Waste disposal; birthday; middle-aged activities

We now have a new green cone in the garden, as a smaller and more discreet replacement for the composter. How it works is a bit of a mystery to me, but I may (possibly) make the effort to find out. Apparently it chomps all sorts of food waste, not just green stuff – don’t really get that.

Baked a couple of damned impressive cakes to take in to work to mark my birthday (one chocolate marble cake, one banana) and spent the day basking in a pleasantly smug glow of home baking. Received some nice gifts including a pedicure voucher and some lovely white roses from Ruth, a JL voucher and a bizarre but interesting facial product from the parents, a glass butterfly from Claire, a book from my aunt and a piece of gadgetry for my bicycle from Ray, which will apparently tell me how many miles I’ve cycled and at what speed.

Finally managed to get out on Ray’s boat for the weekend boat trip that we had had to postpone from early July due to the high water levels. Managed to actually get out of the marina and chug the 20 miles or so up the Kennet and Avon Canal to Newbury, finally arriving in Newbury on Monday morning after mooring up near Sulhamstead on Saturday night and just past Thatcham on Sunday. Pictures here.

Despite the comparatively short distance, there are an incredible 22 locks on the route (from Blake’s Lock, no. 1, to Newbury Lock at no.22, and not counting the de-gated Ufton. This Wikipedia page lists the whole lot and also the summit point of the canal near Wootton Rivers in Wiltshire, after which you start going downstream towards Bristol.). Who knew the terrain was so hilly? That and the half-dozen or so swing bridges, plus the lift bridge at Aldermaston, ensure that you’re not going anywhere quickly – but then that is I guess the point of narrowboating. Quite a feeling of responsibility operating swing bridges, and particularly Aldermaston Lift Bridge which carries the A340. About half of those on our route were manual ones only carrying footpaths, but the others carry roads and are operated by inserting a BWB key into the lock and following the onscreen instructions to close the road and either swing or lift the bridge. Proudly operated Woolhampton Swing Bridge all by myself, albeit watched by the entire garden of The Rowbarge.

Moored up in a lovely spot on Saturday night where we managed to have a barbecue, watched by cows, and Ruth hung our towels from a tree to dry, resulting in mutterings from Ray about looking like a pikey encampment. It didn’t help to dry them as they just ended up covered in morning dew. Moored on Sunday in a slightly less satisfactory spot just upstream from Thatcham, where we had some difficulty getting close enough to the bank. Ray gave Ruth a fishing lesson, which she took to with a surprising amount of enthusiasm.

Had an unexpected day off on the Tuesday (boss had originally vetoed my taking the Tuesday as leave due to a Wednesday deadline, hence Ray had arranged alternative crew for the Monday night in the shape of his brother Lee; boss then texted me on Monday to indicate that we’d done enough work for the deadline so I could take Tuesday if I wanted to – nice, though would have been more use if it had been in time for us to arrange an extra night on the boat). Instead, Ruth and I did a few useful jobs including going to the tip and to Halfords to buy a replacement headlamp bulb for my car, which, usefully, they also fitted for a reasonably paltry additional cost, certainly cheaper than booking it in to the garage and a lot less painful than trying to do it myself. Then drove over to the Englefield Estate to have a look around the gardens, which we followed with lunch at the Englefield Tea Rooms – nice staff and toasted sandwich; took a while but in fairness they were packed out. In response to the comment accompanying this Geograph photo, evidently the tea room has indeed survived the post office closure, and was doing a roaring trade when we were there - one of the staff was heard to tell someone that they’d already started taking bookings for Christmas lunch.

Englefield is, apparently, part of the Historic Houses Association. It’s only the gardens that are open to the public, though it sounds as though you might be able to view the house by appointment. We had originally considered going over to Highclere Castle, but luckily I checked the website first and was informed that maximum visitor bookings had already been taken for August. Doubtless the Downton Abbey effect.


Did finish Exclusive; apparently the President did do it though there’s a cunning Epilogue that (possibly) throws a note of ambiguity over the whole thing. Bit confused now. Upcoming book will have to be Mira Grant’s Feed, as it’s our next Book Group book. Also pondering whether I should read Fifty Shades of Grey, just to find out what all the fuss is about.

Went over to Lambourn on Sunday to have lunch with Ruth's aunt. In return for inviting ourselves and obliging Mrs Spence to shop for a large joint, we went over a bit early and Ruth prepared the vegetables, while I sat in the garden reading the paper. As per last time, we had the most amazing joint of beef that was cooked to perfection - had to fight the urge to secretly hack off a wodge and take it home in my handbag. Just hope that a lump of it didn't end up going to the dog.

