Hearing loss; subways; food

Have spent much of the time since the last entry marvelling at the hearing loss, particularly in my left ear, that came on relatively suddenly with the cold I began on my last day of jury service on 1 March. Cold symptoms have long gone but as hearing had not recovered, consulted GP last week to be told that my ears were so blocked she couldn’t see anything, and to apply olive oil to them for two weeks and then to come back. Always gratifying to wait until you have had a symptom for two weeks before consulting a doctor, to be told to then come back in a further two weeks Just To Prove You’re Serious. Being essentially fairly law-abiding and respectful of authority, I have duly been syringing olive oil into my ears daily for the last week. Almost within a day of my starting it, the hearing loss became significantly worse, to the extent that I now have to ask people in shops to speak up and have taken to warning colleagues that I can’t hear them unless they look straight at me so that I can read their lips. Presumably head is now some sort of giant olive oil slick. Ruth suggested a Hopi ear candle treatment, but only if she could apply it herself. Unsurprisingly, I declined.

Work on Reading station appears to be coming on – the 1980s footbridge has now been closed (and indeed looks to be half gone); the impressive new building cum footbridge (pic top right) isn’t open yet, but is certainly large. Given the footbridge closure, pedestrians coming from the north are now being routed through a new subway, which I’m fairly sure is the revamped old subway, though it’s only partially been reopened. Pleased if this is going to be a permanent arrangement, given that there is quite a bit of subway under the station, much of which has been closed for some time. Coming out of the current subway exit, I peered down to get a glimpse of this bit of heavily-graffiti-ed old subway – think this was part of the bit that came out by Thames Tower, though I was getting a bit disoriented. All very exciting stuff – at least, to those fascinated by disused subways (we are probably quite a select demographic). The buildings along Station Hill, and the long-empty Western Tower (pic on right) are still there doing nothing – one assumes there is probably a plan to demolish them, though to my mind they could just be re-faced and brought back into use. Nothing seems to be happening either way at the moment though.

Western Tower seems to have been the target for quite a few urban exploration attempts – see here and here. And a rather underwhelming one here. Wouldn’t do it myself, but I can understand the fascination.

In a fit of frankly alarming behaviour, Ruth and I purchased some sherry glasses the other Saturday. Here they are, with a snifter of sherry in them. Sherry is something I had not drunk for many years, since we used to have a drop of it occasionally at home before Sunday lunches. Since meeting Ruth’s aunt in 2007, I have been re-exposed to it each time we visit her house. Don’t think it’s ever going to be a regular tipple but it’s nice occasionally.

Stayed up in MK for the weekend of 16/17 and went into CMK in the morning to do a few jobs including using up some John Lewis vouchers on some plastic picnic plates/wine glasses etc (WILL, obviously, use them and didn’t just buy them in magpie-like fashion because they were pretty colours). Popped into Waitrose before getting the bus back and was thrilled (footnote: am easily pleased) to note that Lindt have now started doing chocolate hens. The cheerful checkout woman was also charmed by them – in fact so charmed that it led to her laughing in an increasingly uproarious fashion to the point where I began fiddling with my handbag and looking around for an imaginary spouse.

MK’s branch of John Lewis is inside the listed shopping building along one side of Middleton Hall, a vast open space that seems to get used for displays of various sorts, children’s activities, Santa’s sleigh etc though today it was empty. There seem to have been burblings in the local paper recently about building works that might threaten it, though it’s still there at the moment.

Wended my way to the northern suburb of New Bradwell on the Saturday evening for Guy’s belated pancake party. Guy was buried in a fug of pancake steam at his cooker, with four pancake pans on the go and a seemingly never-ending supply of batter. Matt, Rebecca and I were the only people there from the office; we sat around drinking for a while before venturing upstairs to play Scalextric, which I learned is probably best not played after a few glasses of wine. Most of the others there were artistic types from Guy’s writing group (Guy, as well as being genius-level analyst, is working on a sci-fi novel in his spare time) including one alarmingly hairy gentlemen with staring eyes, who told us enthusiastically that he’d just joined.

