Tapas; evening route marches; seaside

Had a lovely dinner with Kate at the Alto Lounge on Friday 3^rd. This was positively reviewed on eatmytown in April – am more or less in agreement with the comments including re the default 175ml wine glasses. Kate and I had the tapas, which was lovely although their tapas menu does contain some dishes that are unusual and possibly not 100% typically Spanish (honey-glazed shredded 5 spice pork belly?). My main complaint is that when they first opened their egg & bacon stack off the breakfast menu was served with maple syrup and was delicious; some time afterwards they sneakily changed this to golden syrup. No, it’s not the same thing. Golden syrup is used to make flapjacks. You don’t eat it on your breakfast.

Walked up to the marina on the Sunday morning to have breakfast with Ray. He had managed to turn the boat round to enable painting of the unpainted side, though I gather not without a certain amount of difficulty and photographing by fellow boat owners. Unfortunately it started raining shortly after we started our breakfast on the rear deck, but we erected the umbrella and carried on.

Went out with Ruth for what I thought was going to be a brief early evening stroll on Wednesday 8^th and ended up, rather surprisingly at her suggestion, walking along the Thames to Sonning. It was a lovely evening and a very pleasant walk (pictures here) though the scenery improves once one passes the gas towers and Thames Valley Business Park. I managed to throw off my slight concern at not having had time to research buses home from Sonning, as I am often told I should be more spontaneous. We walked along a lovely stretch of the river past a number of narrowboats moored up. At Sonning Bridge we left the Thames Path and turned off up into the village – Sonning is a wealthy, immaculate, chocolate-box village that is pleasant for a stroll through but looks a bit sterile to live in (I say this, obviously, in the full knowledge that I am unlikely ever to be rich enough to do so anyway). We made our way to The Bull and had a drink outside and then dinner, to make the walk fully worthwhile. We left at 8pm and did the roughly hour-long walk back to Caversham, in semi-darkness for the last stretch. Quite a lot of exercise for one evening.

Possibly brought on by cabin fever after having had a week off work at home, Ruth booked us a last minute weekend in Bournemouth last weekend (pictures here). We took a lovely direct train on the Friday morning and checked in to the Bournemouth Westcliffe Premier Inn, a monster of a new hotel situated on Poole Road on the western side of the town. After lunch we went to visit the Russell-Cotes Art Gallery & Museum, an incredible emporium of OTT Victoriana that Sir Merton and Lady Russell-Cotes had built around 1900 to house their private collection of paintings, furniture, miscellaneous curios and things nicked from foreign folk abroad. The interior is so gaudily decorated and so stuffed with things that one feels mildly queasy after a while. Even the house itself, originally called East Cliff Hall, would have done well for a moderating hand – Mr Russell-Cotes had apparently not been able to resist tweaking his architect’s design, evidently deciding that it contained insufficient turrets and other random twiddly bits, and the resulting house is a mad incoherent fantasy, though according to Sir Merton it was supposed to be a fusion of Scottish Baronial and Italian Renaissance. The Russell-Cotes had travelled extensively abroad and had brought back souvenirs a-plenty; the guide to the Mikado’s Room quotes Merton as saying that they were so taken with Japan they filled around a dozen trunks with assorted antique artefacts to ship back to England. In some cases one does wonder how legitimately they came by some of the stuff – the blurb in one of the rooms relates the particularly amusing story of the Empress Eugenie of France visiting Russell-Cotes Towers and spotting an elaborate dresser that, the last she knew, had been in one of her houses. Whether Sir Merton and Lady blushed and gave it back to her isn’t recorded.

After a late-afternoon film (Tamara Drewe) and a brief stop-off to look at the light show in the square, we had dinner at Ristorante La Piazza, where I had vitello pizzaiola and we shared a bottle of Sauvignon Friuli. On the way back to the hotel we stopped off at a couple of gay bars in the Triangle area, apparently part of my education: The Branksome , populated by some variously craggy and desperate-looking trannies, and the glossier DYMK with a younger clientele. Basically though I just don’t like noisy bars, gay or otherwise, so gritted my teeth throughout much of the time we were there.

