Day in court (almost)

Following the incident back in March, I subsequently received – to my surprise – a letter from the Criminal Justice System, asking me to go to court to give evidence. Had not expected this given that the police officer who took my statement had advised me that she didn’t think the case would go any further. They do ask you as part of taking a statement whether you’d be willing to go to court if necessary, and I had admittedly said Yes, purely to show willing and not imagining that I’d actually have to do it. However. 

Subsequently had various contacts with the Thames Valley Witness Care Unit - WCUs apparently having been set up as part of the No Witness, No Justice project, a joint police and CPS initiative to try to ensure witnesses get a better deal.

As part of this being called to give evidence business, I encountered the poisoned concept of a ‘reserve list’. Seemingly Crown Courts don’t set actual dates for most trials (though I read somewhere that magistrates courts apparently do) but instead put them on ‘reserve lists’ for specified two week periods, during which time they’ll be put on the list of trials for the following day if there’s sufficient court space. If the trial doesn’t get heard during that two-week period, the court apparently just gets to set another two-week period, during which witnesses have to put their lives on hold again and be ready to drop everything to go to court the following day. No idea how long this could potentially go on. In the event, I got the call last Thursday afternoon to attend court on Friday, the last day of the two-week window, so I dutifully turned up at Aylesbury Crown Court for 10am on Friday morning. Was met by a pleasant volunteer from the Witness Service – a charity, not the same as the Witness Care Unit – who showed me and two other women downstairs into the basement and into a tiny little room which is apparently all Aylesbury has by way of witness facilities. There isn’t even anywhere to get a drink – you have to ask permission to go out of the building and buy a takeaway coffee and bring it back. The Witness Service man did express sympathy for us re the facilities and told us that if only our cases were being heard at Amersham, that has a lovely witness suite. Great; thanks for that.

The two other women who arrived at the same time as me – one in her 50s, one in (I’d guess) her 80s and evidently her mother – were connected with the other case being heard at Aylesbury that day, but it wasn’t long before the victim in my case turned up with his mum and stepdad, completely filling the tiny witness room. In fairness to the lad he did thank me for helping him, and his (bright orange spray-tanned) mother thanked me and shook my hand. However, both the lad (I’m calling him a lad; he was apparently 25, but I am getting quite old) and his mother were seemingly unaware that they should not be talking in any detail about the case in my hearing, or else were unwilling to pay any attention to this rule, as they related the details of it to the other woman and her mother (in exchange, 50-something was v. keen to share the details of her assault by her schizophrenic neighbour armed with a screwdriver). Eventually I got up and said I’d have to leave the room as they were talking about the case, and wandered the corridor for a bit until Witness Service Man (henceforth WSM) returned and allowed me to sit in the office along with another witness in the other case, who’d arrived too late to fit into the witness sitting room (the latter a somewhat overblown term for the actual facilities).

By 1pm neither of the cases had been called – this despite the fact that we’d all been told to turn up for 10am – and WSM came to tell us that the lawyers were breaking for lunch. Great. Bought an M&S sandwich and mooched about Aylesbury, imagining lawyers in a banqueting hall somewhere laughing and throwing bones over their shoulders. Returned to the court at 2pm to be told apologetically by WSM that it had been decided that my evidence was not required and I was being released. While undoubtedly relieved not to have to be cross-examined, which I can’t say I’d been looking forward to, was peeved that this couldn’t have been decided earlier in the proceedings – ideally, before I’d used up a morning of my life driving to Aylesbury and then sitting in a cellar for three hours. Bade goodbye to WSM and returned to my car and thence to Reading.

Spirits rose slightly on sunny pleasant drive on country roads via Chinnor and then my usual route south via Watlington. Went for dinner that evening with Ruth at the Suwanna where I shared my views on The Justice System In This Country.

Postscript 
Received an email update today from Kirsty, my Witness Care Officer, as follows:

I have now been able to speak to the Crown Prosecution Service at Court who confirmed the reason you did not need to give evidence on Friday was that the defence agreed that your statement was OK to use without them needing to cross examine you. I’m sorry that defence only made this decision last minute.

