Musings re neighbour; wedding; Teddy

Have had cynical suspicions over the last few weeks that my MK neighbour Fraser may be dealing, as have seen an assortment of lone men knocking on his door, some of whom don’t look likely to be close friends of his (though this may reflect an overly cynical assumption that toothless skinhead white men in their fifties (viz, Fraser) do not usually form close friendships with young black men in their early twenties – I could be wrong though). On the up side, he is quiet, and says good morning politely whenever we meet – and, blessedly, so far shows no sign of Norman-esque nosiness.

Drove down to The Stonemill at Rockfield last Friday for Dave and Hazel’s wedding on the Saturday. As it was pouring with rain when we arrived in Monmouth I wasn’t optimistic about Saturday’s weather, but as it happened it stayed dry, though not overly sunny. Greeted a number of extended family members and parental friends, some of whom I hadn’t seen for some time. The ceremony itself was held in the Stonemill restaurant, a converted 16th century barn – atmospheric if rather cosy; I almost had to resort to shunting Dave and Hazel out of the way in order to find a space to do my reading – while the wedding breakfast was held in a marquee in the grounds. Ray’s usher duties extended themselves into a certain amount of ‘master of ceremonies’ duties due to the unfortunate absence of Dave’s best man Doug. Very superior food for a wedding breakfast; most I have attended play it safe with bland offerings unlikely to offend anyone, usually melon followed by chicken breast in some sort of inoffensive sauce. Mum persuaded (= forced) Dad to have a bit of a dance at the evening’s ceilidh, while the rest of us took advantage of the photo booth to be a bit silly – especially Ruth, who has evidently popped up subsequently in a few photographs with complete strangers. Ruth and I had to make our way back on the Sunday morning in deference to her starting new job on Monday, but evidently Sunday turned out to be the best weather of the weekend for those who had stayed on for the Sunday barbecue.

My reading of The Song of Wandering Aengus gave me an opportunity to actually use the compendium of Yeats' poetry that I was given many years ago, but that has been lingering among sundry other books acquired mainly to show visitors how clever I am, including a Nietzsche reader, a book of German verse and a copy of Homer's Iliad in the original Greek.

Attended a lunchtime meditation session yesterday courtesy of the OU’s Mind Body Spirit club. Hadn’t been to a meditation class since my experience with the ghastly Anya of Meditation UK a year or so ago and was pleasantly surprised by this one, which was of the silent focus-on-the-breath type that I prefer. The usual class leader was absent so it was led by a woman named Panayiota, who also appears to be giving some sort of nutrition lecture one lunchtime next week, which I may or may not attend.

Have been forced (using the term loosely) to perform some emergency surgery on my ancient teddy bear, as the felt covering his ears had perished and his original threadbare ears were dangerously on show. As I only had white felt, he now has new white ears, which I feel he is extremely pleased with. See 'before' and 'after' shots. The whole process was met with a certain amount of derision from Ruth who told me I should get out more. Some people have no heart.

Locale; weekend in MK; weeds

Have now completed two weeks in so far quite agreeable new job. Walk to work involves a pleasant meander across Ouzel Valley Park (left), though I might be looking for a slightly better-lit meander come the winter months. The Ouzel is a surprisingly pretty river where I stopped to watch these cygnets last Friday evening.

Thanks to my line manager Judith, have located a cashpoint and a Tesco Express close to the flat, after initially thinking that there was nowhere that wasn’t a car drive away. It just involves nipping under the walkway under Groveway (H9, for those interested in MK grid roads) into the neighbouring suburb of Tinkers Bridge. A bit scruffy but useful to know about.

Ray drove up after work last Thursday for a visit and we went for a brief walk down the canal, before popping into The Plough for a drink. Toyed with the idea of having dinner there, but we unfortunately timed it badly and ended up arriving just behind a party of about 30 people with OU badges (a summer school?) who had evidently pre-ordered their dinners.

