Autumn snippets

A rundown of activity since the last blog post:

September

Mind Body Spirit festival

 

Caffe Chai, Warwick

Few hours spent at the Mind Body Spirit Wellbeing Festival at the NEC on 12 September. I had acquired two reduced-price tickets via Amazon Local thinking it might be a bit of a laugh. Ray obligingly said he would come with me – perhaps feeling morally obligated after postponing a get-together the previous Saturday to take his dad to a football match – and offered to drive, so we set off early and took a detour into Warwick where we found a café for breakfast. Here I am outside it looking somewhat simple.

We arrived at the NEC – my first visit; main impression was of acres of car parks, that, cheekily, charge quite an expensive parking fee. The ‘festival’ itself was OK, though in a rather cramped arena. I tried to book in for a meditation session that was already booked up. We sat listening to some live singing for a while. Feeling I should try out one of the various sessions on offer, I decided to have a psychic reading – costing £30, as did all the ‘readings’ on offer; I’m quite surprised I paid for it – and foolishly took the first psychic that was free, an angel card reader named Rani. Can’t say I felt the 15 minutes was worth the money, but didn’t have the balls to ask for a refund, though the booker-in had told me that I could do so if I didn’t feel the reading had helped me. Rani dealt various cards and made a series of mainly inaccurate suggestions about me (Rani: “I feel you’re the sort of person others come to with their problems”; Me: “No, not really”), a series of banal observations based on things I had just told her, and displayed a startling lack of any psychic ability throughout. (When I mentioned having some discussions with my partner currently about what to do with our house, Rani responded with a suggestion about “him” – “Ah, she didn’t work that out then?” Ray scoffed over lunch). Left the reading when my time was up thinking I should have had my aura photographed instead.

What are angel cards anyway? According to Wikipedia they fall under the category of ‘OH cards’, though whether that stands for anything I’ve no idea. They seem to have their enthusiastic adherents, such as this woman quoted in an online forum re angel cards I found on a Google search:

“I truely [sic] believe in Angels too - especially when I have lost things I ask the Arc Angel Chamuelle for help in finding things … Also when I am feeling low I just talk to the Angels and within minutes see a single white feather so I know they are around us.”

The Hatton flight

This woman on Netmums (not my usual port of call for anything; it just came up in a Google search) says “I recently had my cards read, using Angel cards, and couldn't believe how accurate they were”. There you go then. There seem to be plenty available via Amazon, for example these, featuring a quite masculine-looking hunk of angel on the cover.

After having enough of the festival we retraced our steps towards Warwick and had lunch at the Hatton Arms, a large and quite smart pub near the Grand Union Canal. After lunch we walked down to the nearby Hatton Locks and had a look at the impressive flight. According to this history, the stretch of water that hosts the locks was the Warwick & Birmingham canal when it opened in 1799, part of a chain of eight canals connecting London and the Midlands. The Grand Union Canal Company took over the entire stretch in 1929 and did some modernizing in the form of widening the locks to allow boats to double up and traffic to thereby pass through more quickly.

Birth of Emily

Gail and Rob’s baby, Emily Charlotte Joyce, was born in early September. We visited Gail in the RBH the day after Emily was born and then again at home around a week later, when these pictures were taken. Emily has an insane shock of dark hair, which is very cute. 

Ruth actually had an hour alone with her a week or so ago while Gail went to a dental appointment, and apparently did manage to give her a bottle, but escaped having to change a nappy.

OpenHouse London

 

Alexandra Road estate

London OpenHouse weekend on 19-20 September and I had been determined to go this year, having missed out the last couple of years. Got over my moaning at the fact that you now have to pay for the hard copy catalogue of what’s on offer, and we bought one.

Inevitably with these things you end up not being able to pack in as many things as you think you’ll be able to. I had been keen for the last few years to see the Alexandra Road estate in Camden and go on the tour they offer of the interior of one of the flats, so we headed up there as our first port of call. When we arrived there was already quite a substantial queue for the flat tour, moving very slowly as they were only allowing four in at a time (due to the flat’s compactness) and evidently more people had turned up than the OH volunteers had expected, as they eventually started issuing people with timed tickets and asking us to come back later. We went off to have the tour of the estate garden that was on offer, and then returned to the flat an hour or so later, when, thankfully, we were admitted. Beautiful and well designed little space with a lovely balcony area that felt more like a little courtyard garden. The flat open to the public was evidently one that had had few changes made to it – the guide did say that a lot of the flats have had their interiors altered, but that there’s an attempt at clamping down on this with one chap in trouble currently for making some changes he wasn’t supposed to.

The estate was listed Grade II* in 1993, apparently the first post-war housing estate to be listed. Neave Brown, the architect, is distinguished by having had all his UK work listed, which seems incredible for a modernist architect. Go Neave. Though apparently he didn’t work in the UK again (he’s American) after Alexandra Road, thanks to the public enquiry into the project following its completion because it had cost so much.

Lunch outside at Poem

Bunhill Energy Centre

After spending more time than we’d planned to at AR because of the length of the wait, we sought out lunch nearby and settled on Poem, on the corner of Abbey Road and Boundary Road, where we had an OK light lunch. After this, we made our way over to the City area to visit Ruth’s choice, the Bunhill Heat and Power Energy Centre, a weeny little place doing all sorts of good things with energy in a way that I didn’t properly understand, probably through not being quite as interested as I should be. It opened in 2012 and supplies energy to three nearby estates.

At Salvador & Amanda

Returned to London on 26 September for celebrations of my university friend Helen’s 40th birthday. Ruth and I met Helen and seven or eight other people at Brown’s on St Martin’s Lane for afternoon tea – arranged to suit people who couldn’t stay out for an evening meal – then most of us went on for cocktails and dinner at the nearby Salvador & Amanda, a cellar restaurant on Great Newport Street. There was some disappointment with afternoon tea, mainly around the slowness of the service – though Ruth and I have enjoyed two pre-theatre dinners at that branch of Brown’s and not noticed any problems – but the dinner was nice and cellars are always atmospheric.