Perhaps my statement was so watertight that the defence couldn't possibly see how they'd pick any holes in it?

Kirsty later sent a further follow up to say that there had been a verdict, and that the defendant had been found not guilty to one of the two counts, and that the jury had been unable to reach a verdict on the second count. Apparently the latter means that the CPS has to decide whether to proceed to a retrial on the second count at some point. Currently unsure as to whether the 'no verdict' count is one that my evidence would relate to. Kirsty added optimistically "Hopefully if they do proceed to a re trial you will not need to attend", but we'll see.

Speed; bulb tea; fresh air and exercise

The 'Most Popular' slot on the BBC News website continues to amuse, with this incongruous pairing in the top two spot yesterday.

Recently paid my third speeding fine (and collected accompanying penalty points) following being snapped last October. Highly irritating as always. Also, am mightily peeved at not being offered a speed awareness course in place of the penalty points, as a number of people I know seem to have been on these, including Dad who apparently enjoyed the one he went on recently. The initial form I was sent gave me the option to indicate if I’d like to go on a course if a place was available, which I did, but no joy. October’s snapping was near Watlington and would have been on one of my Monday morning cross country drives to join the M40. The previous occasion was near Ross-on-Wye in 2008, and the first in Henley in 2000, when as I recall I was cruising happily back to our flat for breakfast after dropping Ray off at work. All three in 30 mph zones. On the 2008 occasion I was driving a hire car so, embarrassingly, had the notice forwarded to me by the hire people.

Looking back at the notice from 2000: TVP seem now to state the speed you were doing, which they didn’t then. Also my fine on that occasion was a mere £40, whereas it had gone up to £100 this time. Am attempting to take great care to keep to the limit in the 30 mph zones on my Monday drive, even when that involves ignoring other cars backing up behind you and trying to overtake.

Relayed the tale of woe to my hairdresser Lisa on Saturday, who commented that she hadn't seen me as a speed demon. Assured her that I am merely a victimised innocent.

Went for a solo dinner at Wagamama after work last Thursday and ordered a jasmine flowering tea, thinking it would be served in a little pot as per when I’ve had it in other places. Was surprised to be served with a glass of hot water on a saucer, with what looked like a bulb next to it. Assuming I was supposed to put the bulb into the water, I did, and it did indeed burst forth into something resembling a flower. It was the first time I’d encountered flowering tea, but apparently it is a known concept. Not sure whether it's supposed to do something special for you, or whether it's just meant to look pretty. Actually it looks a bit weird, unless sipping from a cupful of leaves and twiggy bits is your thing.

Looking back towards Tanners Lane

Enticed Ruth out for a healthy walk on Saturday, up past Highdown School and along Highdown Hill Road, which peters out into a path leading uphill to Tanners Lane (although there was tarmac visible so quite possibly it was a through route for traffic at some point in the past). Crossed a field from Tanners Lane to join Dysons Wood Lane, where we noted this pair of pillars, which a bit of research suggests marked the driveway to Dysons Wood House. Another Geograph picture has a bit more blurb about the house, suggesting that it was earmarked for demolition in 2011. Couldn't find anything subsequent to confirm whether it actually was demolished, but I have to say I couldn't see it from standing by the pillars (though the hedge had grown up a good bit since the first of the pictures).

Walked through Tokers Green back down into Caversham, stopping off at the Griffin for a pint and packet of crisps. Exclaimed at the number of calories in a bag of Kettle Chips.

Prior to the walk, began Saturday with a reluctant visit to see Jill the hygienist at Prospect Street Dental Surgery. Apparently, as Jill mentioned more than once, it had been eight months since my last visit, which had evidently annoyed her since she's asked me to see her every four months. Not sure what my incentive is supposed to be for forking out around £40 to have my teeth scraped and be lectured about tartar buildup, and have taken to trying to stretch the gap between appointments, though Jill doesn't take cancellations lying down and is given to phoning you and forcing you to rebook. Ruth and I theorised that she'll probably start coming round to the house if I cancel another one.

