Harley

Our bunny Harley was sadly put to sleep (don’t like that expression any more than I like ‘passed away’, but ‘euthanised’ seems a bit brutal) on Monday 1 June, after suffering with an abscess on the side of his head for a number of months. Ruth had been warned that the abscess wasn’t treatable but had agreed with the vet to monitor him for the time being, as his behaviour still seemed reasonably normal (though rabbits’ comfort levels are notoriously hard to assess as they do that concealing pain thing that prey species do). I’ve already done a bit of a eulogy to Harley on Facebook as per below, so have limited myself here to looking over past blog entries that mention him.

We adopted Harley from Reading Rabbit Rescue in June 2009, along with his first companion, the late (and fluffy, solid and somewhat intransigent) Lola. During his first couple of months with us, he mastered climbing the staircase, and also escaped from our garden into next door:

I continue to be surprised by Harley the Bunny’s spiritedness and agility, especially in comparison with Ruth’s previous rabbit Jake, a more nervous creature who disliked the outdoors and never to my knowledge even attempted climbing stairs. Harley has now completely mastered the staircase, which is steep even by Victorian terrace standards and is treated with some respect by visitors to the house. He also eagerly escapes into the garden at every opportunity and we are discovering by trial and error which part of the perimeter isn’t actually rabbit-proof. On Saturday he disappeared into a clump of bamboo and vanished from sight – Ruth’s calling of him resulted in the reply of “Are you looking for a rabbit?” from over the fence; she looked up to discover our neighbour Terry standing on his lawn looking down at a tiny adventurous rabbit. She went next door to fetch him and carried him back with some stern words, but he appeared not noticeably chastened.

Lola and Harley

We were warned when adopting Harley that he had long teeth that could prove to be a problem, and indeed he ended up having two or three teeth raspings under general anaesthetic during the time we owned him, including this one in September 2011:

Harley duly had his surgery last Friday, and by the time I arrived home in the evening seemed pretty much back to usual, though he didn't eat properly until Saturday afternoon, meaning that Ruth had to feed him through a pipette with some vile-looking food supplement supplied by the vet. We are hoping that his newly-shortened teeth will now enable him to eat lots of hay, as proper bunnies are supposed to.

He recovered fine from all the anaesthetics, but our hope that he might start helping himself by eating more hay to help wear his teeth down proved misplaced - despite all Ruth’s attempts Harley was never keen on hay, though most of our female rabbits have been happy enough to eat it. I'd noted Harley's disdain for hay a couple of years earlier, while also noting that he'd nibbled the spines of several of my books:

Rabbits apparently do need to chew constantly in order to keep their teeth worn down, so chewing is to be applauded, but they are provided with a plentiful supply of hay for this purpose. Lola enjoys hay but Harley appears to spurn it in favour of, this week at least, 'Feel the Fear and Do it Anyway' and 'The International Dictionary of Phrasal Verbs'.

Eating the wallpaper, with Lola

The chimney incident referred to in the eulogy happened in early January 2012, during the time that the third bedroom at the house was languishing in a shell-like state.

Since Ruth took the door to bedroom 3 off its hinges to strip the paint, we have had an awkward situation whereby we have had to put a board over the door to the room to stop Harley going in, given that since the removal of one of the chimney breasts the shaft that ran down to the dining room fireplace has been exposed. Too small to be a danger to us and it’s in the corner of the room anyway, but given Harley’s seemingly intense curiosity, we had been a bit worried that he could fall down it. On Monday evening, while I was sitting relaxing over a herbal tea and an episode of ‘Sherlock’, he duly did – urgent call from Ruth of “We have a problem” followed by inspection with a torch from above (apparently fine if slightly grey-looking bunny looking up at us) followed by Ruth having to dig a wad of stuff out of the dining room chimney to release him. On release, he wriggled out of Ruth’s arms and scampered straight back upstairs, where I pursued him shouting something along the lines of “Have You Learned Nothing!” Board over door now wedged tight with a chair – evidently a fatal gap must have been left.