October

My digital life

Since early October am now studying my fourth OU module, this time the Level 1 module My digital life. Very interesting so far; it’s a broad-based module with a bit of programming, a bit of HTML and XML, a bit of (moderately) technical detail on networks and wireless communications, and no doubt other stuff to come. Am keeping a somewhat intermittent study blog on the OU's student blog area. Students are supposed to keep 'learning journals' but I find all that frankly a bit tedious. I consider myself to have done well if I spend time studying in the evenings after work, never mind then writing about it.

Discretionary increment

Pleased/smug in October to receive a merit award from the OU for the second year running. A certain number of these are made available to each unit every year as a way of rewarding specified individuals' performance. Judith handed me my letter with some kind words about the past year’s efforts. The additional increment on the pay scale doesn’t amount to a lot of extra money, but it’s better than a slap in the face.

Outing with Clarks

Went over to Maidenhead on 3 October and had lunch with Ray’s parents at Maidenhead Conservative Club. It was some years since I’d been there and I remembered the place as fairly dingy and thick with cigarette smoke, but it appeared much brighter and pleasanter on this occasion, no doubt substantially due to the smoking ban but I think also it might have had a coat of paint. Had a pleasant lunch with Ray senior and Carol and we then drove over to Hurley Riverside Park, where Ray’s sister Sharon now lives with her boyfriend Keith. Lovely setting; we admired Sharon’s garden and Carol, Sharon and I went for a walk down to the river, where I introduced them to the term ‘gongoozling’. Sharon and Keith have apparently been having issues with a mildly lunatic neighbour, which hopefully will be resolved soon.

Boat trip

Ruth and I were both pleased to have our first trip out on Ray’s boat for some time on 10 October. We went eastwards down the river as far as Sonning and moored up on the side of the river away from the path, where we had a lovely and leisurely breakfast. We passed the red spoon sculpture that Uri Geller had had erected by the Thames Path prior to his recent departure for Israel (audacious behaviour) - I attempted to take a picture of it, but there was plant life in the way, plus a number of other people on the path also taking pictures of it. Shortly after the spoon's installation, questions arose as to whether it had planning permission and a rude message was found taped to it. It then disappeared altogether, to be replaced with an actual bent spoon. It later turned out Uri himself had requested its removal, suspecting, quite probably correctly, that it wouldn't get planning permission. Geller's parting shot to the local council appears to have been "You can take my spoon, but you'll never be able to bend my creative freedom." Stirring stuff.

View of spoon through the trees

After breakfast we continued down river as far as Shiplake Lock, before turning round and returning to the marina. Ray has decided for the moment to pass up the prospect of moving to Enslow and is staying at Thames & Kennet for the time being. He has some grand refurb plans for the winter, including replacing his current cassette toilet with a pump out toilet, partly as this should prove easier for the klutzier visitor (e.g., me) to operate.  

November (first bit of)

Parents in MK

Tree Cathedral

Mum and Dad came for a visit the first weekend in November, Dad’s first to my Wolverton flat. I had carefully reserved them a space with my car in the Electrolux parking area – parking issues at Wolverton Park being the subject of a good deal of ranting on the Facebook group lately – and done a token tidy up. The Saturday was ushered in with possibly the worst weather I’ve seen since living here – lashing rain and really quite strong wind – and I was wondering slightly nervously what I would do with them for the afternoon if we couldn’t go outside, hoping not to be reduced to visiting the National Badminton Museum. We stalled for time once they arrived by having some lunch, but Dad, in a somewhat unusual display of optimism, thought we should go out anyway and perhaps it would clear up. Drove them (through increasingly heavy rain; asked at one point whether there was anything they wanted in John Lewis) to the Peace Pagoda car park and parked up, and we walked to the Pagoda and admired it briefly, by which point the rain was, thankfully, easing off.

I was mindful of not planning too long a walk, in deference to Dad’s recent bout of pneumonia, but he seemed up for a bit of a stroll so we walked past the Japanese temple and had a bit of a stroll around the garden, before carrying on to the bird hide on the south bit of North Willen Lake near the V10, where Mum and Dad had a sit down and a peruse of far-off birds, before concluding that it was a bit pointless as they’d forgotten their binoculars. We continued and had a brief visit to the Tree Cathedral – sun had come out by this point – before returning to the car and my flat. In the evening, we caught a bus into Stony Stratford and went for a couple of drinks at The Vaults before going for a nice dinner at the Calcutta. The next morning we went for a post-breakfast walk along the canal as far as the aqueduct, before retracing steps to my flat. After a brief sandwich lunch at Buskers they set off back to Wales.

Near the Peace Pagoda we noted the memorial of the Rev. Seiji Handa, with a small photo and a number of flowers. We couldn't really tell who he was - other than presumably a monk at the temple - but he would appear to have been this chap. What an unfortunate way to die.

On a more tranquil note - and hopefully no lawnmowers in sight - there's a brief commentary-free video about the Peace Pagoda and Buddhist temple here.  

Book Group

Got to go to my first Book Group meeting in a while on 13 November, as Claire M had kindly prevailed on the rest of the group to host the meeting on a Friday so that I could come. 6 out of the 8 of us (missing Lesley, and Sarah who hasn’t yet rejoined the group following the birth of her baby) met in Claire’s cosy back room to discuss Barbara Taylor’s ‘The Last Asylum’. Only Helen, Ali and myself had actually made any headway with reading the book, so it was a bit of a limited discussion, but we agreed that psychoanalysis is a bit of a mystery, and certainly can only have been the province of a rich (and leisured) few.

The book's cover photo is of the scarily long corridor at Friern Hospital in Barnet, the asylum referred to in the book's title where Taylor spent time as an in-patient in the 1980s. The building's now been converted into a luxury flat development called Princess Park Manor, which manages to avoid mentioning on its 'History' page that it was once a mental hospital. No clue whether they left the corridor intact.