On Saturday morning we had breakfast at the lovely and very convenient Olive Bistro and then, after a quick whiz into WHSmith to satisfy my urge for an A-Z, took the bus to Poole and had a (slightly longer than planned) walk down Canford Cliffs Road and the surrounding very well-heeled streets down to the cliffs, where we briefly admired the view before walking through Pinecliff Gardens down to the sea. Stopped for tea in the Terrace Bar of the Branksome Beach restaurant before walking back along the beach towards Bournemouth, via a quick stroll around Alum Chine. Took the West Cliff Lift back up to town level and popped into the Bournemouth Highcliff Marriott Hotel where Ruth gamely tried to book us a table for dinner in the Highcliff Grill, but we were told they were full. Damn them and their nice-sounding seafood. As Ruth talks dead posh we assumed it wasn't simply because we were wearing jeans and waterproofs. Anyway, walking back inland we found the lovely Westpoint and stopped off for whitebait (me), a pint of prawns (R) and two Budweisers.

We returned to our hotel room to chill for a few hours – had the novelty of a nice bubble bath in a bath that doesn’t leak – before trying out the Ciao Restaurant – nice pizza but noisy and a bit of a trek. The cabbie who drove us back to the hotel deflated our spirits temporarily by telling us that it was mainly younger people who hung out in that part of town and suggested a club in a different part of town that apparently we might enjoy (presumably equipped with comfy sofas, Zimmer frame access etc). On the Sunday I left Ruth in bed and went for an early-morning walk as, ironically, it was a beautiful morning and the nicest weather of the weekend. Took a number of blue-sky beach pics before joining Ruth for breakfast and then the train back to Reading.

My first visit to Bournemouth was for a week’s holiday in the company of my primary school friend Celia and her family in 1980 (a few pics here). Celia’s family owned a (detached, with driveway) holiday home in Sandbanks, additional to the sizeable property they owned back in Newbury. I remember having a pleasant enough holiday despite Celia’s somewhat stuffy mother and her father’s obsession with his SodaStream¹. Since then, I’ve only visited for a couple of days, one in the company of my family, as I remember Mum and I having a row in one of the town centre parks, and the second with Ray sometime in the mid-1990s, when I got badly sunburnt shoulders after a sunny walk along the beach.


¹ What is with the recent revival of these? They were a white elephant in the first place along the lines of the Sinclair C5. This MSN 'Most embarrassing gadgets' link has it about right. Of all the complicated ways to get a fizzy drink. You have to buy a bottle of (say) cola-flavoured concentrate which you then fire through the machine and it comes out as a fizzy and vaguely cola-flavoured drink. As opposed to just going to a shop and buying a can of Coke. Bizarre.

Walk around south-east Reading

4 September 2010

Walked from home to Jacksons Corner and caught bus 17 to Palmer Park Avenue. PPA is a pleasant Victorian terraced street looking out over Palmer Park.

Houses on Palmer Park Avenue

Walked along to the end of the road and under the A329M on to Culver Lane, and then turned right onto Anderson Avenue. Poor Anderson Avenue - the gardens of the properties on the west side of the road were completely ravaged by the construction of the A329 relief road. Not sure exactly when this was constructed - around 1970? There are initially no houses on the west side of the road and I'm wondering if some houses were demolished. The first pair of houses, numbers 34 and 36, looked to me to have no garden at all - the back windows must look straight out onto the road barrier. Awful. Did the residents get compensation for the compulsory purchase of their gardens? It must have massively devalued their properties in one hit. Anderson Avenue now ends in a dead end (pictured; the trough of the A329 is on the left hand side), though I don't know whether this was always the case.

The southern end of Anderson Avenue

Walked along Church Road for a bit noting the two very old houses mentioned in Pevsner, tucked among the newer additions - Bulmershe Cottage (no.36) and no. 46 with its cute little Gothic-style windows. Of the 20th century houses, 'Pantiles' (no. 108) is interesting with its spare facade and black Crittall-style windows. Nipped into Eastcourt Avenue to take a look at Woodley Hill House, part of Bracknell & Wokingham College. There didn't look to be much else of interest there so I retraced my steps down Church Road stopping for a quick look around the churchyard of Earley St Peter's Church. Found some members of the Heelas family in the graveyard (not literally - buried ones); assume they were part of the family who owned the department store that became part of John Lewis.

