Bassoons; junk food Olympics; Whitechapel

Went to another free lunchtime concert in the OU’s St Michael’s Church last week, by bassoon quartet 'Reed Rage'. They played a number of pieces, most of which I wasn’t familiar with, and gave a very slick performance all round. And a marvellous instrument. One of their number played a contrabassoon during some of the pieces, which is certainly big and bass-y. Here's a chap from the LSO apparently giving a contrabassoon lesson.

Caffe Quattro, York Road

Went up to London with Ray on Saturday, as he had an invitation to attend a GamesMaker recruitment day for the 2012 Olympics and wanted to make the most of the train ticket. He had apparently applied some time ago and thought nothing had come of it, but evidently they’re selecting around 100,000 Games Makers in a selection process that’s taken the best part of a year. We had a good coffee and bacon sandwich at Caffe Quattro near Waterloo station, a café I discovered a year or so ago, and then trekked out to the ExCeL, where I read my book for the hour or so he was inside.

When we reconvened afterwards he appeared to be having a moral crisis as to whether his conscience would allow him to assist with the Olympics, if chosen, due to the prominence at the recruitment session of Cadbury ('the Official Treat Provider of the London 2012 Olympic and Paralympic Games') and free buckets of Heroes. Not sure what the decision will be on that one.

After leaving the ExCeL we made our way back to the Whitechapel area and found ourselves on Brick Lane, where we spent quite a while looking for a lunch spot given that Ray had said he didn’t fancy an Indian. By the time we had walked past about 50 curry houses, he had cracked and said he’d be OK with one, so we lunched at Sheba, apparently the Queen of Brick Lane Curries. After lunch we went to visit the Whitechapel Gallery. A large room on the ground floor contained the usual incomprehensible installation, but one of the rooms upstairs was given over to some memorabilia and photographs from the Mark Rothko exhibition (his British premiere) there in 1961, which was more interesting.

On Sunday morning I furiously glossed the areas of wood I’d primed the previous weekend. Have vowed not to use any more gloss paint – it’s sticky and it stinks.

Cholesterol; road tedium; lovely lovely whiteness

Discovered last week from my doctor’s surgery that my cholesterol levels are moderately high; news which was followed by an irritating appointment with a nurse (I am reminded of Little Britain’s Marjorie Dawes) and a slightly less irritating consultation with a GP. The upshot seems to be that they don’t put people on statins until their total level reaches 7, so I am to eat a lower fat diet for a year and then get tested again. Sulked for most of last week, but am moderately resigned to giving it a go (I say ‘moderately’).

Returned to Reading for the weekend but didn’t achieve much on Saturday, partly through continued sulking at unfairness of cholesterol levels. Perked up a bit on Sunday and Ruth and I took a load of stuff to the tip, including plastering leftovers, soot and other crap from the chimney rescue and some empty paint cans. Back home I primed various bits of wood in the attic before cooking a Jamie Oliver recipe for dinner involving tuna steaks (they count as oily fish, dontcha know) on a bed of pulses and herbs. With some Chardonnay. I don’t think wine is high in fat.

Am more or less into my routine of 5.30am starts from Reading to get back to my flat in time for breakfast before work, but Monday’s journey proved particularly trying. Arrived at the A404 Marlow-Bisham bypass around 6am to discover that it was blocked off by police; thanks to this horse, I discovered later. Reckless beast. That only necessitated a relatively minor detour through Marlow, but was distinctly peeved to discover half an hour later that junction 10 of the M40 was also closed. Continuing to junction 11 involves a major detour, so must explore possible alternative routes as this is not the first time junction 10 has been closed since I’ve been driving this route. This article seems to reckon that the junction is particularly awkwardly laid out, which there is some truth in.

Belated mention that painter Chris O'Toole did a fabulous job on bedrooms 1 and 2 and the upstairs hallway - walls now beautifully coated in Dulux Jasmine White, while we went for a satinwood rather than gloss on the woodwork as a couple of the painters I saw reckoned that gloss discolours in central heating. Never knew that. Chris even found and fitted a little piece of skirting to replace the piece that apparently popped out after Handyman Paul did some enthusiastic bashing in the next room. Top bloke.

