Festering batter; ballet; wardrobe assembly

My 'permanent' office mate Victoria has recently returned from nine months off on maternity leave, with the consequence that Young Claire has been shifted across the corridor to occupy Emily's desk while Emily is on maternity leave, and to share an office with Galina, who is about to go on maternity leave. Phew.

Victoria presented me about a week ago with a share of a 'Herman the German Friendship Cake', part of a whole 'chain cake' concept with which I was hitherto unfamiliar. Uncertain which of my friends would actually welcome being presented with a plastic tub of raw cake batter, so I may end up cooking the whole thing and then palming off slices onto assorted loved ones, which may work better. Luckily I am about to visit my parents for the weekend so may be able to slip a wodge into their chest freezer under the frozen redcurrants. The idea of the cake is that you leave it to bubble/fester on your kitchen worktop for nine days, adding small amounts of flour and milk and stirring regularly, until finally adding various other ingredients and baking it on day 10. Am slightly sceptical but will give it a go. Victoria ended up ruining hers by mistakenly adding two cups of oil instead of the stated two-thirds of a cup and rendering Herman into something resembling an oil slick.

Ruth and I kicked off a long weekend last week by going to the Newbury Corn Exchange to see the 1966 film of Kenneth MacMillan's production of Prokofiev's 'Romeo and Juliet', with Margot Fonteyn and Rudolf Nureyev. It's a ropey old film quality-wise but certainly worth seeing, though almost certainly worked better as a stage show than a film, if only because Fonteyn's age is unfortunately apparent in film close-ups (she was 46 dancing the teenage Juliet - still a pretty graceful mover though). Was struck by the elevation of the chap playing Benvolio (better than Nureyev's) and only realised at the closing credits that it was Anthony Dowell. The film was shown as part of the Newbury Spring Festival and the venue was awash with identikit blonde posh women in late middle age.

As I arrived in Newbury a bit early I had a brief wander around the new Parkway shopping development. Seems a bit OTT for Newbury but perhaps it's come on. The Kennet Centre, now named Kennet Shopping, has duly become even more depressing than I remember it and seems to have lost the café that originally formed a central feature. No doubt the new development will be criticised for taking business away from it, but in fact I remember it always being fairly low-brow, much like Reading's Broad Street Mall - in fact the two have a very similar range of shops (I still don't get the TK Maxx thing).

We spent Thursday waiting in at the house for delivery of the IKEA PAX wardrobe that we recently ordered - no great hardship given the spectacularly sunny weather that encouraged much lolling on the patio. After dithering for some time over which size to get, we seem to have ended up getting an enormous 230cm high by 250cm wide monster which risks rendering bedroom 2 into little more than a dressing room, but it should at least enable us to clear clothes off temporary rails. Am impressed with our progress so far: by the end of Sunday the frame was up and Ruth had put together one of the two sliding doors, all without calling a bloke.

Met at Claire's house in the evening for Book Group and a discussion of Rosamund Lupton's Sister, which is a diverting enough read but suffers from a ludicrously far-fetched plotline involving rogue gene therapy. As ever though, we ate and drank quite a lot to compensate.

Ruth and Helen's hairdresser Karin appears to have soared to new heights this week, not only by cancelling their hair appointment on Sunday (not unusual) but then by apparently turning up to the rearranged appointment yesterday evening having forgotten her scissors. So that went well then.

On Tuesday lunchtime Liz and I went to hear 'Open Voices', an alternative vocal group at the OU, do their first concert. Alternative in the sense of being alternative to the main OU Choir, who have auditions and sing requiems and stuff. 'Open Voices' apparently have no auditions, don't require you to read music and encourage everyone to go along and discover their inner singer. I can read music but have never considered myself much of a singer, but am considering going along as I fancy doing something musical. Am mightily tickled to learn from Ray that a female acquaintance at the marina is trying to persuade him to take up the dulcimer - already have amusing pictures forming in my head.

Outdoor cinema; kamikaze bunny episode 2; artistry

The torrential rain over the last couple of weeks, ironically following swiftly on from the announcement of drought and hosepipe bans, has raised the little River Ouzel to quite impressive levels. My normal walk to work via Woughton and Ouzel Valley Park has proved too boggy this last week or so, so have been forced to find an alternative 'dry' route, through Walnut Tree and Kents Hill. Rather less scenic but also less risk of arriving at work covered in mud.

Went to an evening showing of The Exorcist in Caversham Court Gardens on Friday night, courtesy of new venture Summer Screens. Seems like a great idea in principle and a lovely setting by the river, but the evening suffered from a few technical hitches. Firstly, the people running the advertised BBQ had apparently pulled out at the last minute, with the result that a number of people who presumably, like us, had not eaten dinner beforehand had to rush out before the film to the nearest fish and chip shop. Ruth went down on our behalf while I bagged front row deckchairs, though as I’m not fond of chip shop-type chips I only had a few – had a large breakfast the following morning to compensate. The more major hitch was that shortly into the film strains of Fleetwood Mac started being clearly audible via our headsets over the film’s soundtrack. My initial thoughts were mild surprise that The Exorcist would have been remastered with a Fleetwood Mac soundtrack, before it became obvious that the music had nothing to do with the film but was evidently a radio station. Later in the film the music was replaced by bursts of the news, including the day’s update on the Leveson enquiry. All a bit of a shame, as it’s not a bad film and is wearing its (nearly) 40 years reasonably well. The poor owner has since sent round a long grovelling apology to everyone who attended. Ruth feels sorry for him, so we'll probably go to another one.