Travel stress on Friday evening when I drove to the station to collect Ruth from the London train in pouring rain and heavy traffic. Hadn’t managed to locate a car park close to the station, although presumably there is one, so ended up parking in one of the 15-minute only waiting bays at the front of the station, where I rang Ruth’s mobile circa 20 times without success – later learned that she had been standing packed in like a sardine and apparently couldn’t easily access her phone. Had to leave waiting bay; circled station a couple more times before locating long-stay car park at the back. Parked. Learned that minimum parking charge was £8.50. Left long-stay car park accompanied by restrained amount of cursing. Phoned Ruth and discovered train had just arrived. Headed back towards front of station; joined huge traffic jam trying to access station to pick up loved ones, etc. Illegally phoned Ruth from car (though stationary) inviting her to just come and meet me in the queue. A few minutes later she appeared out of the rain looking vaguely Heathcliff-like and got in.

On Saturday morning we caught the bus into Central Milton Keynes (or, as it appears to be known locally, ‘CMK’) to discover its delights. Meandered through shopping centre visiting assorted shops. Found the legendary concrete cows on temporary display at one end (I think usually they’re located beside one of the grid roads at the north end of town). Ruth failed to find wedding shoes, though we visited what must have been all the shoe shops in the centre (apart from the cheap places, obviously), but thankfully she had finally located a dress while shopping with Helen the day before. Stopped for lunch in The Place to Eat at John Lewis, which was a bit middle-aged of us but then it’s nice to take the weight off your feet.

On Sunday we went to Bletchley Park, which is more or less the nearest thing to where I’m living that might be classed as a tourist attraction. I think we went expecting Chatsworth-style glossiness, but hardly – despite the £12 per adult entry fee (plus £3 to park your car), it gives the impression of still being a project in development. We wandered over to visit Colossus – the National Museum of Computing is unfortunately timed-entry only on Sundays, so we passed, but it does sound quite interesting. Browsed around the rooms in the mansion that are open; then went for refreshments at the unassuming Hut 4 café before wandering back to the main exhibition in Block B (where, with hindsight, we should probably have started). Some interesting stuff there about wartime living. LOTS of detail about the Enigma and the whole code-cracking shenanigans, which I must confess to not really knowing much about.

Before leaving, Ruth squirted Resolva over the thistles and other weeds in my courtyard garden area which have really shot up in the recent rain. Suppose I should bear in mind that I am supposed to keep garden tidy. She claims that they’ll die off in a few days but if not to nuke them again.

Wednesday 15 June 2011

Wonderfoam; abandoned teddy bears; garden news

St John's, Whitchurch Hill

I now have the rest of my stuff installed at Old Groveway, thanks to Reading Man & Van. Was missing the foam mattress topper that I acquired shortly after moving to Maiden Place, which has officially done wonders for my back. The mattress at Maiden Place was pretty saggy, but I don’t quite understand how a fairly cheap lump of foam can seemingly be better than the quite expensive mattress on the bed at Westfield Road, but there you go. Had meant to bring my stuff up in stages over several weekends, but realised that was going to take forever so Ruth arranged for it to be delivered in one go. Man duly turned up with the foam, my big plant (a rather sick-looking dragon tree which is in need of some intense nurturing), my bicycle (which I have vague ambitions to use) and a number of boxes containing the stuff I hadn’t managed to fit in the car. Ruth had warned me in advance that she’d caught Harley having a bit of a nibble at the foam – evidence pictured.

Mr Snooze

Drove over to Pangbourne on Saturday morning for a late breakfast at The Ditty – suspect that it might have changed hands as I didn’t think the coffee was as nice as last time and the breakfast menu had changed, though the food still good. As we both felt in need of exercise we crossed the river into Whitchurch and walked up to Whitchurch Hill to visit my cousins’ memorial at St John’s Church. After a potter around the quite pleasant churchyard we walked back down into Pangbourne and returned to the car. Not far from the car we encountered a teddy bear that had been placed on the pavement against a lamppost. He appeared, judging by the ticket around his neck, to have been a raffle prize at Pangbourne Fete, which had been in full swing on the meadows when we crossed the river earlier. Horrified by the idea that someone could just abandon a teddy bear by the side of the road, I snatched him up and squirrelled him off into the car. Admittedly I have been accused more than once of being sentimental, but really. Mr Snooze (which, according to the adoption certificate round his neck, is his name) is now settled in my flat.