Curry; car maintenance; local history

This month’s Book Group book was Rosie Thomas’ The Kashmir Shawl, which I had chosen in my usual scouting around at the last minute for good ideas sort of way, and also Mum had recommended Thomas as a decent author. Indeed, a damned good read, and it seemed to have proved a popular choice with everyone, which was gratifying. We met at the River Spice by Caversham Bridge, only newly become an Indian after having been a general ‘modern British’ type restaurant for some years. Great spot by the river; its previous incarnation as the Riverside probably suited the location better, but perhaps there’s more of a tendency these days for curry houses to want tasteful décor, river views etc. Slightly sad that the days of garish décor and loud twangy music may be numbered.

Most garish Indian restaurant of my experience is still a restaurant Ray and I once found ourselves in in an unassuming suburb of Leicester (no memory of why we were in Leicester in the first place, but we had driven around the city for some time without being able to find whatever it was we were looking for, and eventually parked in a huff on a side street and ended up in what was presumably the Indian restaurant equivalent of a local. I don’t remember the food, just bright colours.) For a garish Chinese, the Peking Palace in Caversham is good – lots of padded satin on the walls. Also love the fact that their homepage spells ‘Peking’ as ‘Peeking’.

Milton Keynes Central Library

Recently had to book my car in for a bit of attention, as Mum reckoned she could hear the brakes grinding when I drove her to Hay and back over Christmas. Used the terribly useful OU intranet noticeboard to find a garage recommendation, and ended up at Anglo Continental Cars (apparently ‘Anglo’s’ to locals) on the Mount Farm industrial estate. Unassuming-looking premises but they were very good and apparently checked the car out, phoned me to say they couldn’t find anything wrong with the brakes and didn’t charge me any money. Score.

Spent last weekend in MK to get my flat in order after the Christmas break. Took the bus into CMK on the Saturday morning and paid a visit to the monolithic public library, which I duly joined and spent a bit of time browsing around, before withdrawing a book called Memories of Milton Keynes, as I thought I should find out a bit more about the history of the city. Some really interesting reminiscences from people involved in the New Town’s development and from people who moved to MK in its early days. There are a number of quotes from people who evidently left London for a better life in the new city – was there a push, in the 1970s/early 1980s, to persuade people to relocate? Here’s the ‘Red Balloon’ ad for Milton Keynes, released in 1982.

Christmas etc

Set off for the Christmas break early on Christmas Eve, via a flying visit to Gail and Rob’s to throw a bag of presents in their direction, before heading off for Cheddar to have what had been intended to be morning coffee with Ruth’s grandmother. In the event, as, inevitably, we were a bit late, it ended up being lunch: Ruth’s father had arrived the previous day to spend Christmas with his mother and had booked a table for lunch at a local pub, so we all went along there where we had a not bad meal.

Pistyll Farm and holiday barns

After lunch, we headed off again and arrived a couple of hours later at Yew Tree Barn, one of two holiday properties at Pistyll Farm in Boughrood, rented through Brecon Beacons Holiday Cottages. Pictures here of our Christmas stay. Mum, Dad, Dave and Hazel had already arrived; Hannah and Ben drove over from my parents’ house early on Christmas Day and bedded down in the living room for the night, before heading back Londonwards with a van full of Hannah’s stuff. We went out for a couple of shortish walks, one on Boxing Day where some of us visited Boughrood’s Bridge End Inn, and one the following day with Dave and Dad, which turned out to be probably one of the muddiest walks I’ve ever taken – footpaths literally lakes. The River Wye was in splendid spate though. On the afternoon of the 27th, Mum and I drove Ruth over to Tregoyd Mountain Riders for an hour or so’s hack, while we went on into Hay and had a browse around followed by tea at The Granary.