Churchyard of Earley St Peter's

Continued on to the Earley crossroads, and turned left down Wokingham Road to have a look for the lodge to Maiden Erlegh House mentioned in Pevsner, on the corner of Maiden Erlegh Drive, a tree-lined private road that I contemplated walking down but was too wimpy. It leads to Maiden Erlegh School, a well-regarded local comprehensive built on the site of Maiden Erlegh House, demolished in 1960. From the picture and the description, sounds as though it was a flamboyant place inside and out. Walked back to the crossroads and turned into Whiteknights Road, passing a bungalow on the right, opposite the University's Earley Gate entrance, that I always rather like (pictured). Passed Whiteknights Lake and then turned into Hamilton Road, a long avenue of some impressively large and imposing villas, as well as some lovely more modestly-sized Victorian semis.

House I like

Reaching the end of Hamilton Road I crossed at Cemetery Junction and made my way back down King's Road into town. After a brief stop off at the library and M&S I walked back to Caversham via Reading Bridge.

Kew; ruins; summerhouses

Had a lovely day at Kew Gardens with Ray on the 21st (pictures here). We took the train to Richmond and walked from there up Kew Road to the Lion Gate entrance, tucked away in a corner of the garden, and had a lovely walk around parts of the garden that I don’t normally visit. Visited the Pagoda – which is looking much in need of a lick of paint – and then the Japanese Gateway (Chokushi-Mon), which I don’t remember ever coming across before, although apparently it has been there since 1911. We sat briefly in front of the little gate and its Zen-like garden arrangement and Ray expounded some theory about the rocks representing flowing water which, who knows, may well be true. We then wandered on via the pinetum to the boundary with the River Thames, and watched boats for a while, including a procession of narrowboats coming out of nearby Brentford Lock and heading upstream towards Teddington (apparently the gateway to the non-tidal Thames – you live and learn). After tea and cake in the White Peaks café we visited a couple of the glasshouses, though avoided the butterfly display in the Princess of Wales glasshouse as it was heaving with people. We wandered back to Richmond and sourced a late lunch in the quirky Pazza Idea – funky decor and nice enough food though places that don’t take cards are frustrating.

Torrential rain last week including on the (mainly very young?) revellers arriving for the Festival. Amazing queue of them on Thursday morning by Reading Bridge waiting for the boat to take them along the river to the festival site. Going away for the weekend ensured that we avoided most of the revelry though we did wake up on Monday to discover an abandoned Tesco trolley outside the house. I duly emailed the customer service line to report it and, sure enough, it has gone now. What service.

Set off down to Mum and Dad’s on Friday morning for what is becoming an annual August barbecue weekend. We left early and stopped at Membury service station for breakfast including the traditional overly-pink sausages. Closer to our destination, we stopped off at Raglan Castle on a whim – were slightly stung by the entrance fee, given that it’s a ruin, but I guess even ruins require upkeep, and Raglan is quite an impressive ruin (pictures here). We lucked out and there was a sunny window in the generally gloomy weather that allowed us to have a pleasant poke around the ruins, moat etc. Ruth bought a necklace in the gift shop and I bought a cute greetings card with a sheep on it.

On Saturday Dave and Ben did sterling work helping Dad erect his new summerhouse (pictures), complete with cute little acorn finial on the top, while Hannah burned a huge pile of leylandii branches on a (very smoky) bonfire. By the time the barbecue was lit the sun had gone in rather and it was slightly on the cool side, but we had it anyway.

Building work on the London Road campus continues apace. Demolition of the building adjoining ours is supposed to begin soon, so we are braced for loud noises. A 'track mat walkway' has now been set up across the main lawn as the cloisters are now largely blocked off to enable, among other things, removal of asbestos from their ducts.

An almost microscopically insignificant piece of news is that my rarely-used coffee bean grinder is no more. Had run out of ground coffee on Monday morning so resorted to grinding some beans out of the packet I keep in reserve on a top shelf, but was reminded that the grinder has never been very efficient. Ruth offered to try and fix it and duly took it apart and made me wash the rust and cobwebs off the components, but was then unable to reassemble it again (a crucial screw in an inaccessible position, apparently). Here I am throwing it in the bin. Ah well.