Concerned that the cordyline in the garden may have suffered badly during the relatively harsh winter – its leaves are not looking good. Worryingly, this advice from the RHS suggests wrapping the trunk in layers of fleece during severe winters, which we certainly didn’t do. Ray and I acquired the plant around seven years ago as a pot plant, and planted it in the garden when we moved to the house in 2005, where it promptly grew enthusiastically into a splendid specimen. Rather tragic if it’s finally been killed off by snow and ice, but Claire reckons that the one in her garden has also died.

Sticking with a garden theme: the cardoon that Ruth planted recently seems to be growing exponentially, and is starting to obscure the far more attractive oleander that Dad gave me a few years ago. May have to severely prune it when she isn’t looking, to perhaps an inch or two in height.

New car; various outings; start of Adventures in Milton Keynes

Bit of a blog-free few weeks; I blame the new job.

Ruth and I took the train to Abergavenny on Sunday 22^nd to meet the 2007 Ford Fiesta that Dad had sourced for me from his local man Mervyn. Although I haven’t owned a car for a number of years, it dawned on me after a couple of visits to Milton Keynes that it might be an excellent idea to acquire one, despite the expense – the town appears unashamedly designed for the car driver and the train journey back to Reading is somewhat convoluted, that is once you get to the railway station which is on the opposite side of town from my new flat and well out of walking distance.

Drove the little car back to Reading on the Monday, where I have subsequently been putting it to good use. In preparation, Ruth and I had spent a couple of days at weekends recently in the garage, clearing out the junk that seems to creep into garages if cars are not kept in them. I have been getting ample practice at the awkward reverse turn into it but appear to have almost cracked it, though it’s made extremely challenging if as often happens there’s a car parked outside the garage opposite. At the moment the car is awkwardly pressed up against sacks of rabbit dung, and I think the garage door needs replacing sooner rather than later, but at least it has a home of sorts.

Met at Sarah’s flat in Winnersh for Book Group on 24^th, where we discussed Dawn French’s 'Dear Fatty' – or at least the others did, I had barely got 20 pages into it but I blame impending move, new job etc. Sarah was partway into a six-week temp job selling event space, which sounded frightful to me but seemed to be helping her fill in the time before her impending wedding. Lesley related an amusing story from a job interview she had had the previous week, where she had intended to say “fruits of my labours” but had accidentally substituted the word “loins”, which we agreed was not the best interview word.

Went to the Newbury Corn Exchange on the Thursday to see ‘The Interminable Suicide of Gregory Church’, a 90-minute monologue performed without a break by Daniel Kitson, an odd nervy chap with a stammer and possibly borderline ASD. Enjoyed it on the whole as there were witty parts, though it did go on a bit. Kitson seemed severely distracted by any audience movement, laying into one audience member for checking texts on their mobile (admittedly hard to see why some people are incapable of turning them off even for an hour or so) and another for rustling a sweet packet. Ruth and I did at least manage to keep quiet, though I think I fidgeted for a lot of the time, partly due to the extreme lack of leg room and partly due to indigestion following the speed at which we had been forced to bolt down dinner thanks to Ruth’s having to work late.

Drove over to The Malt Shovel at Upper Lambourn on Saturday 28^th for a lunch for Mrs Millard’s 70^th birthday. Food was good; service was abysmal though that probably wasn’t the fault of the struggling teenage girl who seemed to be the only person in charge of us. Gail had ordered a cake and champagne to follow the meal, which did eventually manage to turn up following some behind-the-scenes prompting from her, and not at the same time.