Rambling for Pleasure

On the Sunday of that weekend I attempted to drag Ruth for a walk out of ‘Rambling for Pleasure around Reading’. I’d picked a walk around Arborfield with the sweetener of visiting Gail and Rob afterwards and then possibly going for a cheese toastie at Dobbies (that being about as grand as my gestures get). Entirely through my inept navigation, we started badly by walking quite a way down the wrong road, unsurprisingly being unable to find the entrance to Pudding Lane and having to retrace our steps to the Bull roundabout, where we picked up the correct road. As we’d used up a bit of time doing this, I cut the route short and we took a route back past Arborfield church, which appeared veritably packed with worshippers (Gail later told us that Arborfield's congregation is of a somewhat happy-clappy persuasion, including apparently sticking name badges on people when they arrive for a service) and thence slightly hazardously along the B3030 Sindlesham Road for a stretch before arriving back at the village.

St Bartholomew's, Arborfield

We paid a brief visit to Rob and Gail and said good morning to Emily, who was dozing peacefully in her baby carrier when we arrived, but was duly lifted up and passed around. In a laudable attempt to share Emily out, Gail whipped her off Ruth’s lap, where she’d just settled down relatively peacefully, and put her onto mine, where she perhaps understandably set up a lusty bawl and was duly removed, to be walked soothingly up and down the hallway.

We had a brief lunch in a crowded Dobbies, and may have bought some stuff but I forget now.

Henley

Went over to Henley for a few hours the following Saturday – I’ve hardly been at all the past few years but it is indeed a pleasant place for a wander around. Not sure whether my recent low iron levels were making me feel the cold more than usual, but it appeared bl**dy cold – we did go for a short stroll along the river but even I couldn’t face spending too much time on it. We spent most of the time having a wander around the shops and the Christmas market, and had a pleasant lunch at The Argyll. We went into Tudor House Antiques – don’t think I’d ever been inside while living in Henley, probably because neither Ray nor I care for antiques, but as Ruth likes them we went in and passed a mildly excruciating (at least from my point of view) 15 minutes or so staring at old stuff and banging my head on beams. Lingered for a while in Central Home, a new arrival in Henley, where I coveted a few things but didn’t buy them. Ruth bought a ring.

Must rest awhile before bringing this account up to date, as I am weary and must stitch a while on my sampler.

Bases other than 10

Originally published on my OU study blog while studying module TU100 'My digital life'

Working through Block 1 Part 2 Session 6 triggered a memory from school from when I was 10 or so, when my parents wrote a letter to the teacher to say that “Emma has not quite grasped the concept of base six numerals”. Indeed I hadn't, and I'm not sure I ever did - I think possibly we just moved on to a different topic.

It did make me wonder what bases other than base 10 are used for. Block 1 explains that binary numbers are used in computing, so OK, I get that. Session 6 notes that base 16 (hexadecimal) is useful in some branches of computing. But what about other bases, such as base eight or indeed my old nemesis, base six?

I briefly Googled the base six numeral system. According to Wikipedia https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Senary it’s also known as ‘senary’. Interesting section on languages believed to use senary numerals.

I worked through the various conversion activities in Session 6 but I can’t say this stuff is intuitive. Especially converting from decimal to binary – what a faff. Nightmare keeping track of the columns and the 1s and 0s. The Sense activity (Activity 39) was quite fun though.

Image of Sense interface showing activity 39b

Charmed to learn that a set of four bits – half a byte – is called a ‘nibble’. Apparently the term is rarely used …

A conversation with ELIZA

Originally published on my OU study blog while studying module TU100 'My digital life'

In Block 1 Part 2 we learned about ELIZA, a computer program whose DOCTOR script simulated a Rogerian psychotherapist. Apparently ELIZA was one of the first chatterbots, though I’m not too sure what this means.

As suggested in the course materials, I tried having a conversation with the OU's version of ELIZA. My input is introduced by asterisks (*). I found her abilities somewhat limited.

The first computer I remember using

Originally published on my OU study blog while studying module TU100 'My digital life'

Relates to Activity 1 in Block 1 Part 2.

The first computer I remember using was an Amstrad computer that my father bought when he set up his own business in the late 1980s. It ran a word processing program called LocoScript, and had a daisy-wheel printer attached.

The clip of the screen shown on the Wikipedia entry on LocoScript here takes me back. To do things, e.g. create and edit files, you entered keyboard commands – e.g. ‘C’ for create a new document. There was no pointing and clicking with a mouse – you went up and down with the cursor. Also, the screen didn’t display what you typed in the way it would actually look, as they do now – you got the same green type on a black background whatever you did.

I was around 18 by the time I used my dad’s Amstrad. We never had a computer at home before that, though I know some people did have home computers earlier in the 1980s. At school, there was a computer room, but it wasn’t very accessible to most pupils. There was a computer club that another girl and I once went along to, but we felt sneered at by the computing enthusiasts there (all boys) and never went back. Thank God computers are much more accessible to everyone these days.

When I started work shortly after that as a secretary, I used a variety of word processing packages. Temping in the late 1980s/early 1990s meant having to learn a whole variety of packages depending on the job you went to – I used WordStar, WordPerfect and DisplayWrite 4, and probably others that I’ve forgotten. Whatever you think about Microsoft, the advent of Word must have made temping a whole lot easier!

A search for Emma Thomas

Originally published on my OU study blog while studying module TU100 'My digital life'

Tried out the 'Google yourself' Activity 13 in Part 1 section 4.5.

What was revealed about me?

Expectations before doing this: I’m expecting to have some difficulty finding references to myself, as I imagine there may be a lot of other Emma Thomases out there.

How far down did I have to go before finding a reference to myself?

I scrolled down the first 20 pages of Google hits and couldn’t find a single reference to myself. I gave up after that. I suppose I can at least conclude that I’m reasonably anonymous.

Adding the keyword ‘Essex’ (I did my postgrad degrees at the University of Essex) did bring up my LinkedIn profile page on the first page of hits. Adding the keyword ‘Open’ (I work at The Open University) again brought up my LinkedIn profile page, as the first hit.

What was revealed about other people with the same name as me?

Mainly, that there are a lot of them.

