Milton Keynes; Quantockian jaunt; canal mooch

Made the somewhat convoluted train journey to Milton Keynes on Friday 11th for a job interview at The Open University’s main campus at Walton Hall. So as not to risk being late I took a taxi out to the campus, but after a brief wander around afterwards photographing some of the various sculptures that adorn the grounds, I caught a bus back into town and after a c. 20-minute journey along ring roads, arrived at something billing itself as ‘thecentre:mk’ which I figured must be the town centre. Got off and wandered into a vast shopping centre – after walking for what seemed like quite a while and eventually having lunch at Burger King in desperation, I emerged out the other end, hoping I’d be near the railway station, but no, then had a 20-minute walk along vast open boulevards to get back to the station. The town is certainly laid out with plenty of open space, but at first sight isn’t exactly pedestrian-friendly.

Ruth and I had last week off work for a 4-night self-catering break in Somerset. As I had to see to a number of work-related issues first thing on Monday morning, we ended up being a little late leaving Reading for our scheduled en-route lunch with Ruth’s grandmother at 1pm (in short, we left Reading ten minutes before we were due to be sitting down for lunch with Grannie in Cheddar). Ruth made a damage-limitation phone call and we eventually arrived at Cheddar at about 3pm, but luckily were still able to get lunch at Mrs Millard’s local café the Edelweiss. Grannie had, understandably, already had her lunch there by the time we arrived but ordered a cup of coffee while we had ours.

We then drove on to our chosen holiday cottage in Crowcombe, arriving at about 6pm where we were welcomed by Bruce, one half of the owners of Town End Farm Cottages. ‘Flora’s Barn’ is one of two holiday properties adjoining Town End Farm, and very lovely it was too. Bruce and Kirsty had thoughtfully left a cream tea out for us, which we worked our way through over the next couple of days.

On Day 1 we had a bit of a wander around Crowcombe, including a visit to the Church of the Holy Ghost, apparently believed to be the only church in the country to have that dedication. It has some interesting carved bench-ends depicting a number of pagan scenes, including one of two apparently nude men spearing a dragon, and a rather cute bat. Had a look down the drive at Crowcombe Court, an 18^th century mansion which apparently these days can be hired for weddings, and then a wander into the village shop where we stocked up on a pork pie and a packet of cheese & onion crisps, and several postcards. I then dragged Ruth on quite an uphill walk up Lower Quantock Combe to look for St David’s Well, which I had seen marked on the map. After several wrong turns, and thanks largely to Ruth’s perseverance, we eventually found it, quite nicely marked with a little sign. After appropriate photo-taking, we tramped our way back down to Crowcombe for a pint and lunch in The Carew Arms, the village pub.


On Day 2 we drove out to the coast to Kilve beach, a Site of Special Scientific Interest and known for its fossils and exposed rock formations. Also, according to a book I got out of the library called The Hidden Places of Somerset, 10-foot conger eels that lurk in rock pools, though we didn't see any of those. We went for a walk from the beach past Kilve's little church and the ruins of Kilve Chantry, which is propped up all over the place and looks as though it would blow over in a strong breeze, then to the trapped-in-a-bygone-age/echoes-of-yesteryear type village of East Quantoxhead and then back along the clifftop path to the Chantry Tea Gardens for tea and cake. In the afternoon Ruth decided that she wanted to go to Minehead, so I dutifully drove her there and we had a brief wander around. To make adequate use of the parking fee we walked to the little harbour at one end of the bay, which appeared to be the most attractive part from what we could see.

On Day 3 we drove to the beach again first thing to take some more photos, as it was much sunnier than the previous day, and then up to the top of the Quantock ridge to somewhere called Dead Woman's Ditch (an iron age fortification). Had a walk around there and down into Rams Combe, where we spent a while looking for the alleged public conveniences (eventually located them) and ate cold sausages and a cheese sandwich. While driving back over the top to Crowcombe we encountered a small gang of ponies, which turned into a bigger gang once we stopped the car and Ruth got out and started petting them. One suspects they may be used to getting fed by tourists. Eventually managed to negotiate the car through the mass of ponies. In the afternoon we went to visit Dunster, where we had a particularly delicious cream tea at 'Cobblestones' cafe and visited the castle. As we were so late in the day (about 3.45pm) the nice man on the gate let us in for a discounted rate. The castle itself was closed, but we had a pleasant wander around the gardens in beautiful weather and appeared to be the only people there. Later in the evening we wandered down to The Carew Arms to try out their not very extensive dinner menu - having had a bit of a meat-heavy week I ordered the Thai fish cakes off the specials board, but was a bit surprised to discover that they came with chips - as, indeed, everything on the menu appeared to.