Ruth and I drove up to Milton Keynes on both the Sunday and the Monday of the Spring Bank Holiday weekend to shift stuff. It is on record that on the Sunday I was brave enough to drive to IKEA where I bought a dining set and a cheap mini chest of drawers, which Ruth assembled for me despite commenting for some time afterwards about IKEA’s appallingness. Shamefully we lunched on McDonald’s two days running, which should serve as my quota for the next year or so.

Lunch at Blandford's

Had a team lunch at Blandford’s in Park House on the Wednesday for my impending departure, though our team numbers are pretty low these days. Blandford’s is the university’s attempt at a dead posh eaterie and I have to say the food was very nice, though perhaps rather over artfully presented. Ann made a nice speech about my professionalism and integrity, which sounded good.

As Friday 3^rd also, ironically, ended up being Ruth’s last day at CfBT, I went to join her and a few others for drinks at the Allied Arms after work, although her main ‘do’ had been on the Thursday lunchtime. Pleasant sunny evening in the pub garden but unfortunately it proved to be a stonker of a day for hay fever – Ruth’s friend Maia and I spent most of the evening sneezing and blowing our noses. The Allied, a small traditional pub in St Mary’s Butts, has a special association for Ruth and me as we had our first drink together there after the Fast Track Away Day in 2006. And gave Peter Crick the slip, or so we were told later.

Much of my last week at Progress South Central was also spent frantically clearing and cleaning my flat at Maiden Place, as Parkers had succeeded in finding another tenant for it but, most inconsiderately, they wanted to move in this week. Ruth and I spent Saturday clearing the final bits of stuff out of the place and moving back in the bits and pieces that I’d consigned to our attic for the duration of my tenancy. We were delayed by being unable to find the kettle that I know was there at the start of the tenancy but that appears to have vanished off the face of the earth – eventually, annoyingly, had to send Parkers a note to the effect that they’d have to dock me the cost of a kettle.

We chilled out in the evening by joining Ray on his boat for a pootle up the Thames towards Sonning where, most excitingly, we moored up to spend the night. We were intending to barbecue dinner but after Ray had had several unsuccessful attempts at lighting one, including building a small windbreak, we gave up and grilled stuff. It also turned a bit chilly during the course of the evening, meaning that Ruth and I had to beg a selection of fleeces and woolly socks. Ray always seems able to flit about in T-shirts and shorts in quite chilly weather, perhaps due to having worked outdoors since he was 16.

On the Sunday morning we chugged back up to the marina where we met the cygnets that were eggs in the last post. Then it was back to the house and cramming the rest of my essentials into the already long-suffering Fiesta for the drive up to Milton Keynes, which we did, unpacked after a fashion and then took a walk, in the rain, to The Plough, where we had burgers and a fair amount of wine. I dropped Ruth at the station on the Monday morning and returned to my new home where I sorted stuff out as far as possible.

One point to note about MK so far: although it seems designed to strike terror into walkers by the sheer distances, and number of concrete underpasses, involved, it seems an absolute dream to drive around. Was able to take one look at the map after I'd dropped Ruth at the station and drive back to my flat, which I don't think would have happened in any other town that I wasn't familiar with. The grid system certainly seems to simplify things once one works out how it works.

Am now officially on the payroll of The Open University (again) and have done two days. I have to say everyone seems very friendly and helpful; nice to be part of a bigger team again. Tonight I have been out with about 7 other members of the team to see Milton Keynes Amateur Operatic Society perform 'Footloose' at Stantonbury Campus, an enormous secondary school on the north side of the town - indeed it is apparently the largest school in the UK. I went more to appear friendly and up for things than because I was particularly enthused at the prospect of an amateur musical, but actually it was quite slick for an amateur production and better than I expected. Hadn't had much exposure to amateur operatics since a couple of productions Ray and I saw at the Kenton while we were living in Henley, both dire, in particular a production of 'Carousel' - HAODS seemed to suffer from the probably quite common problem of having insufficient numbers of younger men, with the result that the 'young' bucks high-kicking at the clambake were all of pensionable age. I remember, among attempts to stifle laughter, worrying about them putting their hips out.