The chimney rescue

Bedroom 3 proved the scene of another incident a few months later when he nearly strangled himself with a loose curtain thread:

Saturday started well when we became vaguely aware, while still in bed, of Harley making noise at the entrance to bedroom 3, as he has been on an intense quest to gain access to the room ever since his way was barred, including, evidently, shredding the bottom of the curtain that's currently hanging in the doorway. Something prompted me to get up and see what he was doing, and after a moment or so I registered that he had a cord from the curtain tightly around his neck. After yelling to Ruth to fetch a pair of scissors, I released him. Her immediate response was "Oh Harley, are you all right?", whereas I think mine was along the lines of "YOU STUPID STUPID RABBIT". That's the second time he's cheated death. Given that rabbits are renowned for dying all over the place at the slightest provocation, he can't have many lives left.

After Lola’s death in August 2013, we took Harley back to Reading Rabbit Rescue for ‘bonding’ with a second female companion. The decision-making process went thus:

We were shown three female rabbits who were currently without companions – two, Patches and Lexie, whom Sandra had identified in advance as potentially suitable, and a third, Cherry, whom she included mainly because she’s been at the rescue centre for over two years. Ruth settled on Lexie, a largish and seemingly quite boisterous bunny, as her potential mate of preference, deciding (unfairly, I thought) that Cherry was too timid. Patches dented her chances by biting Ruth during the inspection.

Despite RRR's coy references to 'husbuns' and bunny moon suites, Ruth and I had our doubts about Lexie from the start:

At the moment I have my reservations – a few days in to the new couple’s bonding, Steve and Sandra discovered that she had given Harley a bite for which he has had to go on a course of antibiotics. When I spoke to Ruth on the phone at the weekend, the two of them were apparently about as far away from each other as they could get. Time will tell if things improve.

Things didn't improve:

When we collected [Lexie] and Harley from RRR last Sunday after spending the weekend at my parents’, we regaled Sandra in a light-hearted yet mildly barbed fashion with Lexie’s faults, at which she tittered sympathetically before adding chirpily “Sold as seen!”. As we arrived, Sandra's opening sally had been to claim that Harley and Lexie seemed to get on together better than he had with Lola, at which point Lexie aggressively mounted Harley, staying on board as he raced around the enclosure trying to shake her off, and thrusting in a less than ladylike fashion. When Sandra eventually managed to coax/prise her off, poor little Harley had a large sucked patch of wet fur on the back of his neck. As we were leaving, Sandra somewhat shamefacedly thanked us for adopting her.

We did subsequently decide Lexie was not the bunny for us (or Harley) and returned her to RRR in May 2014 for re-homing. We subsequently adopted the lively and destructive Willow. In terms of being a companion for Harley, she wasn’t that much better than Lexie, albeit a little less violent; unlike Lexie, however, she charmed Ruth and me with her friendliness, and we kept her until she unfortunately became ill and died about a year later. During Willow’s time with us, Harley spent a noticeable amount of time upstairs under the bed in the master bedroom, rediscovering the ground floor after her death:

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.

Willow and Harley

Following Willow’s death in 2015, Harley spent about a year as a solo house rabbit, though Ruth was nudged periodically by Sandra at RRR regarding getting him another companion, as per this conversation in early 2016 where she tried to suggest to us that Harley’s troubles with females might have been due to his being a bit of a sex pest:

Sandra again raised the question of whether we were intending to get another companion for him, and we raised concerns that she’d have to be a female who wouldn’t bully him and banish him from the ground floor as per Willow. Sandra then, quite kindly, voiced her opinion that Harley is “a little bit of a sex pest”, and that some of his rougher treatment by females might essentially have been asked for. We felt similarly to how parents must feel who have been claiming to the headteacher that their child is being put upon by other children, only to be told their child is in fact a bit of a sod.

Later that year we adopted another RRR rescue bunny, Beau as Harley's fourth companion. Beau proved a good companion for him but sadly died after only a few months with us. About six months after Beau’s death we adopted a young female as Harley's fifth companion, supposed to be named Pippa but we immediately nicknamed her 'Catherine Howard', which has stuck.

Beau with Harley

In 2018 Harley went on to a daily painkiller after the vet thought his hips seemed a bit stiff. He loved this concoction, which he stayed on up until his death.

Whatever the mixture is, he seems to like it and hops up to Ruth eagerly to take it. From our observations it seems to be doing him some good; he has seemed livelier, even to the extent of chasing the much younger Catherine Howard around the room friskily each morning.

Although we don’t know Harls’ exact age, he was believed to be around a year old when we adopted him in 2009, so should be about 10 this year, which is a respectable age for a rabbit though no doubt living in a centrally-heated house has helped him.

