Kevin – I declined to go as I’d rather read the book and suspect the film might give away crucial plot twists. I’m already slightly prejudiced against the book simply because of the number of people who’ve told me it’s the most amazing book they’ve ever read, but in fairness I suppose I shouldn’t let that put me off. After they’d departed I went to meet Ruth who had spent the day and previous night in Jersey as part of a bid presentation team. It seemed to have gone well and I was amused to learn that an analogy with Reservoir Dogs had apparently been used towards her and a male colleague, who were evidently the most sharply-dressed members of the team.

On the Saturday, Ruth rashly offered to do something that I fancied doing, so I made her take a meandering bus journey over to Newbury (she cracked towards the end, saying it was the most boring bus journey she’d ever been on, but prior to that had fun critiquing the bus’ design, seat covers etc as part of recently-developed interest in public transportation services thanks to new job). Once arrived, we had lunch at a crowded café near the clock tower before taking a walk up to Donnington Castle, a local historic site that we used to visit as kids – the photo on the left of me taken there in 1993 was the last occasion I’d been there, partly because the Newbury Bypass was constructed in the interim and I hadn’t fancied discovering that the castle was now in the middle of a traffic island. Of course, it isn’t – in fact the bypass isn’t visually intrusive and can barely be seen from the castle, although it can be heard, and the traffic can be seen in the distance if you know which direction to look in. We had a quick mooch around and a young couple took this photo of us, in return for me taking a couple of them.

Went for my first Information Office team lunch on Friday 11^th to mark Emily’s departure on maternity leave. Emily is a fit and healthy type who looks as though she’ll just have the baby and then pop out for a game of tennis, so hopefully all will go well. During the journey over in Bart’s people-carrier, the topic of conversation turned to Radio 4 and Emily expressed surprise when I remarked that I rarely listened to it (though I know people who do) and commented that I was just the sort of person whom she would have thought would be an avid listener. Was unsure whether to be flattered at seeming an intelligent, erudite sort of person, or insulted at seeming bookish spinstery type. For the sake of mental calm I opted for the former thought.

Have been falling a bit behind with T183 due to pressure of sheer idleness, but have more or less caught up and have just submitted my interactive computer-marked assignment (‘iCMA’), the first of the two pieces of assessment for the course, though it only counts for 10% of the marks. Have also, in a fit of enthusiasm, signed up for course M255 – ‘Object-oriented programming with Java’ – which starts in February, partly at the suggestion of my line manager Judith who is keen for all of the returns team, except for Hoa who’s already an expert, to have a chance to upgrade their programming skills. Thought I might as well take the opportunity. Also it sounds, to me at least, more interesting than becoming an Accredited PRINCE2 Practitioner, which more or less everybody I worked with at CfBT now seems to be – can hardly open up someone’s LinkedIn page without being greeted by this as the front line. Have to remind myself it is actually a genuine qualification and not at all to do with NLP, eye-tracking etc, but still fight urge to scoff derisively.

We had Ray and Claire over to dinner last Saturday, as we were conscious that we hadn’t had people over for a while – if nothing else, it prompts one to clean the bathroom, tidy up, put rabbits in fresh clothes etc. I did most of the cleaning and tidying as Ruth spent the earlier part of the day lying down, in deference to having run up an £80 bar bill in Islington with Denise the previous evening. Luckily she recovered in time to cook the dinner, so the rest of us got to sit and drink wine and eat the pieces of breadstick that I had gathered together – don’t actually remember dropping a tin on top of them, but there you go. I can’t remember what we talked about, but it was midnight when they left so it must have gone well.

Gail and Rob appeared on Saturday afternoon and borrowed about 20 back issues of LivingEtc, apparently to get some inspiration for their dining room. Bit surprised as I had thought Gail’s tastes tended towards the classic, but will be interested to see what comes out of it.

