11-15 May
I took a week off in May partly to do some walks with the Reading Walks Festival (see separate post). Aside from those:
Caversham Arts Trail 2026
After doing my first of four Reading Walks Festival walks on the Saturday morning, Ruth and I walked around three venues on the Caversham Arts Trail in the afternoon. We ended up walking five miles, to add to the five I’d walked in the morning, which was a bit more than I’d anticipated.
We started off walking up Kidmore Road to Sandcroft Road to see John Nicholls’ stone sculpture, though we ended up spending more time looking at Sue Bridge’s mixed media paintings which were displayed at the same property.
After this we walked to Hunters Chase to see Rachel McCrindle’s kiln-formed glass. Here we made our only purchase of the day, two of these cute little horses.
Hunters Chase is a road of mainly detached executive-style “family homes”, built along one side of the Hemdean Valley in the 1990s as part of a controversial development. The property we visited had a smallish garden ending abruptly in some sort of quite high vertical cliff. Google’s AI Mode told me the following:
The "vertical cliff" you noticed at the end of that Hunters Chase garden is a fascinating piece of Reading’s industrial history: it is the sheer wall of a historic disused chalk pit and gravel quarry.
and referred me to this planning report from 2008, which I think must relate to what is now Hornbeam Close, off Kidmore Road. This contains the following:
I digress. Our final visit of the afternoon was to a house on Albert Road to see Ally Evans Ceramics. Nice stuff but I made the decision not to make any more purchases, mindful of where exactly I’d put them.
Cassius to vet
We took Cassius to
Cherry Orchard Vets in Gallowstree Common for a checkup before he could be prescribed more of the meds he takes for joint stiffness. For the second time we saw
vet Sarah Fox, who on the previous visit charmed us (or me, anyway) by exclaiming “You’re a splendid elderly gentleman” when Ruth opened the pet carrier. I suppose rabbits either don’t often reach Cassius’ age or are in a poorer state than him when they do so. Cassius was born, according to his Health Care card, in September 2014, so – assuming he lives that long – will be 12 this year. He has slowed down over the past year or so – he no longer jumps onto things and no longer attempts the stairs, but he still reasonably often has a scamper out onto the landing, does a circuit of the back bedroom and then returns to his room, where he generally then has a lie down.
This time, Sarah placed Cassius on the consulting room floor to see how he moves, and did comment that he had “a bit of an old man gait”. Something to do with loss of force in his back legs, I think, though he does still recognizably hop – I think I’ve read about old rabbits losing their characteristic hopping motion. She asked us “How well do you think he sees?”, suggesting that his keeping right to the edge of the room as he moved about might be a sign that he was relying heavily on his whiskers for navigation. We have certainly had some doubts about the quality of his eyesight these days, as we often have to hold snacks right up to him. From what she said, some degree of sight loss is pretty common in elderly rabbits.
Both of us (me especially) are conscious that in quartering Cassius in an upstairs room - originally an emergency measure to allow him to recover from injury without being savaged again by Chloe - we have deprived him of access to the outdoors. Now that Chloe has died we could in principle have moved him downstairs again, but have been suspecting that he would immediately try and get back upstairs. Sarah seemed to be of the view that at his time of life and given his probably poor eyesight, it would be better to keep him in surroundings he is familiar with. Which I guess made us feel slightly better.
Below is a recent photo of Cassius after his dinner. He has a custom of tipping his food out of his bowl and then eating it off the floor, or sometimes flipping the bowl altogether so that it covers the food, as here, which seems to me an unhelpful way of doing things.
Mum's visit
Mum came for a short visit. I picked her up from the station on the Monday afternoon, the same day we had taken Cassius to the vet and also popped in to the Playhatch Garden Centre, though I forget for what.
Mum and I had originally pencilled in having a day in London together on the Tuesday, but hadn’t arrived at any concrete plan for what to do and I think both felt vaguely lazy, so we had a day in Reading instead. We headed first for Reading Museum as the ‘Reading: Then & Now’ exhibition had been on my to do list. It was quite interesting, though I wished there had been more old photographs included as opposed to drawings.
After seeing Then & Now, we wandered through a few other galleries – I hadn’t been to the museum in years and had rather forgotten what was there. One gallery was given over to a display of the work of potter
Alan Caiger-Smith. I wasn’t familiar with him but Mum had heard of him, partly because apparently he and his wife at one point lived in St James’ Close in Pangbourne at the time my aunt and uncle lived there (early 70s) and the couples had been friends. Caiger-Smith founded
Aldermaston Pottery in the 1950s. He was apparently an expert in tin-glaze pottery and lustreware. The museum published this blog post about ACS after his death in 2020:
Alan Caiger-Smith, International Potter, Local Hero.