Drove back on Friday in relentless rain the whole way. Collected the rabbits from Steve and Sandra’s, where Sandra reassured Ruth that Lola’s dominance over Harley is normal for rabbits; apparently they’re a bit of a matriarchal bunch. Go sister.

Met up with Ray on Sunday for our postponed walk from a few weeks ago. We initially set off for the Harcourt Arboretum intending to have a gentle stroll and admire some spring bulbs, but on arrival found that it’s shut at weekends until April. Continued on up the A4074, initially rather aimlessly but Ray then came up with the idea of going to visit the Oxford Canal. The only problem was that we had come out without either his satnav or a map, so headed off northwest of Oxford with the vague idea that we might bump into the canal somewhere en route. Eventually I remembered that I could use my phone’s GPS, which isn’t flawless but certainly better than nothing, and enabled us to drive to Tackley, where we parked by the tiny railway station and walked across country to meet the canal at Pigeon Lock. We then walked along the towpath past a good number of narrowboats to Enslow Bridge, where we stopped off for a reviving drink at The Rock of Gibraltar. Then back to Tackley on a minor country road past the Satellite Earth Station northwest of Enslow. All good fun and lovely weather.

Lunches; Cutbush Lane; sofa movements part 2

Our game with the chocolate orange has ended – Dad expressed a desire to have it if we were just going to muck around with it, so I gave it to Ray to take down to my parents’ place when he goes down this coming weekend to help service Dad’s mower, and sundry other outdoor tasks.

Claire kindly took me out for lunch on Thursday to The Black Boy at Shinfield, a pub that I last visited over 15 years ago - it's had a substantial refurb in the meantime. It seemed busy for a weekday lunchtime but the food was very good. Claire had been given a Honda Jazz as a courtesy car while the Smart is in for repairs, but didn't seem any too taken with it. I have to say the dropped bonnet did look a bit awkward.

Met Kate for another lunch time catch-up on Friday, although as before not actually involving lunch in her case. Dol.che Vita was packed so we tried out Café Index at the new ‘Henley Business School’ building. Amused from reading the ‘Places to eat on campus’ page that Café Index makes big claims for its tea and coffee, but does however only sell ‘Sandwiches’, as opposed to the ‘Quality sandwiches’ sold by Dol.che Vita. My sandwich was, indeed, somewhat inferior, but I padded it out with a packet of overpriced handcut crisps.

Crisps are one of the relatively few foodstuffs (sausages being another) where I am relatively OK (indeed, one might say better) with the more downmarket varieties. I don’t require my crisps to have been handcut and lovingly fried that morning on an organic farm in Devon; Walkers will do fine. Equally with sausages: where I can see the arguments in favour of better quality meat, I prefer sausages without the addition of leek/apple/rosemary/chocolate; nor do they need necessarily to be made from wild boar or venison.

Henley Business School was formed from the merger in 2008 of Reading’s business school with the Henley Management College, whose splendid riverside campus is now being referred to as the University’s ‘Greenlands’ campus. The Reading operations have built themselves a couple of nice new buildings on the Whiteknights campus to compensate.

Some of Saturday was spent working as I had a job interview to prepare for and Ruth had a bid template to finalise. In the afternoon, inspired by Thursday’s visit to The Black Boy, we (I) decided to see if it was walkable from my flat. Indeed it is – about 45 minutes at a reasonably brisk trot along Cutbush Lane. Cutbush Lane is really quite interesting, at least for those of us who find disused roads interesting – although presumably at one point it was a continuous country road, much of the Earley end of it has now been made into a footpath with the building of the Lower Earley estate, and its former route over the M4 has been closed off and is now pedestrians and cycles only. This page on the website of the The Society for All British and Irish Road Enthusiasts (SABRE) gives a bit of history and links to an aerial photo of Cutbush Lane as it is today. Once over the M4, the lane passes Upperwood Farm (was owned by the university; not sure if it still is), Oldhouse Farm (still is) and Shinfield Grange (pic here), apparently formerly the home of the Palmer family but since 1989 the home of the College of Estate Management, until recently linked to the University of Reading but a 'going our separate ways' plan was agreed last year.