Coving; photography; blood-letting

Branched out into some uncharacteristic manual work on the house recently by removing the coving from the master bedroom ceiling. A brief bit of desk research beforehand paid dividends in that it suggested beginning by breaking the coving in the middle with a hammer rather than starting off by trying to prise it off the walls. This proved an excellent suggestion and the whole lot was gone within 3-4 hours, which was tiring but satisfying. Not original coving, but that stuff people put on thinking it adds 'character' (poisoned concept), so I don't feel guilty.

Had unexpectedly solo but surprisingly pleasant trip up to London on Saturday morning, starting off by treating myself to brunch at the Market Place branch of Carluccio’s just off Oxford Street. Then to the Photographers’ Gallery to see American photographer Sally Mann’s exhibition The Family and The Land, which I had been prompted to go and see by a recent Guardian Weekend piece. The exhibition, apparently Mann’s first solo exhibition in the UK, featured four different sets of photographs in four different rooms, one a collection from Immediate Family, one from Faces, a series of close-ups of her grown-up children’s faces using a process called wet plate collodion, the technicalities of which rather passed me by, one a series of shots of landscapes with Civil War significance and one a series of shots of rotting corpses – ‘What Remains’ – taken at the ‘Body Farm’ in Tennessee. All interesting, though the fat corpse was a bit gross. Finished off by visiting the bookshop and splurging on two books, a copy of Immediate Family and one of Mann’s earlier study At Twelve.

Had a nice dinner with Ruth at Bella Italia on Monday evening to celebrate my birthday followed by Amarettos (or is it Amaretti?) at Malmaison.

Decided to do my public spirited bit yesterday by going along to St Andrew’s United Reformed Church to donate blood. Feels like a worthy thing to do but a certain amount of reform of the way data is collected from patients is needed, to avoid the endless repetition one has to go through each time. One of the questions on the Donor Health Check Questionnaire relates to whether one has ever lived outside the UK for a continuous period of six months or more. As I have, albeit as a child, I am obliged to answer ‘Yes’ each time to this, but the National Blood Service appears not to retain any of the information given for next time, with the result that one is questioned each time about the trips in question and the nurse/assistant has to go off and look up the countries concerned in a file. This time, while puzzling over South Korea’s entry, the nurse looked up and asked me “Were you ever in the Demilitarized Zone?”. I was strongly tempted to answer “No, as a seven-year-old Western schoolchild I was, unsurprisingly, unable to slip past the most heavily guarded border in the world”, although my actual response was “No”, albeit accompanied by a minor degree of eye-rolling. Was eventually allowed to donate, once last year’s surgery had also been discussed in some detail. Makes you wonder whether they actually want your fluids sometimes. Once back in the office, I recovered my strength with another slice of birthday cake.

Claire treated me to a birthday lunch at Strada today where we made use of their pre-ordering service though we had to endure a triumphal ‘Aha!’ moment from the smug Scottish git who had justified taking 50 minutes to serve Claire’s lunch the week before by telling her that everyone else had pre-ordered and she hadn’t. Inevitably, these days, we were armed with a ‘2 mains for £10’ voucher, although we did enhance our panzerotti porcini off the set menu with a large glass of wine each.

Sculpture; marrow; teenage vampires

Took in the Henry Moore exhibition at Tate Britain on Saturday 31^st. As I arrived in London early it occurred to me that a second breakfast would be an entirely sensible idea, and as the outlets on Waterloo station were heaving with bodies I wandered down York Road and happened on the unassuming-looking Caffè Quattro, in a drab location on the ground floor of a 1960s-looking office block, but had an entirely excellent bacon sandwich and cup of coffee. Just goes to show.