Of the top 10 hits on ‘Emma Thomas’:

• Eight – including the first four – relate to Emma Thomas the British film producer
• One is a link to Facebook profiles of people called Emma Thomas, though it only lists five. Mine isn’t among them (I'm fairly sure I've set it as private).
• One seems to be the website of an Emma Thomas who’s Interiors Editor of Homes and Gardens magazine.

Other Emma Thomases seemingly more famous than me

• Emma Thomas, Muay Thai Fighter
• Emma Thomas, a PCSO for Pembroke (https://www.police.uk/dyfed-powys/136/team/pcso-emma-thomas/)
• Emma Thomas, an injury lawyer at Sacca Law Group in Canada http://www.saccalawgroup.com/staff/emma-thomas/
• a Mrs Emma Thomas on the staff at UWE Bristol
• Emma Thomas, a Welsh netball player

I used to wish I had a less common name (and still do sometimes), but I suppose my name has some advantages.

The telephone

Originally published on my OU study blog while studying module TU100 'My digital life'

Relates to Part 1: 1.1 The telephone.

I found this comparison of the development of the computer to the earlier development of the telephone, really interesting. I've often thought about this when encountering people who seem really opposed to social media such as Facebook. How must the telephone have seemed when it first started to become widespread? Did some people pronounce that it would have terrible consequences for human relationships? Was it dismissed as a new-fangled piece of nonsense that would never last?

Also I thought about how the switch to STD must presumably have put a lot of operators out of work. This Lady article refers to the work of telephonists in the days when calls were manually connected. This book apparently describes working as a GPO telephonist. This Sunday Express article is interesting and notes that 'The job of operator became a popular choice of career for women in the early and mid-20th century.' It concludes: 'In an age when it is so easy to contact anyone, anywhere, something of the magic of the early years of telephony has been lost.' Over-nostalgic? I don't know as I don't remember the time when you had to go through an operator to make calls. Do older people feel nostalgic for the age of the operator? I can see how a human element in the process of making a telephone call has been lost - though the flip side of that is that it's presumably a lot quicker and easier now to reach the person you're actually trying to speak to.

(Why were long-distance calls called 'trunk' calls?)

What was the job of a ‘telephonist’? This job is referred to in The Best of Girl, published in 2006, a collection of extracts from the 1950s Girl comic, as part of 'Girl's Special Series on Careers'. It begins: 'Vivien has a pleasant voice and a good memory and hopes to become a telephonist when she leaves school', and goes on to outline the training that Vivien undergoes and the duties of the job. It also shows a male friend greeting Vivien with "I hear you're one of the 'Hello Girls' now". To which Vivien responds yes, she is, and she's "awfully thrilled".

Fire and brimstone; more August activities

Received this inspirational pamphlet through the door recently. As evidence for life after death, it features a number of quotes from dying people who had behaved shortly before death in a manner interpreted as meaning they saw glimpses of “the other side”, including one Augustus Toplady, a hymn writer, who cried out “Oh, what delights!”, shortly before, presumably, dying, and a May Wilcox, who allegedly threw up her arms exclaiming “Oh, do you hear the music!”. Presumably the delirium of fever had been ruled out as a possible cause. Less fortunate souls included a Mr W, who allegedly cried “I am in the flames! Pull me out!”, an Unnamed Infidel, who saw a great high wall rising around him, and one Sir Thomas Scott, who, somewhat puzzlingly, cried “Begone you and your trumphery.” It ends (right) by suggesting ways in which one can avoid ending up in the lake of fiery torment, including sending for a free leaflet on how to prepare for Heaven courtesy of A & M McBride of 61 Sealstown Road. Thank God there are people like them who are willing to share their knowledge.

Overdue catch-up with Claire back in August at The Bull at Sonning, where we had a lovely Friday evening dinner sitting outside. Claire has recently left the hospital near Oxford she has been working at and has started a new job as an assistant Psychological Wellbeing Practitioner, part of the NHS’ IAPT service. She had been doing a week or so’s training over near Shinfield when we got together, but is apparently going to be based in Bracknell, which she didn’t seem too thrilled about. We had a look around for George Clooney, who has apparently been to The Bull since moving into the village, but no sign. Claire noted that she’s been going there more often than usual in the hope of seeing him, but no sightings as yet. Uri Geller has, conversely, recently left Sonning to move back to Israel, after living in the area for many years.

Cat

This cat, believed to be resident two doors down, has recently been spending more time in our garden, and a few weekends ago I had to chase it out of the dining room more than once. There are two small children and a dog resident at its own house, so we feel it may be searching out a quieter environment. Have some sympathy with it, but we are reluctant to condone its coming into the house as Harley is (perhaps naturally) nervous of cats.

Afternoon with the Clarks on 22 August. Arrived at their house to be greeted by Ray Sr, who gave me a brief update on how things were with the family, then Carol and I walked around the corner to Ray’s sister Caroline’s house, where we spent a few hours at Caroline’s younger daughter Leonie’s tenth birthday party, though in practice we were able to spend most of it sitting in the kitchen chatting while Leonie and her friends did crafty things in the front room. Had a couple of slices of Meat Feast pizza, plus a few dips in a chocolate fountain that had caused Caroline’s husband Tony a certain amount of stress in the preparation but which turned out OK in the end. Tony and Caroline told me about Cosmo, a restaurant on Friar Street that I’ve never been to but which apparently has an amazing chocolate fountain – indeed Tony had a photo of it on his phone. Perhaps it’ll have to be tried. I have reservations about ‘casual dining’ (presumably, aka help yourself buffet) but perhaps I should overcome these.

The following day I galvanised Ruth into going for a Sunday walk with the promise of early evening dinner in The Griffin afterwards. We took the 25 to Peppard Stores, the last stop on the line, and then walked up to Peppard (via the ‘ravine’ referred to in the Wikipedia piece) and turned down Church Lane to the church. Saw Henley House through the trees, according to this Geograph entry the former rectory; looks as though it was for sale a couple of years ago.  After wasting some time on a bit of footpath confusion, gave up and took a footpath leading from near the church south to Sonning Common via Spring Wood, where we passed Sedgehill Spring before coming out onto Blounts Court Road, where we went for a drink at the Butchers Arms. Ruth picked up a soggy bag of runner beans from among some for sale outside someone's garden.