Sunday was such a nice day that although I had intended doing some more interview prep, I went for a walk instead over to Woodley, using Woodley's branch of Waitrose as a goal for the afternoon (although Asda's closer, I have avoided it for the last few weeks as it doesn't have much to recommend it; have instead being buying essentials at the useful little branch of the Co-op on Wokingham Road). Crossed over the railway and the A329(M) at Earley station and then had a bit of a stroll by South Lake (right) before heading for the precinct.

Woodley Town Council's website describes it as "a thriving town", though it is in fact a sprawling housing estate with a 1960s shopping precinct in the middle. I lived there for a short time while a student at Reading, on the slightly newer 'Airfield' development on the eastern side. Here's the house where we lived - my Renault 5 is on the drive and my then housemate Diana in the doorway.

For the last week, both the new sofa and my old orange sofa have been occupying the living room, rendering it necessary to step over them in order to enter room and sit down, made more challenging when armed with glass of wine and plate of food as per Friday evening. Howver, we moved the orange sofa out into the front garden at the weekend, where I insisted on a final photo shoot with it. Ruth texted me on Monday evening to say that it had been collected by the council. RIP sofa. Have now entered a short period of mourning.

Afroblighty; junkyarding; sofa movements Part 1

On Thursday, took the ‘flagship’ 17 bus from the Three Tuns all the way through to Tilehurst for Book Group at Ali’s. We admired Ali’s newly redecorated living room and sympathised over Claire M’s story of that morning’s contretemps between a Tesco delivery lorry and her Smart car. The wee car is currently, not surprisingly, in for repairs. Although Helen seemed disappointed with her choice of book, Ali Shaw’s The Girl with Glass Feet, I had rather enjoyed it, although perhaps a little more resolution of things at the end, or at least some explanation of why Ida was turning into glass, might have been more satisfying.

Ruth and I went to South Street Arts on Friday to see Andi Osho’s show Afroblighty. Osho took up the whole first half of the show – about 45 minutes – with interaction with the audience, which struck me as risky but her handling of it was perfect, managing to make gentle comedy out of certain members of the audience while at the same time keeping the whole thing good-humoured. The second half of the show moved on more to what we had come to see, which was her reflections on growing up in the East End as a member of Britain’s Nigerian community. I would have preferred it if this slot had taken up a bigger proportion of the show, but she certainly knows how to manage an audience. Here's an Independent review of Afroblighty from the 2010 Edinburgh Fringe (the accusation of posturing is a bit harsh, but I thought similarly about the spoken-word piece at the end - keeping to comedy would have been better) and another rather more complimentary one of the same show.

Ruth and I had intended to go to an auction on Saturday, but got up too late to make the early-morning browsing slot, which had been our chief interest in going, so went for a leisurely breakfast at the Alto Lounge instead. We then hit the reclamation yard on Pell Street for a bit of a browse among the discarded Victorian fireplaces for an ash tray for ours, as it’s lost its original. We did sift through a big pile of rusting trays on a table, but none were the right size and shape. According to the chap there, they can be a bit hard to come by but he did suggest we could have one specially made. Unsure whether I want to go that far at the moment. On the way back to Caversham we called in to Fanny’s Antiques on Lynmouth Road, though this is definitely more of an antiques arcade than a junk yard. Had a pleasant browse – slightly alarmed at the parlous state of their building – roof leaking all over the place and visibly propped up on supports in several areas.

Had originally planned to visit Kew Gardens with Ray on Sunday but he had unfortunately sustained a knee injury the previous Monday falling down the steps into his boat, so wasn’t up to the walking involved. We met for a late breakfast and instead watched some of a DVD about the Grand Union Canal that I had given him for his birthday. Rock on. Also admired the new glossy paintwork around his windows.

Met the lovely Sue B on Tuesday for a post-work drink in O’Neills. My afternoon spent discussing Annual Report with boss paled into inadequacy beside hers spent playing football with disadvantaged youth. Sue now works for include and seems to have been plunged straight off into dealing with excluded teenagers, in addition to working for Reading Borough Council as a youth worker on Thursday evenings. Good on her.