Met Helen at the gallery to go around the exhibition – I was initially a bit stung by the £12.50 entrance fee but in fairness there were loads of pieces on display, including the wartime drawings of Londoners sheltering in the tube that allegedly won Moore the hearts of the British public. The final room contained four huge pieces in elm, beautifully set off by the light from the windows. Moore evidently did not attach much importance to naming his pieces, as more or less all his sculptures are called either ‘Reclining Figure’, ‘Mother and Child’ or ‘Head’, making it hard to remember whether you've actually seen particular ones before.

Before leaving we had a look at Fiona Banner’s ‘Harrier and Jaguar’ in the Duveen Galleries. ‘Harrier’ is a retired Sea Harrier jet, hanging nose-downwards from the ceiling, while ‘Jaguar’ is an RAF Jaguar used in the first Gulf War, lying upside-down in the neighbouring gallery. I hadn’t heard of Fiona Banner (she has apparently been a Turner Prize nominee) but apparently much of her work has a war plane theme – among other things, she has apparently produced a frame-by-frame written account of Top Gun (phew, these artists). Of ‘Harrier and Jaguar’, Banner has apparently made the typical cop-out statement of “This work is more about how people react to it”. Saves you deciding what it’s about, I suppose.

My colleague Ann brought a number of courgettes from her garden into the office the other week, though all had reached the size where calling them courgettes is stretching a point. (Are marrows really just big courgettes? A quick web search reveals quite a bit of debating of this question, though it’s probably not one of life’s more fascinating questions.) I took one to show willing, but then couldn’t face anything as fiddly as trying to stuff it, so tried grating it and frying it in the pan in manner of a potato cake, but the result was distinctly underwhelming. Ate it though, as I felt a bit obliged after the trouble I'd gone to. It was OK with a fried egg on top.



For August’s Book Group book Sarah, our youngest member, had chosen Twilight, the first book in Stephenie Meyer’s monumentally successful teen vampire saga. In spite of its being clearly aimed at ‘young adults’ while the majority of our group are over 40, we all admitted to having enjoyed it. What’s not to like? We followed up the discussion and a selection of different Domino’s Pizzas, generously fetched by Sarah’s discreet boyfriend Tim, with watching the movie, which was enjoyable, though, perhaps inevitably, we didn’t like it as much as the book and Robert Pattinson's Edward was not how I'd imagined Edward - not enough gravitas and what's with the sideburns? However, RP is, as I understand it, a big heartthrob with today's young.

As a (considerably) lower-key version of going to Brighton Pride on the 7^th, which had been the original plan, Ruth and I took the bus to Sonning Common to visit The Pet Barn and check out its rabbit-related supplies. We bought a small packet of hay and communed with some bantams before walking back through the village past Duckingham Palace and out to The Herb Farm, which does teas and hideously twee garden accessories in addition to herbs. I bought a packet of black olive Mondovino crackers, sensibly labelled ‘Serve with white wine’, and we briefly checked out the Saxon Maze, though, as this picture will attest, I was too scared to go in. We then headed for the newly-reopened and revamped Bird in Hand for a drink and snack. I had a creditable beef sandwich though the small bar area at the front does rather have the air of a hotel reception. The entire back section of the pub was booked out by the local Ramblers' Association, so we steered clear.

Last Sunday I met Dad at The Bear at Hungerford for a pleasant sunny lunch in the courtyard, followed by a stroll along the Kennet & Avon Canal. The narrowboaters are out in force. Because of the timings of Sunday trains I was obliged to arrive early so had time for a browse around the antiques arcade, where I bought Ruth a postcard of a young Queen Elizabeth II in full regalia, though I issued a warning that fancying HM is probably sacrilegious.

Fermented cabbage; garden squares; local produce

A new Oriental supermarket has opened up on Friar Street that sells kimchi, so I have managed to obtain some following my unsuccessful attempt back in April. I forget the new shop’s name but there’s probably little point in remembering it as doubtless it won’t be long before it’s closed down and the owners do a runner overnight. Have also purchased a large packet for my parents, at Mum’s request, so it is currently festering in my fridge in readiness for when I see them next. Disconcertingly, though, the last time I returned to the shop, their kimchi supplies were apparently sold out and the man at the checkout claimed that there had been a big run on it, exclaiming “So popular!” and raising his arms in a 'what can you do' gesture. I hadn’t imagined that Reading would have a large army of kimchi fans, but was briefly cheered at the thought that the townspeople might be unexpectedly sophisticated. In reality, of course, the keen kimchi-munchers are likely to be overseas university students, rather than fat tattooed people from Whitley.