Burglary; Christmas; floods

Reasonably poor start to the New Year when I returned to my MK flat on 4 January to discover a scene of devastation in the ground floor bedroom. Trauma at discovering that pretty much all my electronic goods were missing was mitigated by the flood of relief at knowing that I’d backed up my data (on two removable hard drives and via Dropbox – am nothing if not anally retentive), and by the fact that my laptop and Galaxy Tab had escaped the thief’s clutches as I’d taken them away with me for the Christmas break. The mess in the bedroom was such that it was initially difficult to figure out what else had been taken, but it turned out later to be quite a lot of jewellery, plus a variety of miscellaneous items.

Discovered a card from Thames Valley Police on the doormat, noting that they had had to secure the property after a break-in (indeed one of the large panes of glass in the bedroom window had been boarded up – I didn’t notice initially) and urging me to get in touch with them. Duly did; spoke to PC Poulton of Milton Keynes’ CID and was half-surprised when he said he’d be with me within the hour. Not sure where I had got the idea that police don’t assign any urgency to attending burglary scenes, but I stand humbled. The young chap did indeed arrive (depressing realisation that all professionals are going to start increasingly seeming young from now on) and took a statement detailing my discovery of the scene and descriptions of the things that I was aware had been taken. (I think I had always assumed that victims were asked to compose their own statements in manner of a timed essay, but in fact the police write them for you – you just answer their questions.) He confirmed that – amazingly luckily for me, and I gathered relatively unusually – police had recovered most of my property following a tip-off, and it was in custody at MK police station.

A couple of forensic officers also turned up and proceeded to do a thorough evidence check of the bedroom and living area, which turns out to involve covering surfaces in a filthy black substance which is a devil to then get off. Also, I have now officially had my fingerprints taken – I think they assured me that they would be destroyed after the evidence gathering, but I wasn’t attending too much to that – trauma at being burgled alternating with excitement at being at an actual crime scene with real police. Ruth also arrived, having offloaded the rabbits through some sleight-of-hand and done a mercy dash up to MK, and as I decided I couldn’t face clearing up the bedroom, we booked a late room in the Jurys Inn and retreated there (v. nice, and room quite a bargain at £49). We also had a comfort dinner at Browns around the corner, which was entirely unnecessary. Returned to Old Groveway on the Sunday and Ruth insisted on tackling the bedroom by herself, which was noble as there was shattered glass everywhere.

Mention-worthy things NOT taken: the now-old laser printer I acquired on permanent loan from Ray’s dad – perhaps the thief anticipated difficulty in being able to download the drivers for it?; my bicycle, which was out on the patio and although the wheel was locked to the frame with a D-lock, the bike itself wasn’t actually secured to anything – it is, though, extremely heavy; the garnet cross handed down from a relative which is probably the most valuable piece of jewellery I own – a bit puzzling, this, as the thieves did take a number of obviously worthless pieces of jewellery including a collection of Girl Guide pins. Pointless things taken (though perhaps one shouldn’t ponder the logic): a small carrier bag full of postcards I have collected over the years, none of them of any monetary value; an old Motorola flip-up phone which I keep partly because I always thought it was cute and partly because it contains texts of sentimental value, and a business card holder engraved with my name (ghastly present from a training provider I worked with in my last job). The theft of the Mesh desktop PC Ray and I bought together in 2005 was also fairly pointless, though admittedly the thief probably didn’t realise its age, increasingly slow functioning and possibly failing hard drive. The thief (or thieves) also took my new DVD of The Hobbit, which I was a bit upset about as I’d only watched it once.