Soggy runners

Barbecue

Went down to Mum and Dad’s for the August Bank Holiday weekend. Had a fairly quiet time with a wander around Abergavenny on the Saturday afternoon and a family lunch with Hannah and Henry on the Sunday. A barbecue was attempted and didn’t work badly, but then it unfortunately rained most of the time we were actually eating. Dad insisted on sitting outside claiming the air helped his breathing, so Ruth and I gamely sat out with him while the others huddled in the conservatory. Ruth took the train back to Reading on the Monday while I stayed over until the Tuesday morning, mainly to avoid the gridlock caused by the festival departure day. Mum and I went for a pleasant walk around the town house-snooping in the afternoon.

Found Harley in this entirely unacceptable position last weekend. Told him he is not a cat and should get his bum off my pillow. I blame Willow - he never jumped up on the furniture until he saw her do it.

Birthday; impending dentistry

Took the afternoon off on 12 August to go and watch the last part of The Hobbit trilogy with Ray. We were both left distinctly underwhelmed by the film; the story really doesn’t merit having been stretched out into three parts – or at least, if you’re going to, spend the extra time on the characters and fleshing out interesting strands of the story. Battles, and the build up to them, are officially Not Interesting. Well, not to me, anyway.

Ray shared the news that he has been successful in securing a mooring at Enslow Marina on the Oxford Canal, so will be leaving the Thames & Kennet sometime during September – date to be fixed partly depending on the weather. I vaguely know the stretch of canal as he and I went for a walk near there a few years ago. He didn’t seem fazed by the prospect of the longer distance he’ll have to drive to work, but I guess will see how it works out in practice.

Spent a few hours at Gail’s husband Rob’s 40th birthday party a couple of Saturdays ago, though he isn’t actually 40 until mid-September. It was one of those parties containing different categories of guests, none of whom knew each other, so there were the inevitable little factions. Ruth’s mum and aunt were both there, so we spoke to them for most of the time, though I did dimly recognize one guest as working for Reading Borough Council (as does Rob), as I think it was him we saw about our Building Notice for our once-planned upstairs bathroom. The occasion did feature a hog roast with some pretty excellent crackling.

Kyoto Garden

On the Sunday and Monday we had an overnight stay in London, as last year, to celebrate my birthday, again staying in a Premier Inn on the Sunday night, this time the London Holborn hotel. We started by getting the bus over to Kensington High Street and seeing if we could visit the Kensington Roof Gardens – sadly not, as they were closed until the following Wednesday, but they sound worth a visit. They are on the roof of the building that evidently used to be the department store Derry & Toms, according to Ruth’s aunt, who evidently remembers it - as it closed in 1973, I don’t. Also hadn't realised that Barkers had now closed, though thankfully the spectacular building is still standing. I used to go to Kensington High Street reasonably regularly in my late teens and early twenties - partly because of the now long-closed Kensington Market, where I bought a little black jacket with now-unfashionable shoulder pads, which I still have - but haven't been anything like so much in recent years.

We walked down the High Street and had a look at the Kyoto Garden in Holland Park, though it was rather crowded. Then – claiming birthday dibs – I made Ruth walk down to the King’s Road, which I thought a pleasant stroll through posh streets, including The Boltons, but she confessed partway round that she isn’t quite as enamoured of just walking around in London as I am. This is a serious blow - though as I am not quite as enamoured of browsing shoes, handbags and jewellery as she is, it probably evens out. We did stop for a cup of tea en route. Made the discovery that Heal’s on the King's Road has closed its doors and seems to be becoming a Metro Bank – how sad. The Tottenham Court Road branch appears to be still there at the moment. We had a browse in Peter Jones as Ruth is on a quest for a new handbag, and also in Peruvian Connection, where she bought a dress. Then caught a bus across town and checked in at our hotel on Red Lion Street.

We made our way down to Soho in the evening for a cocktail at Balans, the bar opposite Comptons that we’d been to previously. This time I had made my mind up to have a cocktail, and decided beforehand to go for a margarita, being the only cocktail I’ve so far tried that I’d order again. However, in a fatal moment of trying to vary things, I went for a frozen rather than a classic margarita and decided to have it flavoured with passion fruit, with the result that what arrived just looked like a helping of sorbet, albeit alcoholic. Perhaps I’m not cut out for cocktail bars. The three young chaps at the table next to us were sharing a bottle of rosé, so perhaps we should have gone for that. Afterwards we wandered round trying to identify somewhere to go for dinner, and made the somewhat odd decision to try Garlic & Shots, a low-key looking establishment that looks a bit out of place among the mainly quite smart restaurants in the area. However, it was a bit of a laugh: remarkably dim lighting, pleasantly cheap yet drinkable house red, pleasant serving staff and an informal atmosphere. We did indeed have some delicious roasted garlic, accompanied by garlic bread, to start. For a main I chose the baby back ribs, though ended up envying Ruth’s steak.

On the Monday morning I’d booked us in for breakfast at the Darwin Brasserie at the Sky Garden, which I’d only been dimly aware of before but my colleague Jill had been there with her family a couple of weeks before and recommended it as somewhere to go. Having been there, it’s certainly an amazing space with incredible views – we were lucky to go on a clear sunny morning – though I thought the term ‘garden’ somewhat overblown – it’s really more in the way of a bit of planting. A few pics here. We had a nice if expensive breakfast at a table with a great view. Only downside was the un-warmed croissants, which I duly left a comment about in a TripAdvisor review. Well, you have to, don’t you.

After leaving the Sky Garden we checked out and made our way over to Tate Britain – where I’d not been for a number of years – to see the Barbara Hepworth exhibition ‘Sculpture for a Modern World’. Some beautiful pieces on display. I’m keen to see the Sculpture Garden at her former studio, but that does necessitate organising a trip to Cornwall, which I haven’t done yet.