Basic alcohol; trash; couscous

Was disturbed when shopping at MK’s nice new mega-Sainsburys the other week to note that the ‘Sainsbury's Basics’ range now includes wine. Although I never buy food or drink from this range, I had been dimly aware that the range did include some alcohol, but had assumed this was confined to plastic bottles of cider, meths etc. However, no – Sainsbury's Basics ‘White Table Wine’ is on offer, and damn good value, no doubt. Presumably the next step (Sainsbury's Even More Basic?) will be bottles simply labelled ‘Wine’, containing liquid of indeterminate colour.

Impressed at myself for having been for three early-morning bike rides this past week, inspired by Ray’s recently having taken up cycling in some sort of exercise pact made with his friend Dave. I gather the goal is to take part in a 100-mile cycle ride some time next year. Being a bloke, he has acquired various pieces of kit and gadgetry already, including, apparently, a pair of padded cycling shorts, which I hope never to see. I have also only recently learned the acronym MAMIL (Middle Aged Man In Lycra).

Spent the first weekend in August at my parents’ house, where we gamely attempted to have a barbecue on the Saturday evening, and Hannah even determinedly lay on some damp grass in an attempt to bring on summer. The rain did at least hold off, though set in again in force the following day leading to an irritable (on my part) drive back to Reading.

Spent Saturday evening at Ali's 60th birthday party, though a number of us had failed to realise in advance that it was actually her 60th. Ali had requested that I take along a bowl of the giant couscous and harissa dish I made the last time I hosted Book Group, which I obligingly did, though not 100% sure how it went down with the bulk of the guests. Met some nice new people.

Currently slumming it, in terms of reading matter, with another Sandra Brown novel, Exclusive. Have read four or so of Brown’s previous novels, also during phases of slumming it, though I forget now how I came across them originally. This one proves to be written to a similar formula to the others, containing plenty of melodrama, sex and lots of interactions between chiselled loner hero and the heroine, who in Brown’s novels is generally an outwardly spunky career woman but inwardly vulnerable and a bit messed up, and let’s face it, really in need of a bloke. It’s proving pretty enjoyable so far, though I wait to discover whether the President of the US really did murder the bastard newborn son of his unfaithful manic depressive wife, which would lend support to Senator Cletus Armbruster’s theory that the President also, eighteen years previously, disposed of the newborn babe of a piece of trailer trash who went berserk when he refused to marry her.

Vaguely amused at a tendency of Brown’s to stress that her leading characters are only attracted to members of the opposite sex. Of Barrie Travis, the heroine of Exclusive, Brown writes “Nor had she taken the other path. Her sexual appetite was whetted only by men.” It’s inoffensive enough on the surface, but I have the distinct feeling this is not the first of her books I’ve read something similar in. Oddly enough, I’m pretty sure that Stieg Larsson, the author of the Millennium Trilogy, whom one would imagine would be an open-minded, liberal kinda guy, also takes pains to assure his readers that Mikael Blomkvist is 100% hetero, though I don’t have a copy of the trilogy to hand in order to try and find the quote. I'm sure it's there somewhere though.

Catchy uppy

Edited highlights of the past month or so:

Went to a HESA seminar in London on 12th June, which was as informative and well-organised as their events generally are (no sarcasm – they genuinely are). As usual, had a couple of delegates from other institutions look at my delegate badge and say “Gosh, your HESA return must be huge”. Yes, indeed it is. I was amused – although I probably shouldn’t have been – to note one delegate’s affiliations given as ‘Shurgard HE’ and another, more cryptically, given as ‘Unit 4’.

Headed west after the seminar to spend a few days with the family on the Pembrokeshire coast to celebrate Dad’s 70th birthday. We stopped off overnight at my parents’ house on the way to pick up Hannah, who was exhausted after an unaccustomed cycle ride to the shop in Longtown to purchase cigarettes, and hear news of her recent US trip. Arrived at the very nice Treseissyllt Hafod in St Nicholas around midday the next day and had a lunch and present-opening session with assorted family members. Later that afternoon, a group of us including Mum’s cousin Jonathan, who was staying at a rather shambolic-sounding B&B housed in the farmhouse next door, walked down to Aberbach Bay where we were soaked in a particularly heavy downpour. The following day we walked to the neighbouring village of Mathry where we had lunch in The Farmers Arms, before Dad, Dave, Ruth and I had a windy but enjoyable walk back to the house along the coastal path. On the Friday we visited St David’s where we had a brief walk around and another pub lunch (in another Farmers Arms), before returning via Whitesands Bay, which was almost deserted due to the inclement weather but still had the cheek to be charging £4 to park in its car park.

Relieved that the hastily planned and even more hastily executed photobook I had arranged for Dad's birthday present arrived in time; can thoroughly recommend Yophoto for both quality and a quick turnaround. Was a bit gutted that I wasn't able to source a photo of Dad's business partner Steve in enough time, so here's a picture of them, just to publish one somewhere.