Made a few attempts at the weekend to progress our attic workroom plan. Having worked out the lengths of MDF that (we think) we need, went to Homebase on Saturday morning to investigate their board-cutting service and had a brief and not particularly satisfactory conversation with a spectacularly uninterested member of their staff. As it happened, their cutting machine was broken anyway so we couldn’t have done anything. On Sunday morning we briefly toyed with the idea of driving across town to B&Q to check out the service there, but became dispirited even thinking about it so didn’t bother. Instead, had a bit of an online search and located a few online cutting and delivery services, so am now awaiting a quote from one of them. Ruth said some sensible things about it all being a learning process, which is of course quite correct.

Took a day’s leave on Monday to go to my former colleague (and indeed, line managee – is that a word?) Katrina’s funeral at Reading Crematorium, in company with a number of other current and former CfBT colleagues. Katrina and I formed the Data Management and Research Strand for the year or so before I left CfBT, and following my departure she comprised it herself (hopefully, in a reduced capacity – I like to think I contributed something to the arrangement) for the further year or so until the Fast Track contract closed. She continued working at CfBT on a smaller project before being made redundant earlier this year, evidently shortly before she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Something of a bummer.

By way of celebrating death and new life on the same day, I met up with Kate at the Alto Lounge in the afternoon, the first time we’d met up since she gave birth to her baby Oliver in July. I was duly introduced to Oliver, who seemed a fairly placid baby though Kate muttered darkly about him putting that on in company. Kate’s quest to rid their house of husband Steve’s apparently vast collection of computers through the ages appears to be ongoing – despite having actually donated some to a computing museum, there are evidently a number still in the house, including the attic and a good portion of the garage. Blimey. Taking any number of them to the tip is apparently difficult as the tip men assume that you’re a commercial concern offloading stock. Prior to their marriage Kate was apparently training Steve to say, by way of explanation “I was a computer geek, but now I have a girlfriend”.

Cookery; Thai food; Samhain

Met at Lesley’s flat on Thursday to discuss Sarah Waters’ The Night Watch, and eat spaghetti (actually penne) Bolognese with lashings of garlic bread. There seems to be a slightly worrying new trend emerging whereby whoever is hosting Book Group actually cooks food, as opposed to opening packets of crisps and dip or handing round the takeaway menu. Not sure how I’m going to handle this when it’s my turn, but given whole ongoing Milton Keynes extravaganza will probably be able to plead lack of time.

Seasonal display

Ruth and I went for an unnecessary dinner at the Suwanna on Friday evening, almost directly following on from one of our periodic vows to spend less money on eating out. Lovely food as always, especially the Weeping Tiger – the comment about the restaurant’s being overlit is about the only part of the eatmytown review above that’s accurate. The Old Siam in The Walk is more atmospherically lit, but I had indigestion for the rest of the evening the last time I ate there. I like the Thai Corner on West Street, but Ruth doesn’t. What can you do?

Marked Samhain this year by setting up a small display of black candle, mini pumpkin and autumn leaves on the coffee table at the flat – don’t have a fireplace here, but then the bunnies have ruled out fireplace displays anyway. Ray, who has become surprisingly enthusiastic about marking pagan festivals, came up for the evening to admire the display and mark the occasion. We didn’t indulge in any spells or incantations – largely because I don’t know any – but I read aloud the entry on Samhain from ‘Principles of Paganism’. This remarkable photograph (left) clearly shows a mystical beam of light emanating from my eyes, so something otherworldly may indeed have happened.

Classical music; hidden greenery; meandering

Met up with Ray and Auntie Barbara at Norden Farm Centre for the Arts on 13th, to hear a recital by The Rose Trio. They played a variety of pieces; my favourite was definitely the Vaughan Williams' Studies in English Folksong, played on bassoon with a piano accompaniment. Particularly admired bassoonist Tammy's pairing of bassoon (undeniably a sexy instrument) with a tight black satin dress. Was genuinely amazed to learn from Barbara that Maidenhead Music Society has been going since the 1940s; indeed, I gather she herself has been a member for most of that time.

While waiting for Ray and Barbara to arrive, I was amused by this flyer on a table encouraging me to Enjoy Maidenhead. Conveniently Mine, apparently.