Spent a pleasant Friday in London with Ray on the 16th, in the main to have a look at two garden squares owned by the Cadogan Estates where Home Counties Turf Care have recently been employed to do some hard landscaping. We started the day with hot chocolate at the Marketplace Restaurant in Chelsea Farmers Market, the latter a faintly ludicrous name for the nice but hardly rustic collection of expensive shops and restaurants. I duly admired the new paths and edging in Cadogan Gardens and Hans Place and we popped in for a nose around St Columba’s Presbyterian Church of Scotland on Pont Street. We had intended to visit the Saatchi Gallery but discovered on arrival that it was closed for a private function, so we had a leisurely lunch instead at the Gallery Mess, the restaurant next door to the gallery that’s housed in the old Duke of York’s officers’ mess. The restaurant’s otherwise attractive interior is decorated with a number of neon installations, including a dodgy one of a woman on all fours with the word ‘Forgiveness’ (see this Independent review).

Had a lovely if expensive dinner with Ruth at Myalacarte on the 23^rd - I was aware that the restaurant makes a point of serving local produce where this is obtainable, but this did lead to some amusing descriptions on the menu, including one dish that came with ‘Basingstoke watercress’. I’m not sure that just calling it ‘watercress’ mightn’t have made it sound more appetising. We chuckled also at the 'mixed Goring Heath leaves'. Ordered the ‘pink carved Yattendon woodpigeon breast’ for my starter followed by fillet steak and treacle start and cream (which we accompanied with a dessert wine) before heading home for the blood pressure cuff. All delicious and beautifully presented so with hindsight my assessment of the restaurant last year might have been a tad harsh.

In an attempt to keep up with the young people, I have made the effort to master using predictive text, which is largely useful once you get the hang of it, but the phone does seem occasionally to possess an atypical vocabulary. I sent a recent text message to Ray part of which was supposed to read ‘… otherwise I will forward to your mum’s’. Using predictive text meant that what the phone wrote was ‘… otherwise I will forward to your nun’s’. Surely ‘mum’ has to be a more commonly used word than ‘nun’? Bizarre.

Brief pseudo gas leak excitement last Monday, when our team returned to the office after a work 'picnic' (held in meeting room due to rainy weather) and were alerted by a hissing noise coming from a pipe just above the entrance door and a gassy smell. Cue evacuation of building and standing around in the car park for an hour, while the university’s security services investigated. The upshot, ludicrously, was that the smell had not been gas but just stale air being forced through a pipe, and was part of a testing exercise being carried out on some of the pipework as part of the current building works. The testers hadn’t been sure where the end of the pipe was and had been going to judge that according to which group of staff panicked and fled their building. Doesn’t seem quite the best way of doing things.

On the way back from a meeting in London last Tuesday I visited The Building Centre on Store Street - never been there before but some quite interesting displays including the ‘Transforming the Boroughs’ project. Outside in the street, there appeared to be a 'We Love Store Street' celebration going on, apparently part of the London Festival of Architecture. Sweet.

Our chilli plant is producing quite a few quite large chillis. Difficult to know how much larger they’ll get but I’m assuming they are supposed to turn red at some point. The plant is just labelled Chilli Pepper (Hot), which doesn’t give much away. Harley did take a little bite out of one fruit before I could stop him, but didn’t appear to suffer any ill effects.

Sturdy TVs; meditation; afternoon tea

The news of the ‘end of the line’ for analogue TVs reminded me that I’ve been trying for a while to convince my 10-year-old 28” Beko TV that it’s coming to the end of its useful life, but it continues in robust health. Given that it wasn’t particularly expensive when I bought it, and it was a make I’d never heard of at the time, I’m quite impressed. I would quite like an excuse to buy a new flatscreen jobbie though so have been trying to drop hints to it, but thus far it has refused either to explode or to throw itself from its perch.