Saturday started well when we became vaguely aware, while still in bed, of Harley making noise at the entrance to bedroom 3, as he has been on an intense quest to gain access to the room ever since his way was barred, including, evidently, shredding the bottom of the curtain that's currently hanging in the doorway. Something prompted me to get up and see what he was doing, and after a moment or so I registered that he had a cord from the curtain tightly around his neck. After yelling to Ruth to fetch a pair of scissors, I released him. Her immediate response was "Oh Harley, are you all right?", whereas I think mine was along the lines of "YOU STUPID STUPID RABBIT". That's the second time he's cheated death. Given that rabbits are renowned for dying all over the place at the slightest provocation, he can't have many lives left.

Our living room is now graced, since Sunday, by a genuine Liam Smalley. Last weekend was Caversham Arts Trail and we took the opportunity to combine a walk with a bit of culture. We started with visiting the home of sculptor Roger Smalley, who certainly seems prolific - the living room, garden and garage of his unassuming semi in Caversham Park Village were crammed with pieces, and he told us that he sculpts during the day and works in a local off-licence by night. I liked a number of his pieces, but he struck us as being somewhat lacking in business acumen - not that I'm an expert, but he apparently doesn't have a website as he doesn't really do computers, and when Ruth asked if he often showed his work he replied "No, not really". Unsure how he's going to sell many pieces at that rate. The wall of his living room also featured some paintings by his son Liam, colourful Lowry-esque street scenes of Reading and Henley, one of which Ruth fell for - a scene of Queen Victoria Street in Reading, where our favourite Bella Italia is located. Still not 100% sure how I feel about the painting, but as it's now ensconced on our living room wall, I daresay it'll grow on me.

From the Smalleys, we proceeded to Mays Barn on Peppard Road, where a number of artists were showing, including a ghastly découpage business called Kitsch-en-Sync. From there we trekked across Caversham to the civilised pastures of Caversham Heights, to a house on St Peter's Avenue, also showing work by several artists. The lovely owner, painter Mary Phelan, offered us tea when we told her how far we'd walked, which was kind as otherwise there seemed to be only squash on offer. Nothing there that desperately struck us, but we had a bit of a snoop around her beautiful garden.

Ended the day by driving Ruth back to the Smalleys to pay for and collect the painting. Liam himself was there this time - I stayed in the car but apparently the youth looked overwhelmed at having a crisp £200 put into his hand. I wait to see whether he will one day become famous.

Food; art; South Downs

Had my first evening out with the Information Office a couple of Thursdays ago – to my knowledge there hasn’t been an evening get-together since I joined the team, so credit to Rebecca for organising it. Around 8 of us began with pre-dinner drinks at the large Wetherspoons on Midsummer Boulevard, before joining Sara and Hoa at Thai Modern. Very enjoyable meal and smart restaurant though I was slightly surprised to discover that my pork ‘Moo Gata’ tasted very like Mum’s old sweet and sour pork recipe. Not that there was a thing wrong with the latter, in its appropriate context, but from the description on the menu I had expected a rather more intriguing mix of herby flavours. Still, most of the other stuff looked nice and Hoa ordered an impressively-presented whole sea bass though Liz, who evidently doesn’t care for fish, claimed to be disquieted by its eye peering at her. Bart has been tasked with organising the next event and there was some talk of trying the London restaurant 'Archipelago', which serves various exotic dishes including a ‘Love bug salad’, consisting of pan fried locusts and crickets in chilli and garlic. I feel there may have been a certain amount of machismo talking.

The weekend of 28th and 29th was Reading Contemporary Art Fair and Ruth and I again went to the ‘private’ screening on the Friday evening, this time courtesy of Ruth’s having previously bought a picture at the show. Evidently a lot of other people had also previously bought pictures at the show and were lured in by the prospect of a free glass of warm white wine, as it was absolutely packed and I found myself wishing we’d just paid the entrance fee to go on the Saturday. We had a mooch around and jointly bought a small picture for around £50, though Ruth was tempted by the art of some Italian painter whose name I forget, but whose prices appeared to start at around £2500. I urged us to leave while we still had some prospect of being able to afford further house renovations. We ran into Ali, who had just bought a nude lady, sadly already wrapped in bubble wrap by the time we saw her so am told I'll have to wait to see her in Ali's living room. Reminded me of my ambition to acquire a Venus of Willendorf statuette for our living room, to appropriately symbolise Power Of Woman, fecundity etc, though not sure whether this would conflict with the Buddhist-type serenity exuded by Herbert.