Took advantage of the freakish week of late summer by taking a walk up through Bugs Bottom on the Saturday. B. Bottom, properly called Hemdean Bottom or Hemdean Valley, is a strip of green land with some woodland attached which seems to have mercifully escaped development, though a new housing development was built on its perimeters in the 1990s. Emerging at the far end onto Gravel Hill, I noted that this narrow country lane appears to have been permanently closed to traffic. I chickened out of walking up it as frankly, it looks a bit spooky now. One needs a few speeding cars for company.

On Friday 21st, went to a free lunchtime concert given by the Open University Orchestra. They opened with the Pirates of the Caribbean theme (the woman sitting next to me confided that it’s her favourite piece of music ever – fancy) and then played Dvorak’s Cello Concerto with visiting young hairy soloist Bartholomew Lafollette. I had been half-expecting the audience to be composed of a scanty 20 or so people and had partly gone along to show support, but the place was packed out and standing room only by the time of kick-off. Obviously a campus full of music lovers.

Day out in London on 22nd, though of a fairly goal-free variety: met Ray for another breakfast at the St Pancras branch of Carluccio’s, before wandering along Pancras Road past the back of the stations towards the Camley Street Natural Park, which I had come across while browsing Secret London. In fact we arrived slightly before it opened, so walked further along and came across the lovely St Pancras Gardens, a peaceful enclave tucked away behind St Pancras Station – we had it to ourselves the whole time we were there. Dutifully admired the elaborately mosaic-ed Burdett Coutts Memorial Sundial, and thought the tomb of Sir John Soane suitably atmospheric with its closed-off steps leading underground.

After that, Ray decided he wanted to walk to Tate Modern (spurning my suggestion of going up to Highgate to visit Pond Square, apparently haunted by a frozen chicken - next time), so we set off down Gray's Inn Road via St Andrew's Gardens and past the Mount Pleasant Sorting Office down to Smithfield Market where we veered off to have a quick mooch around the Barbican. During a break for a herbal tea and a bit of a rest, we decided we were knackered but that there was nothing for it but to carry on to Tate M anyway. By the time we finally arrived we couldn't be arsed to have a look around, so got on a bus straight back north, getting off on the Strand near Somerset House and nipping into the Thai Square for a delicious light lunch.

Had a domestic day in the flat on Sunday, making carrot and orange soup and a banana cake. Also found quite a pleasant walk up the canal a bit and then through Woughton on the Green and the northern part of Ouzel Valley Park. Still not sure about MK though.

Polyfilla; weekend stuff; local news

Managed to miss Book Group on 29^th through ending up being late with my checks on the Scottish Funding Council Final Figures and not leaving work until 7pm, by which time I was no longer in the mood to drive to Reading. Most annoying, as I had finished and quite enjoyed Barbara Kingsolver’s The Lacuna. Instead went back to the flat and ate pasta with some leftover French beans, which definitely don’t go with pasta.

Had a welcome day off on Friday 30^th, though my planned spa day with Ruth’s birthday vouchers didn’t come off – evidently I’d left it too late to book the package I wanted at Nirvana Spa near Wokingham. Instead stayed at the house and met with Albert Klossi of A-S Building Services, a cheery young chap who had replied registering interest in our bathroom job when I had (apparently) logged it on MyBuilder.com last year and then promptly forgotten about it. Am hoping his cheerful ‘can do’ attitude is matched by extremely reasonable rates. Encouragingly, he invited us to go along on Saturday to visit his team’s current job on Highmoor Road, where they are fitting three new bathrooms and doing a whole shedload of plastering. All looked great, but we’re trying not to get too excited until we see the quote.


Decided to have a go at applying Polyfilla to some of the many chasms in the attic wall, prior to doing more wall painting. After quickly using up an entire tube of the convenient ready made comes-in-a-tube stuff, we decided it would be more economical to buy a box. Indeed true, provided that you don’t waste half the box in one of those disastrous whoops-added-too-much-water-let’s-add-more-powder-oh-shit episodes. Here’s a picture of my failed attempt to mix some. Ruth eventually took this away from me and mixed me a small amount, which I was duly given and told to apply carefully. I may be more suited to baking.