Met Ray for an after-work supper on Wednesday at the Green Olive in Henley; he had managed to acquire a voucher which entitled diners to four free meze dishes (of the restaurant’s choosing; apparently they are trying out a new menu) on the proviso that you gave them written feedback afterwards. We duly scoffed our way through lamb koftas, some rather odd fishcakes, garlic bread and a potato and onion dish, and I gave a written thumbs-up to three out of the four.

This week Ruth finally had the sofa that she bought on our Christmas weekend in Winchester three years ago, and that has been in storage at her parents’ home ever since, shipped (or rather, driven in the back of a van) to the house. After an initial quote of £220 for the transport, she managed to find a site online where you say what you want ferried from where, and someone with a van who’s going that way will bid for the work. Nifty system, although it did mean that the sofa ended up being delivered at 7am by a chap who apparently spoke little English but did manage to say “Your mother is very strong”. Visions of him reclining against his van with a fag at the collection point, while Ruth’s approaching-70-year-old mother tossed the sofa lightly into the van with one arm.

Have made the reluctant decision to get rid of my orange sofa. It's about 11 years old, which certainly isn't antique for a sofa, but the covers are now refusing to come up clean after a wash and, more damningly, the rabbits have between them done a good deal of damage to it, with the result that they are now actually able to get inside it and run around. Intend to purchase nice new sofa at some point in future, which will be kept at least a mile away from the nearest bunny.

Curry Club; around Whiteknights; weeny churches

Got together with Claire at the Back of Beyond after work on Thursday for what was supposed to be one quick pint, in view of my economy drive, but inevitably turned into several plus a chicken tikka masala courtesy of the Wetherspoon's Curry Club. Tried something called Fortyniner.

Took a walk around Whiteknights Lake on Friday lunchtime, although it was a bit muddier than expected - was passed by a number of scornful-looking students in Ugg boots while tripping along cautiously in my office shoes. Didn’t see any of the pretty Mandarin ducks – they must all have been in hiding, but took a few pictures including this one (left) of Foxhill House, built by Alfred Waterhouse and apparently used as his own home before he moved to Yattendon Court. Waterhouse built a number of buildings in Reading, including the Town Hall and Reading School. In my day Foxhill was student accommodation but it now houses the School of Law. Flickr has a lot of photos of Foxhill, including this night-time shot.

The Wikipedia entry on Whiteknights Park mentions Foxhill and also refers, albeit not by name, to Temporary Office Building 1, our new home (see last paragraph under 'History'). Foxhill was one of the 'new' houses built in the second half of the 19^th century after the estate was split up. There's a piece here on the Region 6 War Room - the nuclear bunker is, indeed, not far from where I sit typing this. Surely it could be converted into something - a nice café? - rather than being demolished. Some people have no sense of history.

Took the train down to Abergavenny on Saturday to visit my parents. Dad cooked a chicken curry in the evening and I spent much of the post-dinner period luxuriating¹ on the sofa in front of the woodburning stove. On Sunday we drove into Wales via Llyswen and Aberedw and parked by the River Edw whence we walked to the Church of St Padarn in Llanbadarn-y-garreg, a diddy wee church that according to this, might be 13^th or 14^th century but it’s not very clear. There's a picture of the interior here. On Sunday evening Mum cooked a dish that I remember enjoying as a child, leeks wrapped in ham and baked in a cheesy sauce. Took this picture before we dived into it.

Discovered the chocolate orange in my rucksack while getting ready for bed on Saturday night.

Dad took it into his head to drive me home on the Monday, so the three of us had a smooth and speedy motorway journey back to Reading, stopping off at Hungerford to have lunch at The Bear, where Mum and I had club sandwiches and Dad took the opportunity to have lambs' kidneys on a bed of champ. I had never heard of the latter but apparently it's essentially mashed potatoes and spring onions.