Have just had a pleasant few days off work, much of it spent aimlessly bumbling. On Thursday, took myself to Oxford for the day, using the bus for a change – takes longer than the train but cheaper and goes from Caversham. Went to visit Inner Space Oxford, an offshoot of the Global Retreat Centre mentioned in a previous post. Attended a lunchtime guided meditation session, involving sitting in rows in a white room staring at a large orange oval shape on one wall. Quite good although I had my usual problem of drifting off during guided meditations (see previous post), in this case recovering my concentration to discover that I was supposed to have left the physical realm and become pure light. Perhaps a tad advanced for beginners. On the way out I impulsively bought a DVD containing a selection of visual meditations, which I have been trying out this week. Lots of pleasant scenes of nature, inspiring messages etc. Bit naff but it does beat just sitting for 10 minutes attempting to focus on the breath but actually looking around the living room and checking watch.

Then went for a meander around the University of Oxford Botanic Garden, now that I can get in free – was inspired by recent visit to the Harcourt Arboretum to become a Friend of the Garden, as this apparently allows free entry not only to the Garden and Arboretum but also to Kew – as the entrance fee to Kew is about £13 this seemed quite a good deal.

Went up to the marina in the evening to see Ray and had a pleasant pasta dinner. Two boats in the narrowboat marina have acquired kittens, apparently from the same litter, which were scampering in and out of Ray’s boat in a fashion I thought quite cute, until one of them was sick on the floor.

On Friday, drove down to Herefordshire to spend a couple of days with Mum. Have discovered, among other things, that I am oblivious to the plight of suffering farm animals. Mum popped out to the local shop early on Saturday morning and I went to sit out on the patio with a magazine, but was disturbed by a sheep persistently bleating very close to the hedge, so after throwing a few words of abuse its way I eventually went inside. A couple of hours later, it dawned on us that it was staying in the same spot an awfully long time and, on investigating, Mum discovered that it had got its head stuck in the fence. She duly phoned the farmhouse and, a speedy 45 minutes or so later, the farmer arrived to release it.

Later in the day we went out for a short walk along the disused railway line from Llanfoist Crossing to the Monmouthshire & Brecon Canal, a dinky little canal that is apparently completely landlocked and not connected to the rest of the canal system. It looked a lovely spot for a pleasant meander in a boat, although how you get a boat onto it from anywhere else is a bit of a mystery. After the walk we went for tea at the Llanwenarth Hotel near Abergavenny. We were restrained enough to order only one full tea (sandwiches; scones and cream; assortment of cakes) between us, with a couple of extra scones for good measure.

Later in the evening we cooked an interesting fusion supper of keema matar and Korean fried squash (ho-pahk juhn) made with a couple of courgettes from Dad’s garden. One of the courgettes had grown quite large and bulbous so was quite proud of myself for handling it. Now I just need Ruth to get rid of the really big potato that’s lurking at the back of the vegetable rack.

We also made a summer pudding (although all I did was boil the fruit) which turned out quite well. Took this picture immediately Mum had freed it from its bowl, in case it collapsed, but it held firm. Quite impressed.

On Sunday went for a last Sunday lunch at the farmhouse at Ashbury where Ruth's aunt has lived for the last 50 years, prior to her imminent move to a smaller house. Much of her packing had been done but Ruth managed to purloin quite a large number of posh-looking wine glasses, which I will no doubt break.

Had another day off on Monday which I mainly spent doing useful jobs (going to gym; sweeping debris off kitchen floor, etc). Was interrupted late afternoon by a lady conducting an Ipsos Mori survey (must get new front door with spyhole), which I reluctantly agreed to participate in - it ended up taking about 40 minutes due to a combination of the repetitive nature of the questions and her seeming lack of expertise with the technology she was using. Just when she had finally finished, Harley bounded in, ran over to her, stuck his head in her bag and then knocked the cable out of the back of her laptop. Cue several minutes of ‘oh dear, I think I’ve lost everything’, while I remonstrated with Harley somewhat unconvincingly and tried to simultaneously convey sympathy and impatience for her to leave. Eventually she left, saying that I was the first person this had happened with.

She also mentioned that she’d had quite a good result in our area with getting people to complete the survey. Made mental note to move to area where more of the residents have day jobs.