Am now sharing my office with fellow newbie Claire, who has joined the Information Office as a fixed-term maternity cover to help cope with the outbreak of pregnancies. Claire has just finished her PhD at the University of Hertfordshire, in something to do with cognitive science which apparently involved programming little robots. Have the strong impression the interview panel found her PhD more interesting than mine. Voiced this concern to Bart, a member of both our interview panels, who replied "Funny, that". Am insulted.

A record four-hour drive back to Reading last Friday, thanks to a coach fire on the M40 which led to its being closed between junctions 4 and 5. Kicked myself for deciding against leaving at junction 6 and taking the cross-country route, as I sailed past the junction just before 7pm and straight into the jam, where I remained until finally leaving the motorway at 8.45pm, after travelling about two miles in total. Got to listen to the whole of BBC Radio Oxford’s 70s request phone-in, which surely has to be considered a blessing.

Ruth and I whiled away a couple of hours on Saturday afternoon watching Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, her latest LoveFilm offering. It was about as entertaining as a two-hour long marital row sounds, but no doubt good to have seen it.

In an effort to get a little fresh air and exercise on Sunday, we drove over to Twyford (picked fairly at random) intending to have a bit of a stroll around Loddon Nature Reserve. Ruth decided she was hungry for lunch as soon as we arrived, and as her metabolism admits of no delay we had to find a pub. Perversely, the first one we ended up trying was The Golden Cross on Waltham Road, an unappealing place that stank of dog and had an air of rusting screen doors hanging off, etc - surprised at Twyford, a reasonably affluent little commuter town, having such a place but there you go. This piece from the Maidenhead Advertiser in July probably says it all. Drained our glasses quickly and retraced steps to the town centre, past this funeral directors, which Ruth mistook for a pub. Called in at The Duke of Wellington; a lot nicer, but they weren't serving food. Ended up at The Waggon & Horses, a civilised enough place on the road back out to Charvil, with OK food. We had a brief stroll around the nature reserve after lunch, but didn't linger as it was quite muddy.

After some internal wrangling, have decided to stay at Old Groveway for a further six months. The wee house itself is lovely; less entranced by the area. Not so much rough, as in fairness I’ve encountered no trouble since moving here; more that I’m not sure I’ll get used to the feeling of living on an island surrounded by dual carriageways in a town with no centre in a conventional sense. Should probably give it a year though, to say I’ve done the Milton Keynes experience. Intend fleeing next May to one of the older towns on the edge of MK, probably Stony Stratford or Newport Pagnell.

Amused by a short piece in the ‘Courtwatch’ section of last week’s Milton Keynes Citizen, reporting that a 26-year-old man had appeared at MK magistrates’ court charged with stealing a flapjack to the value of £1.10 from BhS. In addition to a fine, he was apparently ordered to pay a victim surcharge of £15. To compensate BhS for their distress over the loss of the flapjack?

Sticking with desperate local news, Zorba’s Mr Cheezzy Chips (note two 'z's) on Station Road in Reading, opposite what is now the Malmaison Hotel, has been forced to shut for two months by the council, as punishment for acting as a magnet for drunks looking for late-night food and a bit of a scrap. In a previous incarnation as Butty’s Coffee House, the joint achieved local notoriety for being the scene of a murder when the then-proprietor bludgeoned his business partner to death in the kitchen and then carried on serving meals, presumably just stepping over the bloodied corpse on his way to the fridge. In my young day, the shop used to be a standard greasy spoon café, where I remember Mum taking us occasionally for a lemonade or similar, probably when on the way back to the station. Can’t remember what it was called then.

Newly filed bunny; Oxford; other people's DVDs

Harley duly had his surgery last Friday, and by the time I arrived home in the evening seemed pretty much back to usual, though he didn't eat properly until Saturday afternoon, meaning that Ruth had to feed him through a pipette with some vile-looking food supplement supplied by the vet. We are hoping that his newly-shortened teeth will now enable him to eat lots of hay, as proper bunnies are supposed to.

Saturday was spent painting the attic wall white as part of the whole attic workroom plan. I have to say it does look brighter.