Ruth and I presented ourselves at Milton Keynes police station the following Monday for what turned out to be a three hour session of identifying and describing my stolen property. We were taken down to the basement property store where I identified the larger items, and then retreated to an interview room where I was shown all the smaller items in turn, in their evidence bags, which semi-obscured them, and in some cases asked to give more detailed descriptions. The session did reveal the absence of my platinum wedding band from the little wooden box I had been keeping it in since Ray and I separated – but as it’s the only thing so far that I am aware has not been recovered, I should no doubt consider myself lucky. On a lighter note: my attempts to describe a few of the postcards in the collection mentioned above had Ruth scoffing afterwards at my struggle to avoid mentioning that the collection contained a number of nudes, and instead focusing on trying to describe Constantin Brancusi’s Fish and John Everett Millais’ Autumn Leaves. Not sure whether my offer to spell ‘Millais’ constituted Plebgate-esque assumptions vis à vis the police, but the DS did appear to appreciate help with spelling it.

As a result of the burglary, I requested early release from my tenancy at Old Groveway and, to cut a bit of a story short, managed to check out of the property and hand back the keys on 24 January. The bulk of my stuff was shifted thanks to Bruce of Bruce Wilkinson Despatch, who was charmingly helpful and efficient, though could do with being a little less tactile if he wants his business to take off and beat the competition from cheap Polish drivers, which he told us about at some length. Was quite sad to say goodbye to Christina at no 12 Old Groveway, aka Stray Cat Lady, and Tony and Susannah at no 11, as they were all unfailingly friendly and pleasant during the time I was there.

Made (hopefully) my final visit to MK police station on 31 January, to give something called an ‘emotional impact’ statement and also, more importantly in my view, collect my property from the police property store. PC Poulton helpfully retrieved it from the basement – reappeared panting under the weight of a laden trolley; possibly I had more stuff recovered than is usually the case – and nobly pushed the trolley out to my car and helped me load up.

Did submit a claim on my contents insurance – my first, I think – for the value of my wedding ring plus the cost of some underwear and bedlinen that had broken glass trodden into it, and for my DVD player, which is working but is making a grinding noise it wasn’t making before. The Mesh, perversely, is still working, or at least, working as well as it was prior to the theft – am frankly impressed that it appears to have survived not only being stolen but also languishing in a police station basement for a month. Here it is in its evidence bag (right). Given that my data is safe, this was almost disappointing as it would have been a tempting opportunity to claim the cost of a new PC. I suppose I could have done that anyway, if I were the type of person to commit insurance fraud which, obviously, I’m not.

Indecision over what to do as regards accommodation has resulted in my currently being resident Monday to Thursday in Travelodges in and around Milton Keynes. Am not keen to take out another tenancy because of the expense and the requirement to commit to at least six months. Briefly considered taking a room in someone’s house, though I hate the idea, and did actually go and view a room in a new-build detached house in Greensand View in Woburn Sands. The landlady Sally seemed lovely, and we had quite an amiable chat over a cup of tea, but on reflection afterwards decided that I couldn’t face living in someone else’s house on an open-ended basis – possibly too old and have had my own place for too long. Also she has a dog and dogs, generally, smell, whatever dog owners may claim to the contrary.

Back to Travelodges. Travelodges are fine – indeed, Ray and I once took a week’s road trip around England in the early 1990s based entirely on staying at them, though it has to be said we were fairly young at the time. Think we started off at Scotch Corner, from memory, and worked our way back down south – forget all of them, but certainly took in Chesterfield and finished up with Wheatley. For whatever reason, it was a trip that I omitted to take any photographs of, so it exists only in my memory now, but it was nice.

Refurbed room at MK Central

Travelodge Shenley Church End

As there are various Travelodges in the vicinity of MK, have been alternating between three of them so far according to which has the cheapest rooms. This week am at the Travelodge Buckingham, an OK establishment next to a Shell garage on the A421, with a 24-hour Tesco opposite. Last week was at the Travelodge MK Central, which is in the process of undergoing a refurb and I lucked out with one of their redecorated rooms, featuring a snazzy new bed, luxury after the series of fairly saggy mattresses I’ve put up with over the last few weeks. Spent the week prior at the Travelodge MK Shenley Church End, a tired-looking former Innkeepers Lodge that’s in need of a refurb and updating to Travelodge branding, but does have the friendliest staff of the three.