We followed the show with dinner at the Spice Oven, now billing itself as a 'Brand New World Cuisine Buffet Concept'. They were certainly doing a roaring trade, but the whole thing’s a bit weird if you ask me.

Went over to Maidenhead with Ray on the Sunday afternoon for a quick stroll in patchy weather, followed by tea at Barbara’s. I took her a bottle of wine and she had baked fairy cakes in our honour, of which I put away about four. Barbara has been a bit laid up recently with a bad foot, so unable to be as active as she would no doubt like.

The attic continues to make progress, with a now-complete wall of shelving. Even better, I have managed to offload the IKEA shelving unit that it replaced to a good home, via the 'Freegle' network (successor of Freecycle in the Reading area). A lovely chap called Mark turned up last Saturday afternoon and collected it all, saying that it was just what he wanted for his attic.

On the Monday we set off for a four-day break on the South Downs, again courtesy of English Country Cottages, whom we are embracing as master/mistress of the undemanding UK-based short break. The South Downs was Ruth’s choice and not somewhere I’d ever spent much time, but the area seems to have potential. After short-listing a number of cottages a few weeks ago, we had eventually got frustrated and just picked one at random, Old Post Office Cottage at Jevington, a village west of Eastbourne on the South Downs Way and about 15 minutes drive from the coast. After a quite tedious and surprisingly hot two-hour drive, we parked up at Eastbourne and walked along the front past the pier and stopped for lunch at The Cavendish Hotel, where Ruth stayed for an event about six years ago. After lunch we had a quick wander along the pier, which is as depressingly anachronistic as such places generally are, before leaving Eastbourne in pursuit of cottage.

On the Tuesday we parked up at the Seven Sisters Country Park and walked down through Cuckmere Haven to the shore at the foot of the first Sister. Ruth spent a while looking for stuff in rock pools, but nothing doing. We had a pleasant lunch in the courtyard garden of the Exceat Farmhouse Restaurant before driving up to Beachy Head for a visit and a look over the cliffs. I had managed to remain remarkably oblivious to Beachy Head’s notoriety as a suicide spot, but according to its Wikipedia entry it’s the third most popular suicide spot IN THE WORLD, after the Golden Gate Bridge and some forest in Japan (intrigued by this: what do all these suicidal people do once they get in there? Dash their brains out against a tree?). Indeed, I discovered from colleagues that a member of OU staff ‘used’ Beachy Head for this purpose a few years ago. Blimey. As it was remarkably nice weather at the time of our visit, we took quite a few sparkly sea pics.

On the Wednesday we went for a bit of a walk up the South Downs Way, a national trail extending west-east from Winchester to Eastbourne. I had hoped to take in the Long Man of Wilmington en route, but misread the contour lines and discovered the SDW passes above the Long Man, rather than below. In the end we went to see him the following day instead. We had a brief picnic before returning to the cottage via the Lullington Heath nature reserve.

On the Thursday, after paying a quick visit to the Long Man, we drove to Lewes and had a mooch around its cobbled olde-worldeness. We spent some time in an antique shop, where Ruth bought a necklace, and walked up the steep Chapel Hill with its attractive houses and onto an even steeper footpath which led out onto the course of Lewes Golf Club. We had a look at the obelisk commemorating some Protestant martyrs before eventually retracing our steps. After a quick ham and cheese toastie at the Riverside Cafe Bar we drove back eastwards to Pevensey Bay, somewhere Ruth remembered visiting as a teenager with her godmother. However, on this occasion it appeared somewhat bleak and tired-looking (not helped by the weather) so we changed our minds about staying and drove back to Pevensey village instead, where we visited the castle followed by the tiny Courthouse Museum, where we were seized on by the elderly curator who regaled us with a lengthy local history lecture; Ruth managed to listen politely while my attention wandered to the postcard display and thoughts of a cream tea. We rounded off the trip with dinner at the Eight Bells, Jevington's quite cosy little pub.

Met Claire on the Friday evening at the pub formerly known as the Hobgoblin, now known as the Alehouse (all a bit puzzling) followed by dinner at Prezzo, followed by a walk up to The Turks to hear a band featuring the violinist from Claire's Vocal Harmony Group. On Saturday Ruth cut and fitted a new clothes rail in the cupboard in bedroom 1 - v. impressed, though she ran into the same problems as with the floating shelves with dodgy wall at one end. So far it seems to be holding though. Ray came round for a meal in the evening in payment for helping us with the water feature a few weeks back, and is sporting a startling short layered haircut with which I sense he is not entirely happy. We had been hoping to acquire rabbit from the butchers, as Ruth has unearthed a couple of recipes that sound quite nice, but it was not to be so we had roast pork, accompanied by the usual arguments about education and politics until I started dozing off.

Returned to Milton Keynes on Monday to clean the flat, throw away old food etc. Baked some more apple muffins from my ongoing supply of elderly apples, which went down well with the office. Also found a recipe for stewed plums, which I have eaten for breakfast the last couple of days. Not bad actually.