¹ = snoozing

Guitars and oboes; tapas; French cinema

Accompanied Ray and Barbara to Norden Farm Centre for the Arts last Thursday to attend one of the concerts on Maidenhead Music Society’s 2010-11 concert programme. This one was given by Marios Argiros and Dimitris Dekavallas, an oboe/guitar duo who apparently released their debut CD in 2009. The recital included pieces by Schubert and Bartok (of those I had heard of) and Coste, Piazzolla, Machado and Villa-Lobos (of those I hadn’t). Astor Piazzolla was apparently a tango composer so the music included some tango, accompanied by the guitarist slapping the side of his guitar energetically. Piazzolla was apparently a virtuoso bandoneónist – never heard of this but apparently it’s a type of concertina popular in Argentina and Uruguay, and used in tango orchestras. There you go.

Submitted speculative transfer in request forms to the University Pensions Office a few months ago and have received a big wad of paperwork in reply, headed by a memo (a memo? Who still sends memos?) from the University Pensions Officer, a peculiarly abrasive woman whom I prefer not to speak with in person. Having read the bumf, have concluded that I have no idea whether it would be financially beneficial or not to transfer in and that I might do well to consult an IFA. Of course, now I have to do loads of research on choosing an IFA (as opposed to just choosing one, which I might well just do had I an entirely different personality type). Even more work. Sigh.

Met Kate for lunch at a surprisingly empty Fusion café on Friday – evidently students don’t do any of that hanging about campus on Fridays nonsense. Kate had some exciting news to share which did unfortunately mean that she had to avoid pretty much all of Fusion’s mayonnaise-slathered sandwiches, but she had a cup of tea while I ate, before picking up a plain cheese sandwich on the way back to her office.

Met at the Ivory Lounge on Saturday evening for Claire's 45^th birthday celebrations. Started off with cocktails - to get in the spirit of things, I had a margarita, which at least wasn't too sweet. We went on to La Tasca for a lovely dinner, though I am unfortunately wearing my 'photo face' in the group photo (right).

Sat down this evening to take in a bit of world cinema by watching Bertrand Blier’s Trop Belle Pour Toi, starring Gérard Depardieu and Josiane Balasko. Car dealer Bernard feels a strong and reciprocated attraction for his new temporary secretary Colette, who is fairly plain and lives in a poor part of town with a struggling writer with whom she seems to be in a relationship, though that’s all a bit vague. Bernard lives in a stonking great house with his beautiful wife Florence and their two children. The film follows the course of Bernard and Colette’s affair and Florence’s attempts to deal with it, though it’s all a bit confusing, partly because it keeps including sequences which are probably dream sequences but it’s not very clear. In the end, Bernard is left running frantically around a motel car park after both Florence and Colette have left him. Quelle pathos.

Aged relatives; Embarrassing Bodies; pies

Took the afternoon off last Friday to accompany Ruth to her grandmother’s 103^rd birthday tea party. Mrs Box has been resident at Aldbourne Nursing Home for the last 10 years or so and celebrated her 100th there in 2008. The home seemed fairly pleasant as these places go and Aldbourne is certainly a civilised setting. The tea party was attended by various family members including Mrs Box' three children (Ruth's mother, aunt and uncle). Ate some egg sandwiches, as one does at these things, and a big slice of cake.

As we are having a socially quiet couple of months, Ruth and I have been enjoying the latest series of Embarrassing Bodies. This week, was mildly irritated by the girl who’d had surgery on her nether regions and then decided she didn’t like the result (henceforth Stupid Labia Girl) and the woman who was paranoid about an inverted nipple, as any lover would probably have been distracted from it by the fact that about 20% of her body was tattooed. One hopes that they watched the show and felt suitably guilty next to the poor chap with neurofibromatosis. Given a choice between an inverted nipple and massive tumours sticking out the back of my head, I’m fairly sure which I’d pick.

Duly ferried the chocolate orange back to the house last Friday and sneaked it into Ruth’s cornflakes packet. Received a text message on Monday morning saying simply ‘Cow’. A minor triumph.

We had a team lunch at Sweeney & Todd on Monday to celebrate little Emma's passing her NVQ Level 2 in Business Administration. It isn't my favourite place, but OK for the occasional meal. In fairness the pies are pretty nice, and it is, after all, a Reading institution. In view of imminent fasting (see next paragraph), I filled up on a chicken and ham pie, plus salad and a buttered roll.