I'm sure it did help him - indeed he always had some respiratory problems, sneezing a lot, and Sandra at RRR reckoned that his longevity was most certainly due to being a house bunny.

Harley rootling in the garden

Harley is now buried in the garden, along with Jake, Lola, Willow and Beau. It's becoming a rabbit burial ground.

Lido; gums; stiff rabbits

Earlier this year tried out the fabulously renovated Thames Lido (as it is now). Formerly the King’s Meadow Baths, it closed in the mid-1970s and had stood unused and increasingly derelict ever since. There had been various attempts over the years at fundraising and at trying to get the local council to do up the baths and re-open them, though it became increasingly clear in recent years that council money was never going to be spent on this. Reading is very poorly off for public swimming pools¹, though if council money were going to be spent, it would be more usefully spent (IMO) on refurbishing the dilapidated Central Baths rather than a small open-air pool.

Thames Lido. New extension on the left housing the restaurant

Anyway, the pool has been restored by the same people who did Bristol Lido, and it opened last October. I treated Ray to a trip as a late birthday present, booking us both in for a weekday morning ‘Swim & Breakfast’ package, at a cool £35 each. It’s pricey but the refurb is stunningly beautiful. We did a bit of swimming and then I did a bit more swimming while Ray basked in the hot tub and sauna. Our swim was followed up by a two-course breakfast in the restaurant that overlooks the pool. I had the toasted fruit bread and maple butter (what a wonderful concept) followed by the Turkish poached eggs; Ray had the sourdough toast followed by a vast kipper. Very nice indeed. Given the cost it’ll be an occasional indulgence, but I’d definitely like to go again.

The pool from the restaurant

Man and kipper

The baths apparently started out as the Ladies' Open Air Baths; there are some interesting bits and pieces here including a pic of the baths in use for a water polo match in 1904. There was evidently also a men's pool nearby - that's not there anymore but it looks as though it was on the opposite corner to the surviving baths. According to this it was closed in the mid-1950s. This interesting photo, nicked from https://www.lostlidos.co.uk/2002/04/07/kings-meadow-ladies-open-air-baths/, shows both pools (the men's pool is above the ladies' pool in the picture; there's now housing on the site):

Have paid two or three visits to my new dental surgery Dental Works since the beginning of the year, partly because of some trouble with a wisdom tooth – these have been partially erupted since my 20s but are clearly never going to move any further. Was prescribed the antibiotic Metronidazole for what the dentist theorized was a gum infection. Not something I’ve taken before – not that I take many antibiotics, but the usual go-to seems to be Amoxicillin. The Metronidazole prescription was handed over with a stern warning not to consume any alcohol while taking it, including avoiding mouthwashes containing it. As you would, I duly went straight to the internet to check this out, and inevitably found views veering from “I drank pints and I was fine” to “Don’t drink anything ‘cause you’ll be really really ill and possibly DIE”. I played it safe and avoided alcohol for the five days of the course, though did have a mini-bottle of wine with my dinner the day after I finished the course with no ill effects, giving the lie a bit to the advice I found in several places to additionally lay off it for 48 hours after finishing the tablets.

Dentists do seem to hand out antibiotics far more readily than GPs do – I haven’t had an antibiotic from a GP for decades, but have now had two lots from dentists within the past few years.

Oh, and as a footnote: the Metronidazole did clear it up. Fair enough then.

Our house bunny Harley went for a check up at the vets earlier this year and was prescribed a daily painkiller to take after the vet noticed that his hips seemed a little stiff and probably painful. Whatever the mixture is, he seems to like it and hops up to Ruth eagerly to take it. From our observations it seems to be doing him some good; he has seemed livelier, even to the extent of chasing the much younger Catherine Howard around the room friskily each morning.

Although we don’t know Harls’ exact age, he was believed to be around a year old when we adopted him in 2009, so should be about 10 this year, which is a respectable age for a rabbit though no doubt living in a centrally-heated house has helped him.

I do find it bizarre that rabbits have such a fast metabolism that they can take a medicine intended for dogs, twice a day. Fascinating creatures.


¹ Soon to be even worse off: I passed Bulmershe Leisure Centre on the bus the other weekend and it appears to have been fenced off for demolition. Article here.

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.

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.

Walks etc

Presumably coached by Willow, since he’s never done it before, Harley appears to have got the hang of jumping up onto furniture. Here he is on my bed in bedroom 3. My efforts to argue that this isn’t to be encouraged are being stymied by Ruth’s arguments that it’s incredibly cute.