Dad stayed over on the 18th on his way to Norfolk; we had a pleasant dinner at The Swan at Woughton, only slightly plagued by a relentless humming from a heating/air-conditioning arrangement just above us. Perhaps not surprisingly given my current state of deafness, it bothered Dad more than it bothered me. Food not bad at all; had quite a decently-cooked steak (i.e. not cooked too much at all, but slightly blackened on the exterior) and Dad appeared pleased with his duck. After leaving the pub, we stood around in the car park for around 20 minutes before being texted by the cab I’d ordered saying he was waiting for us in the car park. After some brief confusion, he phoned apologetically to say he was in fact waiting in the car park of The Swan at Middleton, an identically-named pub in the next village. Tchoh. We were eventually delivered back to the house where I made Dad a warming cup of tea.

Recently watched a few more of the OU’s fascinating ‘African School’ series, about young Africans in the Ugandan town of Masindi. Slightly disturbing episode about evangelical Christians targeting adolescent schoolchildren – and interesting that the medic who is shown speaking to Dickson after giving him the results of his HIV test does seem to be advocating condom usage: an encouraging sign of common sense among all the religious bullsh*t.

Spent a chunk of last Sunday proofreading my colleague Galina’s MSc dissertation, on something called Long Tail theory. Galina is currently on maternity leave but had called in to the office on Friday to ask if I’d proofread for her. She presented me with a goodie bag in payment, containing, among other things, a selection of Club biscuits, which I hadn’t eaten since my schooldays – indeed, I had had no idea they were still made.

In London on Monday for a HESA seminar on the KIS collection. Got the train in early, as I do, and discovered a divine new breakfast spot in the Cafe in the Gardens in Russell Square. I'd walked past this a number of times but had dismissed it as a probable tourist spot, but on this occasion decided to try it - excellent coffee and a good bacon sandwich. Found varying reviews of it online but this chap evidently liked it - though to my mind wanting chips with breakfast is a bit odd. Must be a northern thing. After breakfast, dragged myself reluctantly down to the BIS Conference Centre on Victoria Street for a generally informative day, though HESA's new cabaret-stylee group discussions were a bit hampered by my (now becoming frankly tedious) deafness.

The end of the day was enlivened by an announcement through BIS' public address system that there was a major gas leak and the whole of the area around Westminster Abbey, including the street outside had been cordoned off. Went outside tentatively to encounter quite a strong smell of gas, and sneaked away from the police cordon to make my way back up via Trafalgar Square to Bloomsbury, to stock up on kimchi at the Seoul Mate on Museum Street. Looked for some sort of announcement later about the gas leak, but couldn't see that it had even made the news. Just goes to show. Something or other.

On a final note, this (above right) from the BBC News website yesterday. Not sure how much this says for the great British public - though I did initially suspect it of being a bit of a put on, much as I've always suspected the 'Health And Safety Brigade Stop Our Kids Playing Conkers' story to be an urban myth. Perhaps not though.

Trial; painting; Pope trivia

Jury duty over: trial ended on Friday; verdict delivered and sentence passed. What devilry resulted in my ending up being jury foreman, I’ll never know, except that no one particularly seemed to want the job and I admitted in a weak moment to having some experience chairing meetings. As there were five counts on the indictment and more than one defendant being tried, this resulted in the less than enjoyable experience of having to stand up in the courtroom and having to pronounce seven verdicts in succession. Fixed my gaze firmly on the court clerk throughout, as I think I saw advised online among some ‘What to do if you end up being foreman’ advice.

I had thought that we would then be dismissed and the judge would perhaps spend a few days considering our verdict before passing sentence, but no, we then had to sit through a load of admin from the prosecutor, pleas from each of the defence counsel on behalf of their clients followed by Actual Sentencing. People being sent to prison and stuff. Now trying to avoid being too plagued by worry as to whether we delivered justice, whether we deliberated for long enough (we deliberated for four and a half hours, but as you are given no guidance whatsoever, it’s hard to know how long is a respectable length of time) and whether we were too swayed by being dead impressed by the prosecution case and the prosecution lawyer herself, whose performance one of the younger jurors categorised as “shit hot”.