Fasted from 4.30pm on Monday in preparation for a blood test first thing on Tuesday morning. In spirit of New Year paying more attention to health, etc, had requested a cholesterol test in view of vague family history. Spent Monday evening doing various bits of paperwork in an effort to distract myself. Duly went for the test, then crashed irritably into office to brew a pot of coffee and eat a bacon roll. All was made not at all worthwhile when the surgery telephoned me that evening to say there'd been a 'mix up' at the path lab and I'd have to have it done again. When I tried to find out exactly what had happened, was told "I'm not sure, just a mix up". That's all right then. Do they imagine I enjoy going without food? Intend to spend next week consuming nothing but lard just to ensure that I get an exciting result.

Mildly perturbed this week to note that a 1960s bungalow opposite the Earley Gate entrance to the campus, whose design I’ve always admired, is up for sale. It’s being advertised by Sara Batting as a ‘Californian-style’ individual detached residence. What are the chances of it being bought by somebody sympathetic who wants to treasure its design features? I sincerely hope so, but have a nasty feeling that the more likely outcome will be that the site will be bought by a developer, the bungalow will be flattened and 762 tiny little faux-classical boxes with fake carriage lanterns outside will be crammed into its place. Sometimes I could JUST GET DEPRESSED.

Tickled this week by news of a new iPhone app which guides worshippers through confession, and has apparently been approved by the Catholic church. Apparently it can't actually give you absolution - you still have to visit your priest for that. However, it does help you keep track of your sins and to examine your conscience, based on personalised factors (so presumably 'Slept with man', if you've already entered that you a) are married and b) are a man, is REALLY REALLY BAD, as opposed to just not recommended).

While I probably wouldn't buy this particular app, am a bit narked at all the cool accessories you can get for iPhones, which you can't seem to for other smartphones - e.g. the TimeCube. My decision not to get an iPhone was due in part to irritation over the years with evangelical Mac users, which has led me to boycott Apple products, pretty though they are. Perhaps that’s simply misguided though.

Perming; evolving English; chocolate orange japery

Me with perm

During a hair appointment first thing on Saturday morning, learned from my hairdresser Lisa that perming has now been taken off the hairdressing syllabus at college. She had just finished perming an elderly lady and had spilt some of the smelly fixative all over her clothes, which led to a bit of a conversation about perming. Lisa seemed a little concerned that this is likely to lead in the future to a shortage of hairdressers who know how to perm, although we both conceded that, barring a major change of direction in hair fashions, there are probably likely to be fewer people actually wanting them. I have tried out a perm on one occasion, 20 years ago - didn't hate it but did let it grow out fairly quickly. It does look slightly mad in this picture.

Later on Saturday Ruth and I went up to London, well wrapped against Nordic-style cold, to see the ‘Evolving English’ exhibition at the British Library. Really interesting and well laid out - perhaps inevitably for a Saturday afternoon, it was crowded so there was an element of queuing for the various headsets. Have recorded my reading of ‘Mr Tickle’ for the Map Your Voice project - my recording can be heard by clicking on the appropriate dot on the map here. I'm the one who sounds like Jenny Agutter in The Railway Children.

Mum arrived on Sunday for a flying visit, having just finished a flying visit to Hannah's new flat in London. We set out for a brief walk before darkness set in but ended up walking along a particularly unattractive stretch of the Loddon close to Lower Earley Way. We passed these flood culverts but the tunnel under the main road looked a bit bleak in the fading light so I made the decision to turn back. Instead we risked death on the Mill Lane rat-run to have a peek at the former Sindlesham Mill and then had a drink in the Poachers’ Pub.


Earlier this week took the lid off the little wicker basket where I am currently storing toilet rolls, to discover, as you do, a Terry’s chocolate orange perched on top. I acquired this at some point over Christmas and as I don’t like them much have been trying to palm it off onto Ruth, who doesn’t like them either, ever since. Initially I tried to leave it at the house when I moved out, only to discover that it had been slipped into one of my boxes. I duly snuck it back to the house and left it under a pile of linen in the bedroom. Since then, with great stealth and cunning, it has evidently been returned to my flat.

My aunt and uncle, who are keen genealogy enthusiasts, appear to have made the exciting discovery that Auntie Anne and Mum may be fourth cousins of Jeffrey Archer. Apparently AA, Mum and Jeffrey have great-great-great-great grandparents in common, who married in the mid 18th-century near Appledore in Devon. The lines of descent diverge with a William (born 1802; JA’s ancestor) and Susanna Clibbett, born 1812, our ancestor. Gosh.