Rosehill House

Walking with MapMyWalk is going well, with some morning walks into the OU from central MK. Beautiful frosty morning in Campbell Park yesterday (left). Also went for a nice c. five mile walk around Caversham on Sunday, solo as Ruth was working on a bid. Walked up Peppard Road as far as Rosehill Park, a housing estate built in the grounds of Rosehill House, according to Wikipedia one of five mansions originally present in what is now Emmer Green. Of the houses mentioned, Caversham Place is no longer standing but the other four are.  Also stopped to take this picture of Emmer Green pond. This quite interesting piece about Emmer Green suggests that the pond was once a lake.

Digressing, Get Reading's regular 'Pick of the Past' slot had an interesting feature last year on the late Caversham Place. It was demolished in the 1970s to make way for more housing on the Caversham Park Village estate.

Received this communication the other day on LinkedIn. However competitive the salary, there’d be no salary high enough to induce me to take a job in, or indeed set foot in, Saudi Arabia. I remember my former colleague Tony at CfBT, who had evidently lived for a while in Saudi with his wife, expressing regret that she hadn't enjoyed living there. Funny that. I remember him telling me that she used to insist on turfing Tony out of the driving seat of the car the second they had driven past the border post out of Saudi, and getting into it in full view of the Saudi border control.

Day in London today for the annual HESA post-collection seminar for the Student return. Well run and informative day as ever led by the excellent Dan Kidd. Took a blisteringly early train into Euston and breakfasted at the branch of Carluccio’s in the Brunswick Centre, before walking down to the venue near St James’ Park. The walk didn’t take me as long as I expected so to kill time and increase the distance, did a quick figure of eight around the lake, on the way reading the interesting story of the Chinese pagoda that briefly adorned the bridge in the early nineteenth century before catching fire and falling into the lake, and a bit about Duck Island Cottage, apparently now used as offices.

Noticed this message in the week on the side of my office box of tea. How lovely that there's a tea information service.

'Tis the end of the year, etc

Various discussions recently have led to my considering taking out another flat in Milton Keynes, though ONLY FOR ANOTHER SIX MONTHS. Really. Because by that point, everything will be crystal clear re what to do moving forward re residence situ. As I find myself unable to face the remainder of the winter in Travelodges given impossibility of preparing hot food in the evenings, and (perhaps feebly) can’t face either lodgings or a room in a shared house, it seems currently the only option given Ruth’s continuing lukewarm attitude to moving to MK. Viewed five flats the week before last, four of which were perfectly nice, but have not taken one as yet, partly because dithering over locations. Have two more viewings booked for Monday 5 January so will see what those yield.

Had our Information Office Christmas lunch on Thursday 18 December, at The Black Horse at Great Linford. Turned out to be considerably more enjoyable than the previous two, perhaps partly because the recently-retired Nick came along and bought three bottles of wine for the table. Nick appeared in a good humour despite having been recently diagnosed with coeliac disease and severe anaemia. An amusing time was had with some cracker innards, leading to both Guy and Andy crawling under the table at one point though I forget quite why. Service was a bit sluggish but food wasn’t bad.

‘Broke up’ from work for Christmas at midday on 23 December. Went into Reading in the evening and dined at Chennai Dosa, an Indian restaurant opposite the library that I’d never been to before, apparently part of a chain. The place had a slight air of being about to close down: there was a paper sign on the door stating that it was not accepting card payments; the tandoor was not working rendering half the menu unavailable, and half the restaurant had not been laid and had the chairs stacked on the tables. Having said that, the food was very nice when it arrived, though Ruth’s Chilli Chicken was too hot for her. I had the Palak Mutton which was offputtingly green but very tasty. We didn’t have one of the dosa dishes (apparently an Indian crepe, and presumably the chain’s speciality) though did see others eating them. Picture pinched from this article in the local press from earlier this year when the restaurant was the target of a swoop by immigration officials.

After dinner we went for a swift drink at the Wynford, currently about Reading’s sole gay venue, and then made our way along Kennetside to The Jolly Anglers to join Claire and others of her friends for a Christmas music evening/singalong. In fact, to my relief, it wasn’t as much of a singalong as Claire had implied, with a group rendition of The Twelve Days of Christmas being about the only thing we were expected to join in on. The musician, Laurie, played both guitar and piano and Claire and another friend of hers sang.