On a lighter note, the time spent waiting in the jurors’ lounge over the last few weeks provided an opportunity to catch up with some gossip magazines, though in my view there weren’t really enough of these provided. There were a distressing number of issues of Homes & Antiques, which forced me to become more familiar than I’d like with the world of antique collectors and the work of Emma Bridgewater; also copies of World Finance and various motorsport magazines. I did learn that apparently there’s a burgeoning fan fiction around boy band One Direction, as they keep being papped touching each other¹.

Applied the first paint-and-water coat (I believe the painterly term is a ‘mist coat’) to bedroom 3 a couple of Saturdays ago. My first experience of painting a ceiling; not a particularly enjoyable job but at least it’s done now. Two more coats of Jasmine White to go. Ruth’s stripping and oiling job on the door is now finished and she has attached some attractive new door handles. We attempted re-hanging the door ourselves, which has worked after a fashion – I say “after a fashion” as, although it hasn’t fallen off, it won't shut properly either. A temporary hitch, hopefully.

Among all the recent drama surrounding the Catholic church, two of the more charming Pope-related articles include this piece about Benedict XVI’s fashion sense and how his red Prada slip-ons ousted the memory of John Paul II's staid brown lace-ups. Also this interactive guide to how a new Pope is chosen – it’s worth replaying the second frame just to see all the little red cardinals repeatedly running into the Sistine Chapel.

To end with a nod to the horsemeat crisis: found these leftover KOTTBULLAR meatballs in my freezer this evening. In the interests of thrift, took my life in my hands and ate them. Feel OK so far.

¹ This fact gleaned from Heat, not from World Finance.

Jury service continued; sick bunny

Non-stop excitement of being a juror continues. Following on from the last post: duly returned to court on Thursday, where we sat for two hours doing nothing before being sent home again. Returned for 10.30am on Friday, where the c. 20 of us were again led into the courtroom, and another 12 were chosen. Somewhat to my surprise – though the process is of course random – my name was called again. We went through the whole swearing-in malarkey again, followed again by judge’s talking to, before, most excitingly, things actually got going. The around 3 hours in total that we were in court on Friday were taken up with the prosecution lawyer giving us a quick crash course for dummies in the general topic of the trial, and then presenting a wad of evidence, which was a good deal more interesting than the general topic had led me to expect. I can, of course, say no more – but it’s probably safe to say that getting away with criminal activity must have been made a good deal more difficult with the advent of mobile phones, cell site technology and automatic number plate recognition.

We were asked to return for 1.45pm on Monday, which 11 out of the 12 of us did – most annoyingly, one juror failed to turn up or to respond to the court’s calls, with the result that the rest of us sat in the jurors’ lounge for two hours before being sent home. She did show up on Tuesday morning – I think the rest of us were hoping that she’d been given a good talking-to, which she may have been, though she appeared not noticeably chastened – though I can’t say I’ve actually heard her utter a word as yet so perhaps she’s taking refuge in silence. I probably shouldn’t mention her name, but her first name is Amber. Probably says it all – amazed she could even find the court building.

After Monday’s time-wasting we had a full (well, four and a half hour) day in the courtroom yesterday listening to five witnesses give their evidence and then be questioned by the defence. Really quite exciting, almost like on the telly – though none of the lawyers has yet leapt up and shouted ‘Objection!’. Also sat through the reading out of 50 pages of interview between the police and one of the defendants. Returned to court this morning where we watched some more CCTV footage and listened to a long statement from HMRC. Back tomorrow morning to hear another witness, I believe.

We've now been warned that the case could continue until some time during the week 4-8 March, so somewhat over the standard two weeks. The OU will only pay me for the first two weeks so now have to find out how to claim the loss of earnings allowance from the courts service.