Received a flyer a month or so ago from the OU’s LGBT Network mailing list advertising a workshop entitled ‘Feeling at Home? Queering Home Research’, apparently part of a ‘Queer Home Economics’ event at the Hayward Gallery (currently, of course, housing the 'Invisible' exhibition - what that about?). Anyway, not meaning to be a traitor to my people, but PhD thesis titles such as ‘Queering Heteronormativity at Home’ risk making me spit wine out through my nose, as do communally crocheting rugs out of old clothes and workshops entitled ‘The Knitted Habitat’ and ‘A Conversation about Gay Squats’ (bring your lunch, apparently), not to mention Homo Entertaining. Link to the strangely-formatted agenda, for general amusement.

Hit the Whiteknights Studio Trail with Claire on 17 June and had a pleasant wander around a number of houses in the loosely-defined University area, on the pretext (at least from my point of view) of admiring people’s paintings, glassware etc but actually just having a snoop at their houses. One (from the front) unassuming-looking terraced house in Carnarvon Road had the most amazing glass-roofed extension/garden room area out the back, crammed with books, sofas, arty memorabilia etc. Snooped for as long as I decently could, wishing I could take a photograph, then left after buying a postcard version of a Dan Dunne painting for Ruth.

Had a day in London with Ray on 23rd June, starting (after a fortifying breakfast) with high-tailing it up to Highgate to visit Pond Square, which I have been vaguely intrigued to visit since learning from Secret London that it is rumoured to be haunted by the ghost of a frozen chicken. Apparently stems from a 17th-century attempt at freezing chicken using snow, but I preferred to think of the ghost as a modern cellophane-wrapped affair bouncing in sinister fashion around the square. We briefly considered buying a frozen chicken and mocking up some photographs involving terrified expressions, chicken placed in menacing attitudes etc but decided this would be going a bit far; added to which, there were other people around and it might have looked a bit silly. Anyway; the square is very nice and all, but no chicken sightings.

We then walked all the way back down through Camden and onto the Regent’s Canal towpath, where we walked as far as all the new development work going on at the back of King’s Cross and St Pancras. Wandered into Central Saint Martins’ new home in the Granary Building and posed by the fountains out front, before going to visit the nearby London Canal Museum. The downbeat man on the desk warned us on the way in that “it’s mostly canal stuff ... we’re a canal museum”. In fact it does also have a bit about the ice trade, as the museum is housed in a former ice warehouse – there’s an open ice well on display. Tried and failed to persuade Ray to buy some of the various roses-and-castles-emblazoned bits and pieces from the shop, before having a look around the small but quite interesting museum. Some old film of a journey along the Regent’s Canal, from wherever it starts from down to Limehouse (or possibly vice versa), plus lots of old pics and information about canals and canal boat life. Families of six crammed into a tiny boatman’s cabin, going to the toilet in a bucket, etc.

The first weekend in July had been scheduled for a two- or three-day boat trip along the Kennet & Avon Canal but, disappointingly, water levels were too high. Wandered down to the Caversham Festival to hear Claire's vocal harmony group The Secret Chords doing some singy stuff on the floating stage, and had a beer afterwards with Claire and her new beau Chris. Returned to MK on the Monday and went for a pleasant hour's bike ride, the effects of which on my right calf muscle have only just worn off. Should probably do it more often. When I related the injury to Victoria on my return to work she tactfully pointed out that neither of us is as young as we were. Indeed not.

Mum came to visit me in Milton Keynes over the weekend 21st-22nd July (pictures here). I had planned a pleasant evening walk to The Swan at Woughton for dinner on the 20th, but pouring rain put us off that idea so we stayed in with a Domino’s Pizza instead. On the Saturday we went on a quest to locate the Concrete Cows: parked near the site of Bancroft Roman Villa, which we had a quick look around before walking down through Bancroft Park towards Monks Way and (eventually) locating the cows, where photos were duly taken. The cows in the field near Bancroft are actually replicas, the originals having been moved to the shopping centre in Central Milton Keynes, presumably in a move to preserve them. Close-up, I was a bit disturbed by their staring eyes, as seen in particular on this calf. We then extended the walk briefly to take in the remains of Bradwell Abbey, but there wasn’t much to be seen there as the chapel is currently under scaffolding and the site was taken over by preparations for a music festival. Drove into CMK where we had lunch at the Slug & Lettuce, before returning to the flat for tea and cupcakes.

Went for a late afternoon walk around Ouzel Valley Park before spending the evening watching a selection of trash TV, starting with ‘Location, Location, Location (twice, I think) followed by ‘Supersize vs. Superskinny’ followed by ‘Embarrassing Bodies’. Class. On Sunday morning we visited Linford Manor Park and had a pleasant walk through the village and park down to the canal, before lunching at The Nags Head in Great Linford. Dropped Mum at the station before going home to complete my latest assignment for M255, I fear not as well as the previous one; confidence in newfound programming skills temporarily dented.