Ray came round for an early breakfast on Christmas Eve before heading off for a couple of hours work and then over to Emma 2’s. Ruth and I set off mid-morning for her parents’ home in Norfolk, and, despite the best efforts of my car to turn off towards Center Parcs at Elveden, we arrived at I think around 2:30pm, having stopped at Birchanger Green services for a brief lunch on the way. Wood Farm looked about as dilapidated, certainly on the outside, as when I last saw it (which was the last time we went there for Christmas, in 2010) although a new kitchen is apparently due to be fitted soon. There were eight of us for lunch on Christmas Day, including the four friends of Mrs Millard who came on the last occasion we spent Christmas there.

Re Center Parcs: my colleague Jill has gone to Center Parcs with her family for Christmas. I am not at all envious. A new one has recently opened quite near Milton Keynes.

On Boxing Day morning Ruth and I drove out to Thetford Forest and followed a couple of its marked trails to make a welcome walk of 4 miles or so. We returned to Wood Farm for lunch in the company of Lucy, a dietician friend of Mrs Millard’s from her time working in the NHS. Spent the afternoon reading Five Get Into a Fix, as part of scheme to ease myself gently back into regular reading with some undemanding material, while Ruth and her mother went through some of Granny Box’s old diaries and other documents. We returned to Caversham on the non-motorway route via Milton Keynes on Saturday.

Lydia

Pets corner: Harley had another teeth-rasping operation a week or so ago, from which he appears to have recovered well. Willow is still adorable, still destructive and slightly less smelly than she was, although still seems to have something of a matted rear end. My parents' remaining cat Lydia has, as noted previously, become friendlier and more forthcoming since the death of Emrys, suggesting that a dominance hierarchy may have existed previously, unsurprising given Emrys’ tetchy temperament. I gather she is now much more willing to come into the sitting room of an evening and be friendly. She is, however, wary of little Nia, which is unfortunate given Nia’s keenness to befriend her.

Came down to Abergavenny on Monday morning, where I still am. Family get-together for lunch at Mum and Dad’s on Monday, followed by opening of more presents. Nia appeared pleased with her Mr Tumble outfit and accompanying spotty bag, and with this blackboard/whiteboard combination easel, which she did her best to play a part in assembling. Yesterday was initially very cold and foggy, but we still ventured out to Belgrave Park to attempt to tire Nia on some play equipment.

Went into Hereford with Mum this morning and breakfasted at Diego's, next to the former Left Bank Complex, sadly still empty. Walking from the cafe to the library, we received a shock on casually glancing into an estate agent's window to see a prominent ad for Annedd Bach, Michaelchurch Escley, for £425,000. So the chap who bought it from Mum and Dad has in fact barely owned it for a year. Hoping that it's bought by someone who actually wants to live in it this time.

Credit; gammy feet; premature Christmassyness

Mightily annoyed recently to apply for the same Galaxy S IV deal via Mobile Phones Direct that Ruth took out a couple of months ago, and have Vodafone decline my application for credit. Firstly, because I have been a Vodafone customer for some years and finished a two-year Galaxy S contract last winter, on which I had never missed a payment, and secondly, because as far as I knew my credit history was pretty clean. Ruth suggested I obtain my Experian credit report (a more constructive course of action than the hour of ranting and swearing I had planned), which I duly did. Was reassured to see that my current credit score is in the ‘Excellent’ category, but did note the one ‘negative factor’ stated as ‘You have recently opened 1 or more new credit accounts’. Quite true, as I took out a Lloyds TSB credit card in September, as it had a lower interest rate than my current first direct Visa card, which I am intending to close. It had been intended at the time as a piece of sensible financial management, rather than the reckless behaviour creditors evidently take it to be. The assumption, presumably, is that applying for a new credit card means that you’ve maxed out your old one and just want some more Yummy Credit.

What was particularly galling was that my credit report also revealed that Vodafone had already searched it about a month previously following Ruth’s application for credit for the same phone deal – evidently this can happen when someone you are ‘financially connected to’ makes an application for credit – and had subsequently approved her application. A number of ‘hmph’ noises were made, before I decided that I wasn’t that bothered about having a new phone anyway, new up-to-the-minute phones being symptomatic of the grasping consumerism that plagues our society. OK, I didn’t decide any such thing.