Episode of toothache a week or so ago in the molar that was diagnosed with a crack earlier in the year (bit down on something, possibly a salt crystal, in tooth with large filling; X-ray subsequently showed crack under filling; dentist made woeful noises about possible root canal needed in future). Partly in fear of likely cost of major dental treatment and partly due to thinking that I really should register with a dentist in Milton Keynes, I made attempts to register as an NHS patient with a dentist here – however, despite having spent a lunch hour going in and filling in their registration form, they still haven’t confirmed that they’ve registered me. As a result, when toothache became worse a couple of weeks ago I panicked and booked an appointment at my private dentist in Caversham. My usual dentist was away and I had to see her stand-in, a chap named Peter who suggested that my toothache might be due to bruxism (apparently the latest buzz thing in dentistry). He even gave me a Post-It with 'Bruxism' written on it, so that I could Google it. As I was visibly sceptical, he hedged his bets and gave me a 7-day course of Amoxicillin as well, thus possibly contributing to the apparently rampant problem of over-prescription of antibiotics – though in my case no one can say that I demanded them, as I don’t think I’ve taken antibiotics since childhood (if then). I dutifully finished the course, and my toothache did wear off about halfway through the course, though whether because of anything to do with the drugs, who knows. Saw my usual dentist Jill earlier this week, who confirmed that bruxism was NOT a likely explanation of my toothache and suggested various treatment options. Have said I’ll go away and think about it.

Festival of Spirit; quiche; London delights

On the last Saturday in July took myself to the annual Peace in the Park ‘Festival of Spirit’ event held at the Global Retreat Centre, as I’d never been. As with all the GRC’s events, it’s free to attend, something I have wondered about previously. In true loving the planet and the all-seeing supreme consciousness fashion, I took the bus from Caversham to Nuneham Courtenay (about a 50-minute journey) and walked the mile up the drive of Nuneham Park to the house. The event was all very feel-good and I enjoyed a pleasant few hours, though didn’t stay beyond mid-afternoon. Going to one of the GRC's events is worth it just to get access to the lovely grounds, quite aside from anything that might be laid on, so I spent much of the time just wandering around, including doing the Tree Trail. Went to Cello in the Chapel and a guided meditation in the Higher Power Pavilion. Decided against a session with the Emergency Optimist as was put off by the queue; she was evidently striking a chord with people in need of a shot of optimism. Briefly considered some Self-Mastery Cards.

I was presented with a couple of leaflets during the course of the day, one about veganism, given out with my lunch by the caterers Veggies and one about the Compassionate Revolution. Never had any inclinations towards veganism (partly through laziness at what must be the sheer effort involved, plus probably accepting never eating out in a restaurant again, plus liking meat – the last one’s probably the deal-breaker); probably should engage with the CR but not honestly sure I will. Veggies would have more chance of converting people if they made their veggie burgers tastier; it was one of the dullest things I’d ever eaten. Bung in a bit of chilli? Salt? MSG?

Grounds of Nuneham Park

Had our Strategy & Information Office ‘Summer Event’ on the Friday afternoon prior to Peace in the Park, a day characterized by torrential rain the whole day, somewhat to my relief given that the event was scheduled to end with ‘Games’ from 3pm to 4pm and I had had nightmare visions of being corralled into some sort of team ball game (one of the finest things about leaving school, IMO, was never having to participate in one of these ever again). In the event, the ‘Games’ consisted of an amusing array of giant Jenga, giant Connect 4, skittles and similar (Twister was also brought out, but no one seemed to want to play that - probably, like me, not finding the thought of possibly ending up with nose pressed against a colleague’s thigh all that enticing). These delights were all from a large storage box in the OU’s Pavilion Bar, where the afternoon was held (NB bar not actually open).

Since Willow’s death, Harley has been re-exploring the ground floor, having been more or less banished upstairs by Willow during her residence. Ruth swears she spotted a binky in the living room during his first weekend without her. Willow was given to chasing Harley out of the living room if he dared to enter, sometimes tearing out a lump of his fur for good measure. Why they couldn't just co-exist I've no idea - unless rabbits just don't do that. But then they live in burrows in the wild. Perhaps they're so tightly packed there that resistance isn't really possible. Subsequently, Ruth appears to be wavering and on the verge of deciding that Harley may well need another companion. I am resolutely ignoring this.

As a follow up to May’s Wine Tasting Experience, Helen kindly delivered the two bottles of Calle Mayor Cabernet Sauvignon 2011 that I’d ordered as part of the communal case we bought from the company Pieroth. Now pondering a suitable occasion to drink one of them, with appropriate company, as obviously they just shouldn't be slugged back as part of relief of finishing a week's work, etc, and Ruth doesn't drink red wine (making her, to my mind, not a proper wine drinker).

As our recent purchase of a splendid new Bosch fridge-freezer made our old freezer redundant, I advertised it on Reading Freegle (Freecycle as was) at 12.30 a couple of Saturdays ago and was surprised when it was taken by just after 1pm. In fact I had four replies to the ad in the first hour. People are obviously hovering in desperation for secondhand freezers. Now worried in case one of the people I didn’t offer it to was more worthy. Tend to adopt the approach of offering it to the person who can collect first, as by the time I get around to advertising stuff I’m already at the stage of no longer wanting it under my feet.

Nia racing Daddy

Paid a flying visit to Abergavenny on the first weekend in August, partly to visit Dad who has been ill with pneumonia; Ruth came down on the train and Dave and family joined us on the Saturday. In an attempt to relieve Mum I offered to bake quiches to accompany lunch, continuing recent enthusiasm for quiche-making. Nia baked two jam tarts with offcuts of quiche pastry I gave her – she had a good go at negotiating for more pastry but I managed to resist. Alys spent some of the day on her all-singing all-dancing playmat. (At one point I went into the sitting room to find Alys gone – Dave had taken her upstairs for a nap – but the playmat still emitting relentless tinkly music, while Dad stared at it from the sofa with a “Make it stop” expression. I managed to find the off switch.) We went for a short walk down to the water meadows in the afternoon. Nia appeared not too thrilled with much of the walk, though cheered up briefly for a race with Daddy.

