Propaganda; cocktail bar inadequacy; job applications

Went up to London on the 7th to the Propaganda: Power and Persuasion exhibition at the British Library. Interesting, though very crowded – as it closed yesterday, the day would have been one of its final Saturdays. Ruth bought a book and I bought a postcard of Chairman Mao striding across hilltops to stir up revolution among the masses. We had tea afterwards in the first floor café behind the King’s Library Tower.

Afterwards we walked down via Bloomsbury to Soho, where we paid a visit to Prowler and bought a few DVDs. Ruth did ponder what our ability to go into Prowler and emerge armed only with documentaries says about us (as it’s not the first time) and also appeared to be having a fit of conscience as to whether the presence of women – particularly in the ‘back room’ – might be a tad unsettling for any older chaps in there. Possibly, I suppose – we did venture briefly into the back room, which stocks DVDs of a somewhat more explicit variety, but from the glut of flesh on display on the covers it was impossible to make a choice as to which might have the most artistic merit, so we passed on those. Aside from the couple of documentaries we left with, I picked up a copy of the Canadian family comedy Breakfast with Scot, which is an enjoyable piece of fluff, if only because the two male leads are excessively easy on the eye.

Finished our afternoon with a visit to the cocktail bar opposite Comptons, whose name I’ve forgotten – Ruth dutifully had a cocktail, at vast expense, but I decided I was more in the mood for a cold beer, and was surprised at having to trail right down to the bottom of the menu, to where it said, in small print, something along the lines of: ‘Beers (generic) - £3.95’. As we were surrounded on all sides by men drinking cocktails, Ruth pointed out that this section might as well have been headed ‘For the lesbians’, and chided me for fulfilling stereotypes. As I don’t consider I make a point of fulfilling these, I stand by my decision – though my Peroni was inadequately chilled, quite possibly deliberately.

Had two men round on the Sunday to give us quotes for two new windows for the rear extension, one a salesman-type from Anglian, and the other a straighter-talking chap from local(ish) company Academy. We suspect the local chap is going to be cheaper, but are waiting to see.

Spent all day last Saturday preparing a job application, which may or may not come to anything, and had dinner with Ruth at the River Spice in the evening. On Sunday we went to John Lewis for new hand towels, as we're a bit short partly because Ruth elected to bury Lola in one of mine, and Ruth bought a new bedside lamp. She carted this home while I went to visit the Polish Catholic church on Watlington Street, which was open for visitors as part of the Heritage Open Days weekend. Spent about 20 minutes there before going a short way down the road to the Lyndhurst, where I spent a couple of hours with Claire discussing a job she wants to go for.

Walking home I spotted this 'For Sale' sign outside HMP Reading, presumably a member of the public's comment on the prison's impending closure, announced earlier this month.

B-movie; scaffolding; job hunt

Ruth and I amused ourselves at the weekend by watching a videotaped copy of the 1950s movie From Hell It Came, which one of the family taped off the TV at my parents' place some years back. I had thought Hannah had appropriated the tape, but Mum and Dad turned it up while clearing out their attics. Couldn't resist the opportunity for a second viewing as it is quite ridiculous.

Had booked Monday morning as leave so went for an early walk, part of my half-arsed attempt at an exercise routine, then met Ray at Julia's Meadow for breakfast. Here's a photo I took of officially the best coffee in Reading, while waiting for Ray to turn up. He had just returned from another 'camping' weekend in Woolacombe with Emma, following the partial conversion of the back of his van into a rough-and-ready camper. Am still deriving considerable amusement from this, though I detect faint affront on Ray's side.

Arrived back at Old Groveway mid-morning to discover a man on the back patio erecting scaffolding. Somewhat surprised, we had a brief conversation before I firmly drew all the curtains (floor-to-ceiling windows on both floors can have their down sides). I arrived at work to an email from my landlord, timed, suspiciously, only about 15 minutes earlier, apologising for the scaffolding and claiming that he hadn't known in advance that it was going to be necessary. As I had heard the scaffolder on the phone to him shortly before leaving, I suspected that the conversation had included something along the lines of "your tenant don't look too happy, mate". The purpose of the scaffolding is to replace the fascia just above the living room window, as part of this appears to have rotted. I had assumed that this task could have been achieved with a long ladder rather than scaffolding, but evidently not. The original wooden fascia is apparently being replaced with a length of uPVC, which is probably understandable but a bit of a shame, as this development must have originally had an attractive coherent look when viewed from the rear. Some of the properties have retained their wooden windows, but several, including mine, have had theirs replaced with white uPVC. It's a travesty. Obviously, when I win EuroMillions, I'll buy the whole development and restore it to its original glory (assuming I win enough to make the necessary outlay mere small change).

Job-hunting now on a weekly basis, both at selected institutions and at www.jobs.ac.uk. Seen a few possibilities, though annoyingly, several of them have been at institutions in East Anglia, as jobs.ac.uk conflates this into its ‘South East England’ category which is, obviously, entirely wrong. Interesting job titles noted during today’s search included Slaughterman (at the University of Bristol – unsure what department) and Heavy Duty Cleaner, which sounds, if anything, even less pleasant.