Travelled to Oxford on Sunday for a farewell dinner with Janet and some of the other former Progress South Central staff before Janet’s impending departure back home to New Zealand. I travelled up early and went for a bit of a walk, turning left off Hythe Bridge Street by the ‘dead end’ of the Oxford Canal and walking up past some surprisingly scruffy narrowboats to Isis Lock, the canal's southernmost lock (pictured), where I crossed and continued up the towpath to Aristotle Bridge. Turned off and had a meander around Polstead Road and other smart streets including the elegant Park Town, before heading to the Jam Factory on Hollybush Row to meet the others for lunch. Janet and her partner had already had to move out of their rented flat and were staying briefly with her brother before leaving the UK later this week to tour Europe for a few weeks before returning home.

During lunch I finally returned Godfrey's copy of Tony Richardson's 1961 film A Taste of Honey, which he lent me at least two years ago and I only got around to watching the previous evening. Verdict: OK but a bit over-studied, and rather hammered home the general bleakness and poverty of the surroundings and the characters' lives. However, Godfrey, who is much more of a film buff than I am, reckons it was an important film for British cinema, and he's no doubt right. Now Ruth and I just have to watch Helen's copy of The Princess Bride, which she rashly lent us at a dinner party about a year ago but which Ruth has consistently refused to actually watch, preferring things involving crime-fighting and lashings of gore. However, I shall feel too guilty to return it if I haven't actually watched it, in case I am questioned on my favourite bits (apparently it's Helen's family's favourite film).

Next week marks the start of the little 10-credit OU course (or perhaps courselet) I have signed up for, Design and the Web, part of the Technology Faculty’s Relevant Knowledge series of short courses. Have done the preliminary reading and the icebreaker. As I already know something about writing web pages, I'm not expecting all of it to be very demanding, but figure I might learn something.

Wednesday 21 September 2011

New patio; big plants; whingeing

Arrived back at the house on Friday evening to admire the larger and much smarter new patio. The new retaining wall and the built-in seat all look great; now the render just needs to dry so that the wall can be painted. We briefly considered a bright colour of some sort, before deciding that white would probably be more sensible.

Visit to the vets first thing on Saturday for the rabbits to have their follow-up jabs from the one they had a few weeks ago – not entirely satisfactory visit as when we were eventually called in 30 minutes after our appointment time, the vet discovered that the surgery only had one VHD vaccine in stock, so we had to pick the lucky bunny to receive it. The vet’s advice was that given Harley’s impending operation, it would be better to give Lola the jab – this was duly done and Harley has been booked in for his surgery this coming Friday. Ruth is planning a special meal for him the night before; we speculated whether this might involve chopped bank statements with a side order of leather sofa.

Spent the rest of the day buying a rotary airer from Homebase and then driving around various garden centres looking for a potential new bamboo, as our existing bamboos have suffered from the patio extension. Started at The Big Plant Nursery on the A4 at Twyford, which does indeed sell some very big plants. Lots of good looking bamboos, but all about 5 metres tall which we decided was pushing it a bit. Tried out the Wyevale at Hare Hatch, but more oriented around pansies, nymphs etc. Didn't get further than the car park of Ladds Garden Centre, the other side of the A4, as Ruth noticed that they sold live animals and insisted on leaving. I did once see some cute quail there, but should probably repent of my thinking they were cute and be outraged instead. Eventually gave up on plants and went for lunch at the Shire Horse as Ruth needed fuel.

After a late start on Sunday I decided to attack the attic, as we seem to have agreed on turning part of this into an office space to relieve pressure on bedroom 2 and to free the room up for decorating. Spent a cathartic few hours bagging stuff up for charity (though have not persuaded Ruth to get rid of nearly enough books as yet) and then clearing a space for some shelf-building (hopefully). With admittedly great foresight, I had a couple of double sockets installed up there during last year's electrical work - at the time because I was intending to take up sewing and wanted somewhere to plug in a sewing machine, something which admittedly doesn't quite seem to have happened yet. Have been keeping a boxful of old duvet covers, pillowcases etc though just in case, so that I have something to practise on when the new hobby finally does get going. Ruth started stripping wallpaper in bedroom 2, ably assisted by Harley who seems to enjoy the taste of wallpaper paste, even though we fear it can't be good for him.