We also had a wander through the Natural History gallery, a fairly typical collection of faded/depressed-looking animals and birds. This stag was managing to look fairly assertive even in death though.
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| Stag |
We popped in for a quick look at
Britain’s Bayeux Tapestry, stitched in the 1880s by 35 lady embroiderers led by Elizabeth Wardle of the Leek Embroidery Society. I was childishly amused by the modesty shorts that had been embroidered onto this little chap.
Apparently, there's a whole debate over the number of penises depicted in the Bayeux Tapestry: Penis count debate rages over Bayeux Tapestry, though most of them evidently belong to horses. According to this BBC piece, the Leek Embroidery Society ladies worked from censored images so most of the appendages do not appear on the replica in Reading Museum.
For lunch, I took us to the Ori Caffè in John Lewis, which I had been hoping would be a tranquil retreat but turned out to be extremely busy. We managed to grab the last remaining table, where I had trouble hanging on to Mum’s chair while she was at the counter. The staff were shooting glares at a big party of ladies lingering at a large table and shrieking chummily, seemingly long after they’d finished their drinks.
After lunch, we had a walk via Forbury Gardens to the Abbey ruins. Just as we were about to pass through the archway that leads through to the ruins, we were stopped by a woman who asked us if we enjoyed fantasy novels. Mum replied reasonably yet firmly that no, she didn't, while I tried to size up whether the woman was a nutter. She looked quite respectable, so I replied that yes, while perhaps not a feverish enthusiast, I didn’t hate the genre and was open to reading them. I declined to actually buy a copy of her novel, The Nature of Shadow (she had a stash in her arms) but did accept this bookmark. The woman, one Emma R. Schofield, is evidently planning a number of sequels according to her website. I made the mistake of admitting to belonging to a book group, which triggered a gleam in ERS’ eye and an offer to come along to one of our meetings with a stack of copies of the book. I said I’d give it some thought.
On the Wednesday morning we went for breakfast at
The Collective in Caversham. They appear to have removed all the bacon from their breakfast menu but Mum obligingly said she was happy with a smoked salmon bagel, while I had sourdough toast. Afterwards we walked to the station for Mum to catch her train, calling in to Your Local Convenience Store on Caversham Road to buy some frozen parathas (Dad had texted asking if Mum could acquire some to take home with her, as they struggle to get them locally). The chap there was a lot chattier than he ever is with me, advising Mum on a cooking technique seeming to involve spreading them with butter and folding them over. I suppose that is the way I’ve had them presented in restaurants. The Shana parathas that both my parents and I like are fine cooked in a dry pan as they seem to release a bit of oil themselves when cooking.
Circular walk from Kintbury with Ray
We started off with coffee and biscuits. Ray’s boat Lawrence is looking much smarter and more finished now.
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| Oak tree near towpath |
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| Copse Lock |
We walked down the towpath eastwards from Kintbury, past this gorgeous oak tree and the sheltered Copse Lock. At Hamstead Lock we left the towpath to take a footpath through
Hamstead Park. We sometimes used to walk through here with Mum as kids – Dave reminded me that it was from Hamstead Park he had amassed the collection of empty gun cartridges he kept for a while.
Hamstead Park was owned by the Craven family from 1620 until the 1980s. A mansion was built there in the 17th century, but only stood for around a hundred years before burning down. Its most notable feature are the several pairs of stranded gate piers, weirdly now just standing in the middle of fields but marking the boundary of what was once a grand formal garden.
What I had thought said ‘Dark Dale’ on the OS Explorer map actually says ‘Park Pale’ – apparently a term referring to the boundary of a deer park.
We walked across the park, coming out on Park Lane and taking another footpath opposite, where we sat on a handy bench to eat sandwiches. Then we walked down into Hamstead Marshall and turned right through the village, passing this sign presumably erected by a resident. We chickened out of following a footpath that led through a field of cattle and took a slightly longer route round by the road, turning down Old Lane to meet the end of the footpath.
We followed the peaceful Old Lane for a bit and then descended Irish Hill back to the canal towpath.
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| Old Lane |
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| Walking down Irish Hill back towards the canal |