A few non-burglary related highlights of the last couple of months:

Two unsuccessful job interviews, one for a job at the University of the Arts London, which I didn't particularly want anyway, and one for a job at the University of Surrey, which I did. But hey, I'm not bitter. And I did get to take a particularly windblown almost-selfie outside Guildford Cathedral, which I donated a pound to as it's apparently in need of asbestos removing from its roof.

Christmas, obviously. Ruth and I had a pre-Christmas trip to London on 22 December, to look at festive things. Surprisingly, started with lunch at Pizza Hut on Oxford Street; I hadn’t eaten in Pizza Hut for years, though they were a standard meal out destination when I was with my boyfriend Andy in the early 1990s and in the early days with Ray. Not sure Ruth had ever eaten in one, as she is highbrow about such places, but she was actually quite complimentary about the pizza. Their salad bars are still as indifferent as I remember them. Took in various shops’ Christmas displays, including Heal’s (naturally civilised) and Fortnum and Mason – the latter was a bloody bunfight, though Ruth managed to take a number of photos of posh wreaths. I think we refrained from buying anything, though I've blanked out a good bit of it. Stoked up briefly pre-Fortnums with tea at Richoux, a few doors down Piccadilly. After escaping from Fortnums only slightly battered, we walked back to Oxford Street and caught a bus back to Paddington.

Spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day at Ruth’s aunt’s house in Lambourn. Although she’d kept everyone guessing until Christmas Eve, Ruth’s mother also turned up, bringing her dog Muffin. For some reason – perhaps a kind desire to keep me amused – Mrs Spence tasked me with sorting out her magazine rack, so I spent a while sorting back issues of The Field, Wiltshire Life and The People’s Friend. On Christmas morning we took Muffin out for a walk, before returning to the house to help prepare veg. Lunch was a splendid joint of beef - first time I’ve had beef for Christmas lunch, but as I’ve never been able to get excited about turkey, it was a very welcome change. This photo of Ruth’s aunt carving shows off its divinely still-pink interior. We spent the afternoon/early evening watching Call the Midwife followed by Downton Abbey – I think I dozed off during the latter, but don’t think I was the only one, despite the excitement of the whole Maggie Smith/Shirley MacLaine set-to. Certainly Ruth’s mum appeared to doze through most of it, with Muffin sitting bolt upright on her lap in some sort of bizarre small guard dog scenario.

On Boxing Day we drove down to Abergavenny to see my parents, Dave, Hazel and Nia, and went for a stroll around Linda Vista Gardens before returning to the house to open more presents, via a drink at the Hen & Chickens. Even though Dave kindly worked out how to set up the timer on my camera so that we could all be in the photo, the photo without me in it was much better.

Finally, for now, flooding. The Thames has reached higher levels this January than I’ve ever seen it before, flooding Christchurch Meadows right up to Gosbrook Road. None of the area in the picture is usually under water, though boats on the Thames are visible in the far distance. Claire's birthday drinks at the Jolly Anglers on 8 February were enlivened by the Kennet rising quite a bit during the course of the evening and the landlord having a supply of sandbags brought into the pub. Luckily it didn't rise as much as feared and we weren't forced to spend the night. The B478 Playhatch Road at Sonning Eye has been closed on and off for weeks now due to floods washing away part of the road, resulting in the closure of Sonning Bridge, an eighteenth-century brick arch bridge that forms a single-carriageway Thames crossing that’s an important cut-through for motorists wishing to cross the river. Apparently the poor old bridge carries 16,000 cars a day. There have been mutterings for years about a possible alternative Thames crossing between Reading and Henley (currently Sonning is the only one) but nothing has come of it as yet. I would feel sorry for the residents of Sonning, if they weren’t so rich.

TBC ....