Quest continues to find a charmingly attractive part of MK that I might fancy spending time in, but have unfortunately discovered that nearby Bletchley is definitely not one such, unless I missed the good bits. Took the bus there on Tuesday evening to register at a new doctor's surgery; the walk there from the bus station down what appeared to be the high street (Queensway, featured in the Wikipedia link above) was suitably depressing, as the most upmarket retail outlet along its whole length looked to be a branch of Nisa. The bus I took home has made me belatedly determined to send Reading Buses a fan letter; surly driver (as seems the norm here) and a motley handful of other passengers, half of whom seemed severely in need of a bath. Bloody hell.

Wednesday 14 September 2011

Tree butchery; Olympic Walk; garden landscaping

Ruth took the rabbits for jabs a week or so ago and was informed by the vet that Harley should really have surgery to file down some spurs that are growing on his teeth. Rabbits, being to my mind peculiarly badly designed creatures, have teeth that never stop growing and can eventually spout monster sharp ends that can potentially pierce their own cheeks. I think we have grudgingly conceded that we wouldn’t wish this on him, though we may be asking him to get a part-time job.

Was completely gutted to arrive home from work last Friday evening to discover that the beautiful silver birch tree outside the back of my flat had been chopped down during the day. Bloody council. I fired off a blistering, and probably somewhat over-emotional, email to them, but they haven’t replied as yet. Here’s a picture of it as it was, around the time I moved in. Ray did note that silver birches are not long-lived trees (though the tree looked perkily green to me) and sometimes have to be taken out before they become dangerous and their branches start dropping, but I’m not convinced. Am expecting the bureaucratic philistines at the council to claim that it was posing an imminent threat either to the buildings or the inhabitants, which I will of course suspect to be complete bollocks – in any case, these are hardly listed buildings and many of my neighbours look fairly expendable. Anyway. Rant over.

Had a day in London on Saturday (pictures here) which started badly due to me setting the wrong alarm, missing my planned bus and when I finally arrived at MK Central, buying two train tickets in a fit of hysteria (don’t ask - I blame grieving for the tree). After meeting Ray and calming down over a lovely breakfast at Carluccio’s at St Pancras, we made our way to Bromley-by-Bow tube station for 11am to meet the tour group and guide for the day’s Daily Olympic Walk, tours led by Blue Badge Tourist Guides around the environs of the Olympic Park, ending up with a viewpoint into the park’s interior (the public can’t actually go inside, except on a special bus tour which apparently gets booked up months ahead). The walk itself took in the area of the Lower Lea Valley that surrounds the Olympic site, starting off at Three Mills Island and the recently-regenerated Three Mills Green, then proceeding along Three Mills Wall River, across Stratford High Street, past the newly regenerated City Mill Lock and up Pudding Mill Lane to the Olympic site, where we were let in along with a number of other tour groups to what is evidently the official viewing point. All quite interesting, though I was more interested in the history and regeneration of the area than in anything actually to do with the Olympics. We both thought the tour guide went on a bit, but I guess that’s what they get paid to do.

After being released from the tour group, we took the DLR to Canary Wharf and had lunch at Strada (pretty but disappointingly tasteless pasta dish; nice rosé though) before going to have a poke around Limehouse Basin and the mouth of the Regent's Canal. We walked a little way up the Regent's Canal before deciding that it really wasn't a very scenic walk, so turned off towards Mile End Park. We caught the 205 bus from Mile End Road back to our respective stations.

Thankfully, the Hoppa Bags are finally gone, thanks to Frank of Thatcham-based FE Decking, who has been carrying out some work in the garden over the last week or so extending the patio and building a new block and render wall, which is due to be painted white just as soon as the render dries. Ruth finally fired Mr Hoppa last week, as his promises to come and collect the bags never looked like materialising and Frank evidently got ticked off with having to work around them and arranged for a mate of his to come and collect them, for an extra 20 quid. Makes you wonder what was so difficult in the first place. Although harbouring some concerns that having work done on the garden was hardly the priority for our property, I’m looking forward to seeing the finished product this coming weekend.