Learned that sadly the cutting of our black bamboo hadn’t survived. The pruned section of the other bamboo we’d donated seems to have taken well, though unfortunately Dad doesn’t seem to like that one.

After 10-hour day on Friday compiling updates and report on the National Student Survey data, had intended to do a bit more this morning but couldn’t in the end face it. My update to Judith at close of play on Friday risked turning into babbling about how I didn't feel I'd done enough, at which point she told me to go home and have a relaxing weekend. Consequently, I ignored work this morning and went out to Asda instead to purchase a mop and some drain unblocker, as the bathroom in the flat was in desperate need of a clean. I indeed know how to enjoy myself. Bathroom is now, hopefully, sparkling.

Met Violetta, from the next flat to mine, in the bin store on Friday morning. She noted how nice it was to meet a fellow resident as she'd feared there might be no one else actually alive in the building. 'Tis the way with flats mainly rented to working people, I guess - you'd have to rely on bumping into someone else in the corridor either on your way out to work (when most of us are probably not at our most conversational) or on the way home.

Had a day in London yesterday, officially to meet up with Helen, whom I don’t think I’d seen since her wedding last September, but I generally make the most of the Travelcard by going in early. Had myself breakfast at Carluccio’s (naturally) before taking a walk down through Bloomsbury and past Coram’s Fields and Great Ormond Street Hospital to find the Premier Inn that Ruth and I have booked into for my birthday next weekend. It’s close to Lamb’s Conduit Street (love London place names; no idea which part of a lamb that is ...) and comes out on High Holborn right next to the Kimchee. Walked from there down to look at the Walkie-Talkie (quite a long walk) as we may also be going there next weekend. On the way, passed the gardens in the ruins of Christ Church Greyfriars, which I'd not seen before. Then took a bus to Oxford Street and wandered around briefly before going for a cold drink in the café of The Photographers' Gallery, where Helen and I had arranged to meet. The last time I’d been there was five years ago prior to the refurb, though I have to say I think I preferred the café’s previous position on an upper floor. It served nice food though and was surprisingly uncrowded considering it’s just off Oxford Street – we got tables with ease for both lunch and afternoon tea.

We’d come to see the Shirley Baker ‘Women, Children and Loitering Men’ exhibition - fascinating photos of what looked like incredible deprivation, though Baker's point was evidently the destruction of the community life in the terraced streets that resulted from the 1960s slum clearance programmes. As a ticket gives you access to all the gallery’s exhibits we also looked round the We Want More exhibition on the top two floors, though I think all that clever visual imagery stuff might have passed over my head somewhat. After tea and some excellent chocolate cake and a gander at some of Helen's wedding photographs, we made our way out past some deafening garage music which had set up camp on Ramillies Street, me muttering in grumpy old woman fashion though I don’t think Helen was far behind. Wandered down Oxford Street a bit to prolong our chat, though I hate fighting against the crowds and eventually made Helen turn off down a side street.

We parted around 4pm, her to buy sheets in BhS and me to return to Euston. Helen and her new husband Greg have been living in one room in a house shared by seven people until quite recently, which from her descriptions sounds horrendous. Thankfully they've now moved into a flat of their own. Concluded that neither of us is suited to house-shares - though I have pondered for some while the possibility of moving into some sort of commune in later life. My boss Judith appears to be pondering a similar 'house shares for old people' type of plan. We concluded at lunch last week that there has to be a market for that. Both Ruth and previously Ray have been of the view that someone of my general anal-retentiveness and tenacious cling to personal privacy would be manifestly unsuited to any sort of shared living arrangement, but they are both of course wrong.

Dorsetry

Ruth and I returned on Friday 17th from a week (actually six nights) in Dorset on the Jurassic Coast. As happened last year in July, we (I say ‘we’ – actually it was entirely her) decided quite late on that we just HAD to have a week away, and consequently had to do a quick search for what was still available. Ruth decided that she fancied a coastal property and as our brief visit to Kilve Beach in 2011 seems to have fired her up with enthusiasm for fossil-type things, she chose the Jurassic Coast. We found somewhere via www.holidaycottages.co.uk and booked in. Potted synopsis of our holiday (pictures here):

Saturday
 

Charmouth beach

Distressingly, had rabbit put down. Buried rabbit. Caught remaining rabbit by dint of poking him out from under the bed with a feather duster. Packed remaining rabbit. Lovely lady at RSPCA place assured us we’d probably done the right thing re Willow. Left Reading heading south towards Basingstoke, a route I irrationally loathe. Stopped at Winchester services around 3pm for a sandwich as we were starving and hadn’t been able to face lunch after earlier death duties. Drove on and arrived at Charmouth, our destination, sometime around 6pm I think. Opened wine. Can’t remember much after that.

Sunday
 

Black cliffs at Charmouth

Walked down to Charmouth beach and had a poke about. Strikingly black cliffs which my geologist father told me are made of marine muds formed with little oxygen and are oil bearing at Kimmeridge Bay, further to the east on the Isle of Purbeck. (Indeed Wikipedia flirtatiously suggests that there’s an actual division of the Jurassic period called the Kimmeridgian.) Ruth tried to book onto a fossil hunting tour for the coming Wednesday, but disappointingly it was already booked up. The beach was indeed crowded with people hammering at rocks with little hammers, which you could hire from the shop. 

Monday 
 

Bathing nudes

We caught the X53 Jurassic Coaster into Lyme Regis (as I flatly refused to drive there, being afflicted with nightmare visions of getting trapped in cobbled cul-de-sacs). Walked down to the beach and along to The Cobb. Pleasant beach front. Walked to the end of the Cobb and queued behind various other people to take a photograph on the end of it. We didn’t have a black cloak handy so there was a limit to how Meryl Streep-like Ruth could look in this picture. We had a nice lunch in The Royal Standard – I had a crab sandwich; I forget what Ruth had. We were amused by this picture behind our table featuring a number of frolicking nudes, no doubt taking a spot of sea bathing for their health. Walked around the town a bit and popped into a few shops. I bought two rings in a fossil shop also selling a lot of New Agey crystal stuff, one in black hematite (for which this site claims lots of good things, though I’ve never meddled with my Root Chakra as yet) and one in red chrysocolla. Had a pleasant dinner in the evening at The Royal Oak, a pub towards the top end of Charmouth’s steep high street.