Slightly wet underfoot

We departed early on the 28th and drove to Lambourn, where we had a roast beef lunch with Ruth’s aunt. Mrs Spence appears to have turned the formerly quite pleasant suburban garden that came with the house into one enormous vegetable patch – it’s not entirely clear how many vegetables one quite elderly lady requires, but I guess after living her whole life in large farmhouses she finds it difficult to downsize. Rather sweetly, she again presented me with two tins of anchovies as a Christmas gift, which I will certainly make good use of. We went round to Ray’s in the evening for dinner before he departed on a 10-day holiday to Tenerife. As I write, he is still there and I gather from texts that the weather is lovely.

Received a Christmas newsletter this year from my University of Durham friend Melanie – didn’t receive one last year but apparently Melanie “needed a break” at Christmas-card sending time last year, one of several veiled references to unspecified issues. While I remember Melanie as a decent person, we have been in only sporadic contact over the last 20 years, most of hers consisting of sending me her family newsletter every few Christmases. Always have urge to scoff at family newsletters, though I’m sure they are well meant – additionally, as Melanie is of an evangelical Christian turn of mind, much of hers is taken up with references to the Good News of great joy, looking forward to another year together in Christ, etc etc. Half-tempted to respond with a newsletter of my own, though I fear that might result in a hastily-convened prayer session at the other end.

The Grosvenor

Boycotted New Year’s Eve as per usual; Ruth roasted a chicken and we probably watched some stuff on TV, though I’ve already forgotten what. Despite manky weather on New Year’s Day, Ruth obligingly came out for a walk with me up through Bugs Bottom and Gravel Hill and back through Caversham Heights. We stopped for a drink at The Grosvenor, a large pub on Kidmore Road that I had never been to; it appears to have had one of those makeovers in the style of the Next Directory, but quite nice.

Bunny rescue

Since Ruth took the door to bedroom 3 off its hinges to strip the paint, we have had an awkward situation whereby we have had to put a board over the door to the room to stop Harley going in, given that since the removal of one of the chimney breasts the shaft that ran down to the dining room fireplace has been exposed. Too small to be a danger to us and it’s in the corner of the room anyway, but given Harley’s seemingly intense curiosity, we had been a bit worried that he could fall down it. On Monday evening, while I was sitting relaxing over a herbal tea and an episode of ‘Sherlock’, he duly did – urgent call from Ruth of “We have a problem” followed by inspection with a torch from above (apparently fine if slightly grey-looking bunny looking up at us) followed by Ruth having to dig a wad of stuff out of the dining room chimney to release him. On release, he wriggled out of Ruth’s arms and scampered straight back upstairs, where I pursued him shouting something along the lines of “Have You Learned Nothing!” Board over door now wedged tight with a chair – evidently a fatal gap must have been left.

We celebrated Ruth’s birthday on Tuesday with breakfast at the faux-rustic Bill’s, where I had a divine Eggs Benedict. After Ruth had done a few jobs and I had browsed the shops for a bit, we took the train to Oxford and after our now-customary purchase of calendars for the year at Blackwell’s Art and Poster Shop, headed to the Ashmolean for a browse around. I left Ruth looking at the Egyptian stuff while I went to admire the Cycladic figurines in the 'Aegean World' gallery.

Arrived back in Reading late afternoon and went for a drink at the newly gayed-over Rising Sun on Forbury Road - quite nice, but one wonders how it will do - before going for an early dinner at Nino's. Old Nino appears to be still on the premises and taking orders; my food was lovely though Ruth did appear to be spending quite a bit of time picking bones out of her sea bass. Always the trouble with fish.

On the train back from Oxford, I passed the time by downloading the Buddha Desk app to my phone and then had a mildly embarrassing situation when I couldn't work out how to turn off its incessant chanting, eventually resorting to wrapping the phone up in layers of scarf. Did figure it out eventually, but as a meditation tool it has limitations, partly because with the free version, ads flash up at the bottom of the screen inviting you to win an iPad2, etc - not the best way to get into a calm, unworldly frame of mind. Would be interesting to know if it'll catch on among monks, but I suppose they're not allowed mobiles.