Curry Club; around Whiteknights; weeny churches

Got together with Claire at the Back of Beyond after work on Thursday for what was supposed to be one quick pint, in view of my economy drive, but inevitably turned into several plus a chicken tikka masala courtesy of the Wetherspoon's Curry Club. Tried something called Fortyniner.

Took a walk around Whiteknights Lake on Friday lunchtime, although it was a bit muddier than expected - was passed by a number of scornful-looking students in Ugg boots while tripping along cautiously in my office shoes. Didn’t see any of the pretty Mandarin ducks – they must all have been in hiding, but took a few pictures including this one (left) of Foxhill House, built by Alfred Waterhouse and apparently used as his own home before he moved to Yattendon Court. Waterhouse built a number of buildings in Reading, including the Town Hall and Reading School. In my day Foxhill was student accommodation but it now houses the School of Law. Flickr has a lot of photos of Foxhill, including this night-time shot.

The Wikipedia entry on Whiteknights Park mentions Foxhill and also refers, albeit not by name, to Temporary Office Building 1, our new home (see last paragraph under 'History'). Foxhill was one of the 'new' houses built in the second half of the 19^th century after the estate was split up. There's a piece here on the Region 6 War Room - the nuclear bunker is, indeed, not far from where I sit typing this. Surely it could be converted into something - a nice café? - rather than being demolished. Some people have no sense of history.

Took the train down to Abergavenny on Saturday to visit my parents. Dad cooked a chicken curry in the evening and I spent much of the post-dinner period luxuriating¹ on the sofa in front of the woodburning stove. On Sunday we drove into Wales via Llyswen and Aberedw and parked by the River Edw whence we walked to the Church of St Padarn in Llanbadarn-y-garreg, a diddy wee church that according to this, might be 13^th or 14^th century but it’s not very clear. There's a picture of the interior here. On Sunday evening Mum cooked a dish that I remember enjoying as a child, leeks wrapped in ham and baked in a cheesy sauce. Took this picture before we dived into it.

Discovered the chocolate orange in my rucksack while getting ready for bed on Saturday night.

Dad took it into his head to drive me home on the Monday, so the three of us had a smooth and speedy motorway journey back to Reading, stopping off at Hungerford to have lunch at The Bear, where Mum and I had club sandwiches and Dad took the opportunity to have lambs' kidneys on a bed of champ. I had never heard of the latter but apparently it's essentially mashed potatoes and spring onions.

¹ = snoozing

Guitars and oboes; tapas; French cinema

Accompanied Ray and Barbara to Norden Farm Centre for the Arts last Thursday to attend one of the concerts on Maidenhead Music Society’s 2010-11 concert programme. This one was given by Marios Argiros and Dimitris Dekavallas, an oboe/guitar duo who apparently released their debut CD in 2009. The recital included pieces by Schubert and Bartok (of those I had heard of) and Coste, Piazzolla, Machado and Villa-Lobos (of those I hadn’t). Astor Piazzolla was apparently a tango composer so the music included some tango, accompanied by the guitarist slapping the side of his guitar energetically. Piazzolla was apparently a virtuoso bandoneónist – never heard of this but apparently it’s a type of concertina popular in Argentina and Uruguay, and used in tango orchestras. There you go.

Submitted speculative transfer in request forms to the University Pensions Office a few months ago and have received a big wad of paperwork in reply, headed by a memo (a memo? Who still sends memos?) from the University Pensions Officer, a peculiarly abrasive woman whom I prefer not to speak with in person. Having read the bumf, have concluded that I have no idea whether it would be financially beneficial or not to transfer in and that I might do well to consult an IFA. Of course, now I have to do loads of research on choosing an IFA (as opposed to just choosing one, which I might well just do had I an entirely different personality type). Even more work. Sigh.

Met Kate for lunch at a surprisingly empty Fusion café on Friday – evidently students don’t do any of that hanging about campus on Fridays nonsense. Kate had some exciting news to share which did unfortunately mean that she had to avoid pretty much all of Fusion’s mayonnaise-slathered sandwiches, but she had a cup of tea while I ate, before picking up a plain cheese sandwich on the way back to her office.

Met at the Ivory Lounge on Saturday evening for Claire's 45^th birthday celebrations. Started off with cocktails - to get in the spirit of things, I had a margarita, which at least wasn't too sweet. We went on to La Tasca for a lovely dinner, though I am unfortunately wearing my 'photo face' in the group photo (right).

Sat down this evening to take in a bit of world cinema by watching Bertrand Blier’s Trop Belle Pour Toi, starring Gérard Depardieu and Josiane Balasko. Car dealer Bernard feels a strong and reciprocated attraction for his new temporary secretary Colette, who is fairly plain and lives in a poor part of town with a struggling writer with whom she seems to be in a relationship, though that’s all a bit vague. Bernard lives in a stonking great house with his beautiful wife Florence and their two children. The film follows the course of Bernard and Colette’s affair and Florence’s attempts to deal with it, though it’s all a bit confusing, partly because it keeps including sequences which are probably dream sequences but it’s not very clear. In the end, Bernard is left running frantically around a motel car park after both Florence and Colette have left him. Quelle pathos.

Aged relatives; Embarrassing Bodies; pies

Took the afternoon off last Friday to accompany Ruth to her grandmother’s 103^rd birthday tea party. Mrs Box has been resident at Aldbourne Nursing Home for the last 10 years or so and celebrated her 100th there in 2008. The home seemed fairly pleasant as these places go and Aldbourne is certainly a civilised setting. The tea party was attended by various family members including Mrs Box' three children (Ruth's mother, aunt and uncle). Ate some egg sandwiches, as one does at these things, and a big slice of cake.