Belly dancing; Mum; floods

Took myself along on Tuesday 15th to support Children in Need (the less charitable part of me thinks: Christ, is that still going?) by watching the OU’s Belly Dance Club (yes, there is one such) give a lunchtime performance. They weren’t bad; not that I am much of an assessor of belly dancing. The most wacky number was a woman performing to a piece of music called Shaskin; her performance allegedly featured tribal fusions choreography as taught to her by one Darkstar. She was dressed not in more traditional belly dance gear but as though auditioning for a part in Mary Poppins. Puzzling.

Mum came to spend a long overdue weekend in Reading on the 16th; we had a sandwich lunch in Caversham’s Costa, during which we both seethed at the undisciplined children being allowed to run screaming about the café (it has become a distressingly popular haunt for middle-class mummies), then later in the afternoon wandered down to an art exhibition at something billed as ‘Studio 21’ on Patrick Road, though it turned out to be simply No. 21 Patrick Road, with lots of art in the front room. We perused briefly. On the Saturday, we went up to London where we took a bus to the Wellcome Collection to visit the ‘Death: A Self-Portrait’ exhibition. Quite interesting – certainly a range of stuff. I was reasonably charmed by Kawanabe Kyosai's ‘Frolicking Skeletons’, as pictured in this Guardian piece. We had a quick cup of tea before walking down through Bloomsbury to High Holborn and lunching at the Kimchee Restaurant, where we sampled radish kimchi and bulgogi in a noodle soup, along with a bottle of the rather underwhelming Hite each, as I felt we should sample some Korean beer.


After lunch, we walked to nearby Lincoln’s Inn Fields to visit Sir John Soane’s Museum, which I’d heard of but never visited. We had to queue for around 20 minutes to get in, as they only let a certain number of people in at a time – probably a good idea. For some reason, you are obliged to put your handbag into a see-through polythene bag, but are then allowed to carry it around with you. The museum is certainly a curiosity, though it’s so dimly lit that it’s hard to see some of the exhibits, and certainly Mum found it hard to read the guidebook that she’d paid £2 for on the way in. On the way out I bought a fridge magnet showing a head of the goddess Diana.

Digressing briefly: the story of Diana and Actaeon has to be one of the most unjust stories in Roman mythology. I mean: if you don’t want a man to come across you naked, then don’t take a bath in the middle of a wood.

Ruth cooked her poshed-up version of toad in the hole in the evening, featuring cherry tomatoes and rosemary. On the Sunday, Mum and I went for breakfast at the Alto Lounge followed by a walk around Caversham, before I saw her to her train.

Received an email a week or so ago from the OU's LGBT Network (rapidly becoming a source of comedy) from a PhD student doing a thesis on shifts in lesbian women's mating preferences across the menstrual cycle. Reminded me of a Japanese PhD student I once met while a postgrad at Essex, an acquaintance of my friend Shiho's, who was doing a PhD allegedly in something erudite-sounding which I've forgotten, but which basically amounted to pornography. I remember him being intrigued over dinner to know how I, being British, felt about British people's easy access to pornography, before I was forced to disappoint him by informing him that I didn't buy a great deal of it. It did sound as though he was getting to study a good many jazz mags while classing them as research material.

‘Brit Cops’ moment last Tuesday when there was a knock on my door around 7pm and I opened it to be greeted by a uniformed police officer, saying that there’d been a report of a crowd of people outside with knives, and had I heard anything. Apparently my neighbour Fraser had phoned them with this report, but appeared to have since gone to ground as there was no reply from his house despite their repeated banging on his door. Was obliged to say that I hadn’t heard anything, and she proceeded to ask if I’d heard anything going on next door (nothing different from usual) and how much I knew about my neighbour (not much; doesn’t appear to work; often seen with can in hand; did tell me once that he had mental health problems). She came in for a peek over my back wall, but no baying mobs in sight, so left, thanking me for my time.