Bristol outing; surprise Buddhism; new technology

Went to Bristol for the day last Wednesday in the company of my colleague Hoa for a series of presentations from HEFCE on the upcoming 2011 run of the Higher Education Students Early Statistics Survey (aka HESES), with which I expect to be involved to some extent at the OU. The event was held at the Exhibition and Conference Centre on UWE’s Frenchay campus, in one screened-off end of possibly the largest room I’ve ever been in. Met a few other people doing similar work, and discovered that Hoa chose Reading for his degree because of the Festival – as good a reason as any, I guess. The day’s main distinguishing feature was the inordinate length of time it appears to take to get from MK to Bristol.

In a determined attempt to up the cardio with a view to improving energy levels, went out for a bike ride at 7am on Saturday morning. Took in Walnut Tree, Kents Hill and Monkston, keeping to redways, before returning to the house for a fully-justified bacon roll. Met Ruth from the station at around midday and returned to the house via Homebase for emergency purchase of an extra pillow and a planter for Ruth’s office plant which, for reasons not entirely clear to me, is being boarded out with me for the time being. We went for a late afternoon visit to the Peace Pagoda, in the north-east of the town by North Willen Lake. Milton Keynes’ Peace Pagoda was apparently the first such to be built in Europe, with the original having been built at Hiroshima after World War II as a symbol of peace. It’s maintained by a group of monks and nuns from the Nipponzan Myohoji sect who live in the Japanese temple near the pagoda – I had had no idea this was there but we wandered along to see it and had a look at the garden, which the public are apparently free to visit. Encouraged by the thought that MK might be full of hidden gems. Next stop the National Badminton Museum.

Dave and Hazel stayed with us on the Saturday night on their way back from a 40^th birthday party in Bedford. After a pastry-fest on Sunday morning, they set off to visit my parents while we pondered what to do with the day and discarded various plans as too National Trust-y/dull/involving too much effort. Ruth felt unaccountably knackered so stayed in for a snooze but I felt the need for at least some activity, so went for another exploratory walk over the footbridge (the Geograph picture is looking back towards Old Groveway) and past the new Ashland housing development before heading along a seemingly re-routed Redway south down Saxon Street. Called in at the Bletchley Tesco for a few things before heading back along the shore of Mount Farm Lake - lots of anglers – and back up Marlborough Street to the house. Not an overly scenic walk but counted as a bit of exercise. We roasted a little free-range chicken in the evening with a series of rather random accompaniments.

Amid much fanfare, the entire MK site has been issued with ultra high-tech phones designed for use with Microsoft Lync, a communications/contacts-storing system I haven't quite worked out yet. The week the new phones were installed, IT sent round an email with the somewhat alarming subject line 'LYNC DEPLOYMENT OF STRATEGIC UNITS' (a casual reader might have thought that troops were being deployed around the OU) containing details of deployment dates and locations of the new units. The new phones are pretty and have a lovely ringtone reminiscent of windchimes (in fact makes one want to sit and listen to it, rather than answer the phone), but they are proving a bit of a mystery and are evidently so integrated with your PC that they won't work at all unless a) your PC is switched on and b) there is evidence that you are interacting with your PC. If you don't touch your keyboard or mouse for more than about five minutes, their lights appear to switch from green (indicating you are available) to amber, indicating that you are 'inactive', and promptly sends all your calls to voicemail, even if you were innocently rootling through a filing cabinet on the other side of your office while waiting for a call. Actually managing to listen to voicemail messages seems to be another uphill struggle, made slightly irritating as I have been on Query Week this week. Sara and Jan, our admin support ladies, were evidently trying to sort out the volume problems with voicemail this morning by tweaking their speaker settings, though I (and probably others) were surprised when a few lines from the Abba song Chiquitita blasted out from their office - perhaps a feature of the new phones I haven't discovered yet.

Met this cheeky chap sitting on my car this evening - I had noticed cat footprints on the windscreen so this would explain it. The car park outside seems to serve as one big lounging area for a gang of cats.