Spent the first part of the weekend before last paying another visit to Mum and Dad’s, as Dad hadn’t been home the previous time I visited. On the Saturday we went for a lovely lunch at the Stonemill at Rockfield, where Dave and Hazel got married in 2011 and where my parents – and, evidently, also my aunt and uncle – have gone to eat a couple of times since. Don’t often order desserts, and certainly not sticky toffee pudding, but couldn’t resist the golfball-sized sphere of clotted cream it came with. And in fairness, the portions were fairly modest. Ruth and I walked down to the covered market in the afternoon, part of which was given over to a craft fair where I bought this charming doorstop in the shape of a hen. Although she is shown in the photo actually acting as a doorstop, I don’t intend keeping her on the floor as a matter of course as don’t trust Lexie not to inflict mortal wounds on her.

Bumped into my MK neighbour Susannah (from two doors down) while putting my rubbish out early last Wednesday, and enquired after her health, to be told that she’s healing well from her recent surgery. Susannah is probably around my age but evidently has some sort of problem with one or both of her legs. When I'd met her a month or so earlier I'd realised I hadn’t actually seen her for quite a while previously and she noted that she’d been housebound for a while due to a problem with one of her feet. She had appeared particularly cheerful on that occasion and shared that she was shortly due to go into hospital to have one of her feet amputated, which was “really good news”. I pondered on our strikingly different conceptions of what constitutes good news, but I concluded that it must say something for the level of discomfort she must have been in. I didn’t manage to figure out quite what was wrong with her, but seemingly some sort of infection. I subsequently spoke briefly to her scary-looking but pleasant partner while she was in hospital, and passed on my good wishes. When I next saw Susannah after this she seemed to be walking around quite freely, and indicated that her scar was healing quite nicely, pointing at her stomach. Not that I am any sort of surgical expert, but amputating someone’s foot via their stomach does seem a tad odd. In any case the freedom with which she now appears to be walking around suggests that an alternative way forward was found. All a bit mysterious though. I’m restricting myself to general enquiries as to how she is doing, rather than “What exactly was wrong with you?”, though I am a bit intrigued.

Stupid headline from an online news site this week. Why is this news? If the word ‘upset’ had been e.g. ‘thrill’, ‘please’, ‘stimulate’ or similar, then it might have been.

Went for another curry with workmates last Thursday at the Rose of India in Bletchley - again, very nice food; in fact I took care to order exactly what I'd ordered the previous time. Matt and I met again for pre-dinner drinks at the Enigma Tavern, having both forgotten that there is a marginally nicer-looking pub much closer to the restaurant. The Enigma was much busier than the last time we'd visited and appeared to have some sort of carvery going on in one corner. Matt had bagged us seats in front of the fire well away from the gravy-slurping locals.

Little Harley had another operation to file ('rasp') his teeth down last Friday, barely six months after his previous one. His teeth are evidently out of control. He came through it with seemingly no ill effects, though when we had told Sandra at RRR that this was impending, she expressed concern about the frequency of anaesthetics and recommended a cruel-to-be-kind feeding approach involving fewer fresh vegetables but a mountain of hay and grass on tap. Harley has never shown himself to be particularly keen on hay but I think the idea is to starve him into submission.

On Sunday Ruth and I visited the Tree Barn at Greenfield Farm at Christmas Common and were suckered into buying a real Christmas tree. Only a little one, but still. It’s currently out on the patio in its pot and we’re just hoping it manages to retain its needles for the next month. Also managed to spend a further £50 or so on baubles, candles and some mini gold faux cowbells.


It's apparently unclear how the village of Christmas Common came by its name, but I still recall an incident relatively early on in my relationship with Ray, when we were driving around the area and he asked, rather to my confusion, “Is Christmas common round here?” Being unaware at the time of the existence of the village, I replied something like “Once a year, same as everywhere”. How we laughed …

We called in at Waitrose on the way back from the Tree Barn and bought some tinned goods and a big box of tea bags to contribute to Reading’s FoodBank. Hope they appreciate having Waitrose groceries. Re the tea bags: we did have a brief middle class angst-ridden discussion about whether we were making an unjustified assumption that poor people don’t use loose tea, but erred on the side of caution and grabbed them a huge box of tea bags labelled 'Everyday Brew', or some such, while Ruth sneaked her loose Assam into the other end of the trolley.

Pearls from this week’s job search: Crop Technician (remarkably poorly paid) and Climbing Wall Instructor.