Another nice Information Office outing last Wednesday, this time to the Bekash in Stony Stratford, a Victorian suburb on the north-west edge of Milton Keynes. Stony appeared to have a number of curry houses, judging by my walk from the bus stop, but the Bekash is allegedly the oldest. The food was pretty nice and compensated for the recent Bina experience. Carol, our newish Forecasting manager, kindly gave me a lift home - Carol owns a house in Bakewell but has been renting in MK during the week (good to know I'm not the only one), though she has recently abandoned Bletchley (don't blame her, from what I've seen of it) for Monkston, a pleasanter-looking district near to Walton Hall.

In a moment of extravagance last Saturday, Ruth and I purchased a new and streamlined DAB radio/CD player to replace my cheap old one (left) which we sense is about to give out. We sat for a while on Saturday afternoon marvelling at the sound quality. It does have a blinkin' iPhonePod dock, but luckily it's not too prominent. Admittedly they are pretty and have lots of cool accessories, but I'm still resolutely not venturing into the world of Apple.

Discovered on Monday that the redway through Simpson/Walton that I often take as part of my morning route to work had become a raging torrent. Well, not quite a raging torrent, but certainly an area of quite fast-flowing water that I wouldn't have ventured through. Turns out Caldecotte Lake - one of MK's several balancing lakes - had overflowed its barrier at one end (which it is, apparently, meant to do in times of flood). MKNews have put out a piece reassuring locals that the lakes should return to normal soon.

Fixed Speed Camera 30; Chang; Pippa

Have been clocked by a speed camera for the second time in my driving career. The criminal activity happened on the A40 between Ross-on-Wye and Gloucester - this stretch is single carriageway with a few 30mph zones in villages. If only I had consulted the handy list here of West Mercia Speed Camera Locations (but honestly, who does that kind of thing).

The little critter that snapped me was Fixed Speed Camera 30, on the A40 at Lea going towards Gloucester. Obviously, one doesn't really have a leg to stand on but it's somewhat galling given the infrequency with which I actually drive these days. I had been making a conscious effort to observe 30mph zones since my previous 'clocking', but obviously one's attention does wander occasionally. Perversely, if you do slow down to observe a 30mph limit, particularly on a trunk road such as the A40, you get tailgated by other drivers who are evidently impatient that you've slowed down to the speed limit. You just can't win. Will be sure to wave to Fixed Speed Camera 30 the next time I drive past it (which will be at 30mph or less, obviously) and repress all urges to smash its shiny face in.


I was somewhat surprised to see that there's a Wikipedia entry on the A40 - ideal for those (legions of us, probably) wanting to find out more about it. There's a description of the route and the towns it passes through/round.

The good news is that Ray's fab job boarding out and insulating our attic is now finished and shelving is installed. We've certainly got our money's worth out of the IVAR shelving units from IKEA we acquired for our first unfurnished flat around 12 years ago. I had fun on Sunday relocating various of my less-used possessions and unpacking the boxes that had been stored up there since we moved in. The snag with unpacking boxes is that there's a tendency to open the box and then remember exactly why you boxed the stuff up in the first place (because you couldn't think what the hell to do with it). The trick is probably to actually give it away and resist the urge to just box it up again.

Public pressure forced me to relocate Chang, the small furry thing (can't think of a more specific word) that my dad brought me back from China some years ago (see The Banishing of Chang). It has been claimed that he stinks (certainly had a weird smell originally, but I would contend that it's worn off now), is made out of domestic cat hair (highly probable, I would think) and that his eyes follow one around the room (wacko territory).

While going through my stuff found my collection of three Pippa dolls. Pippa was a cute pocket-sized fashion doll and I remember her being popular among girls at my primary school in the 1970s. I wasn't massively into dolls but I always preferred Pippa to Sindy (might just have been the name). All three of my dolls are currently naked - their clothes would appear to have been lost over the years - so if I were particularly sad I might buy them each an outfit - Pippa outfits appear to be available on eBay. (Naturally, I'm not that sad ...) The Asian variant on the right was named Jasmine, from memory. Websites related to Pippa include http://www.pippadoll.net/ and Pippa's Obituary.