As we are having a socially quiet couple of months, Ruth and I have been enjoying the latest series of Embarrassing Bodies. This week, was mildly irritated by the girl who’d had surgery on her nether regions and then decided she didn’t like the result (henceforth Stupid Labia Girl) and the woman who was paranoid about an inverted nipple, as any lover would probably have been distracted from it by the fact that about 20% of her body was tattooed. One hopes that they watched the show and felt suitably guilty next to the poor chap with neurofibromatosis. Given a choice between an inverted nipple and massive tumours sticking out the back of my head, I’m fairly sure which I’d pick.

Duly ferried the chocolate orange back to the house last Friday and sneaked it into Ruth’s cornflakes packet. Received a text message on Monday morning saying simply ‘Cow’. A minor triumph.

We had a team lunch at Sweeney & Todd on Monday to celebrate little Emma's passing her NVQ Level 2 in Business Administration. It isn't my favourite place, but OK for the occasional meal. In fairness the pies are pretty nice, and it is, after all, a Reading institution. In view of imminent fasting (see next paragraph), I filled up on a chicken and ham pie, plus salad and a buttered roll.

Fasted from 4.30pm on Monday in preparation for a blood test first thing on Tuesday morning. In spirit of New Year paying more attention to health, etc, had requested a cholesterol test in view of vague family history. Spent Monday evening doing various bits of paperwork in an effort to distract myself. Duly went for the test, then crashed irritably into office to brew a pot of coffee and eat a bacon roll. All was made not at all worthwhile when the surgery telephoned me that evening to say there'd been a 'mix up' at the path lab and I'd have to have it done again. When I tried to find out exactly what had happened, was told "I'm not sure, just a mix up". That's all right then. Do they imagine I enjoy going without food? Intend to spend next week consuming nothing but lard just to ensure that I get an exciting result.

Mildly perturbed this week to note that a 1960s bungalow opposite the Earley Gate entrance to the campus, whose design I’ve always admired, is up for sale. It’s being advertised by Sara Batting as a ‘Californian-style’ individual detached residence. What are the chances of it being bought by somebody sympathetic who wants to treasure its design features? I sincerely hope so, but have a nasty feeling that the more likely outcome will be that the site will be bought by a developer, the bungalow will be flattened and 762 tiny little faux-classical boxes with fake carriage lanterns outside will be crammed into its place. Sometimes I could JUST GET DEPRESSED.

Tickled this week by news of a new iPhone app which guides worshippers through confession, and has apparently been approved by the Catholic church. Apparently it can't actually give you absolution - you still have to visit your priest for that. However, it does help you keep track of your sins and to examine your conscience, based on personalised factors (so presumably 'Slept with man', if you've already entered that you a) are married and b) are a man, is REALLY REALLY BAD, as opposed to just not recommended).

While I probably wouldn't buy this particular app, am a bit narked at all the cool accessories you can get for iPhones, which you can't seem to for other smartphones - e.g. the TimeCube. My decision not to get an iPhone was due in part to irritation over the years with evangelical Mac users, which has led me to boycott Apple products, pretty though they are. Perhaps that’s simply misguided though.

Perming; evolving English; chocolate orange japery

Me with perm

During a hair appointment first thing on Saturday morning, learned from my hairdresser Lisa that perming has now been taken off the hairdressing syllabus at college. She had just finished perming an elderly lady and had spilt some of the smelly fixative all over her clothes, which led to a bit of a conversation about perming. Lisa seemed a little concerned that this is likely to lead in the future to a shortage of hairdressers who know how to perm, although we both conceded that, barring a major change of direction in hair fashions, there are probably likely to be fewer people actually wanting them. I have tried out a perm on one occasion, 20 years ago - didn't hate it but did let it grow out fairly quickly. It does look slightly mad in this picture.

Later on Saturday Ruth and I went up to London, well wrapped against Nordic-style cold, to see the ‘Evolving English’ exhibition at the British Library. Really interesting and well laid out - perhaps inevitably for a Saturday afternoon, it was crowded so there was an element of queuing for the various headsets. Have recorded my reading of ‘Mr Tickle’ for the Map Your Voice project - my recording can be heard by clicking on the appropriate dot on the map here. I'm the one who sounds like Jenny Agutter in The Railway Children.

Mum arrived on Sunday for a flying visit, having just finished a flying visit to Hannah's new flat in London. We set out for a brief walk before darkness set in but ended up walking along a particularly unattractive stretch of the Loddon close to Lower Earley Way. We passed these flood culverts but the tunnel under the main road looked a bit bleak in the fading light so I made the decision to turn back. Instead we risked death on the Mill Lane rat-run to have a peek at the former Sindlesham Mill and then had a drink in the Poachers’ Pub.


Earlier this week took the lid off the little wicker basket where I am currently storing toilet rolls, to discover, as you do, a Terry’s chocolate orange perched on top. I acquired this at some point over Christmas and as I don’t like them much have been trying to palm it off onto Ruth, who doesn’t like them either, ever since. Initially I tried to leave it at the house when I moved out, only to discover that it had been slipped into one of my boxes. I duly snuck it back to the house and left it under a pile of linen in the bedroom. Since then, with great stealth and cunning, it has evidently been returned to my flat.

My aunt and uncle, who are keen genealogy enthusiasts, appear to have made the exciting discovery that Auntie Anne and Mum may be fourth cousins of Jeffrey Archer. Apparently AA, Mum and Jeffrey have great-great-great-great grandparents in common, who married in the mid 18th-century near Appledore in Devon. The lines of descent diverge with a William (born 1802; JA’s ancestor) and Susanna Clibbett, born 1812, our ancestor. Gosh.