Tuesday 

Day Out in the Car, though I made Ruth leave the cottage at 7.30am to avoid crammed car parks (am a tad over-anxious). Drove to the Chesil Beach car park and parked (obviously). Walked up onto Chesil Beach, past this wooden cormorant. Discovered rapidly that Chesil Beach is hell to walk on. For some reason I’d imagined it as a pleasant sandy spit, but it’s a strenuous pebble fest. Rapidly abandoned plans to go for a walk along it and crossed the A354 and walked along the footpath towards Portland. Ruth decided there wasn’t anything very interesting-looking on Portland so decided to sit for a bit while I walked on and eventually came to Portland Marina, which has some pleasant views of boats and some boards with bits of history. Portland certainly isn’t very prepossessing from the causeway side.

Returned to the Chesil beach café and had brunch (coffee good). Drove back along the Jurassic Coast road as far as Abbotsbury and went to the Subtropical Gardens. V. nice. On the way back to Charmouth diverted off to West Bay, for reasons that now escape me as it’s horrid, though does have some interesting-looking (and apparently quite crumbly) cliffs. Went for another dinner at the Royal Oak in the evening – we had intended to visit the Charmouth Fish Bar and Pizzeria, but it was closed for the first half of the week we were there thanks to its fryer breaking down, and after that we’d kind of lost interest in it.

Wednesday 

Ruth went down to Charmouth beach in the morning and spent a couple of hours fossil-hunting, while I loafed around the cottage. She returned with a collection of nondescript rocks (as opposed to the entire ichthyosaur we had hoped for) which she is threatening to arrange on Willow’s grave. I suggested it was because she hadn’t been wearing a Mary Anning-style bonnet. In the afternoon, I suggested we took the bus to Morcombelake, the next village along from Charmouth, and walk to  Golden Cap and thence back to Charmouth along the coast path. How little I knew. After a brief visit to the Artwave West gallery, we embarked on undoubtedly one of the most strenuous walks I’ve ever done. Actually collapsed on all fours at one point, thinking I couldn’t go on, but managed to, largely through not having much choice and all. Slogging from Morcombelake up to Golden Cap, apparently the highest point on the south coast, was a walk in itself, but we then had a walk of several miles up and down

headland back to Charmouth, not helped by the coast path having fallen into the sea in several places resulting in sizeable diversions inland. We eventually staggered back to the cottage via Charmouth’s branch of Nisa, where I bought a piece of steak, feeling in need of some red meat. Pondered fitness levels. We had been passed at one point on the walk by an American woman probably 10 years my senior, who strode past us in shorts with a hearty “Lovely on top, isn’t it?” She was probably at Poole before we’d staggered back to Charmouth.

Thursday

Weymouth Old Harbour

Went to Weymouth, as Ruth decided she fancied it and I couldn't face another coastal walk after the previous day. I decided again that I didn’t fancy driving, so we took the Jurassic Coaster in the other direction – about an hour and a half’s journey but much of it is a pleasant drive along the scenic coast road, including creeping through villages like Abbotsbury which weren’t designed for cars never mind double-deckers. Saw the striking St Catherine’s Chapel up on the hill. Got off the bus at Weymouth in a cool breeze and immediately bought ice creams, in true British fashion. Walked along the beach for a bit in an easterly direction. Turned back and walked down towards the pier area, but found it a bit depressing so turned off towards the Old Harbour, which is quite attractive and we were briefly cheered. Found the Galley Bistro where we stopped for lunch, plaice in Ruth’s case and a somewhat alarming-looking whole crab in mine. Had a bit of a walk around Brewers Quay, but it seemed to be entirely an antique/junk emporium rather than the artisan jewelers Ruth had been seekng out. Walked up to Nothe Fort and the accompanying gardens and along to Newton's Cove, then back into Weymouth and caught the bus back.

Friday

Stourheadian view

Left Char Valley Cottages at about 9.30am. I had decided I fancied an alternative route home so drove briefly west to Honiton and then picked up the A303, ignoring its reputation as a holiday snagfest. Saw signs to Stourhead and I made some comment to the effect that I'd been there once years ago and it was nice, with the result that we made a snap decision to turn off and go there. Started with refreshments in the café and then went for a pleasant c. 2 mile walk around the gardens. Drove on, leaving the A303 at Andover and detouring via Newbury, arriving back in Caversham around 4pm. Went to RRR to collect Harley.

The cottage we rented, Jurassic Tide Line, part of the Char Valley Cottages development, was perfectly pleasant, though afflicted with a few niggles: rather a dingy dining area at the end of the kitchen (why did the designer not put the French windows on the kitchen/diner rather than the living room? I never get that); the presence of an inventory of kitchen equipment which guests were requested to check on their arrival at the property, presumably so anything missing could be deducted from the £50 holding deposit they make you put down - we looked at it briefly, decided we were on holiday and left it. Additionally, there was indeed a 'private patio area' but it was one of the least inspiring outdoor spaces I’d ever seen – far more space than we reasonably needed, but simply a large expanse of concrete slabs with some unattractively cheap patio furniture. We christened it ‘the drill yard’. Kind of put paid to my plans for some pleasant outdoor breakfasting. On the plus side, we both guiltily enjoyed the recliners in the living room, though vowed never to speak of it to anyone. Additionally, I realised after we'd arrived home that I'd left my DVD of The Devil Rides Out in the DVD player (having taken it and The Wicker Man away with us in order to have a bit of an homage to the late Christopher Lee) and the owners were kind enough to send it back to us. So that was nice.

I was amused by how many cute ‘danger’ signs we encountered over the course of the week. Obviously the west Dorset coast is an area filled with many hazards. Here are a selection that I photographed:

Phew. Watch your step.