Managing to use some of my spare time this last couple of weeks to crack on with typing up Mum's letters to Gran from Indonesia from 1978 to 1980. Current one opens with 'You must have been quite worried to hear of the volcano erupting'.

When I came out of the court on Friday afternoon there was a woman outside in the street having a good old eff and blind - a be-wigged and gowned barrister (her defence, presumably) was pleading with her to stop ranting in case a juror came out and heard her. Subsequently realised on perusing last week’s free rag that she was the wife in this case. Certainly she looked a hard-bitten piece of goods. The case sounds pretty tawdry but I was faintly amused at her choice of weaponry – a guitar and a tub of cocoa butter not perhaps being the most obvious things to assault your husband with. There were press outside the court all day on Friday so maybe she was shouting at them.

Had dinner at the Thai Corner on Saturday night to celebrate Claire’s birthday. I had a red curry with beef, which was enjoyable though on seeing the griddled seafood platter Ali had I wished I’d ordered that.

Breakfasted with Ray this morning at Julia’s Meadow. The lovely Mr Julia’s Meadow has a new, larger coffee cup in his repertoire. The coffee continues excellent.

It appears, sadly, that Lola may be ill. Ruth has been concerned for a couple of months about her slight weight loss and a seeming shift in the dominance relations ‘twixt the two bunnies – up until recently Lola has always been dominant (as is apparently the norm among rabbits) but lately this seems to have slipped a bit as she has been seen grooming Harley (previously hardly ever happened) and allowing him access to her cardboard box in the living room which is generally strictly her domain. Lola has also been pulling out the fur on her leg and stomach, and as she has now developed quite a bald patch we took her to the vet again on Friday. The vet didn’t seem to have any definite ideas but did take some blood, which we then had tested at some expense. It appears that her lymphocyte levels are high, which is likely to indicate cancer. We’ve been offered an ultrasound, which would confirm the diagnosis, but as that costs £200 we’re not sure whether we’ll go ahead with this, as the prognosis is unlikely to be good whatever action is taken. Have decided to monitor for the moment – currently she is still eating and seems reasonably alert and not withdrawn, but if that changes then more decisive action may be in order.

Harley does not appear to be responding with much compassion and has taken to aggressively chasing and mounting Lola. Have threatened to pair him with a Jack Russell if anything happens to Lola, but even that thought doesn’t appear to be subduing him. He has also put on quite a bit of weight, in direct contrast to Lola's weight loss. Here he is skulking in the bedroom today looking like a little fat squirrel.

Jury-related rant; religion in the legal process; surreal photos

Reported to Reading Crown Court at 9:00 am on Monday for my stint of jury service. Sat in the jurors’ lounge with about 60 other members of the public, being shown a DVD on ‘Your Role as a Juror’, followed by various other announcements about how to claim expenses etc. We also all had to fill out a form relating to a ‘long case’ starting this week, which could potentially run into a third week – supposedly the form was to weed out people who couldn’t commit to the third week, but actually it offered minimal get-out, being restricted to questions such as ‘Are you expecting to be admitted to hospital as an inpatient within the next three weeks’, etc.

After that, sat around for a few hours before my name was called along with around 20 others. We trooped out to the jury reception desk to be told we were being released for the day, but to return for 1.45pm on Tuesday. Duly did so, where our names were read out again and we were told we’d been assigned to the long case mentioned above. We were taken upstairs by the court clerk and asked to read through a list of names connected with the case and to say if we knew any of them – no one did (or at least no one was saying) so we were led into the courtroom, where we stood huddled nervously in a group and the court clerk shuffled cards with our names on, before reading out 12 names from the pack to step into the jury box. Mine turned up as one of the 12 – seem to be getting lucky with being randomly selected for things; shall expect a EuroMillions win quite soon. Those not selected trooped out, while the hallowed 12 were sworn in (more on that below) and then lectured by the judge about not discussing the case with friends and family, not looking it up on Google etc. Judge then announced that we would break for the day and reconvene for 11am on Wednesday. So we all trooped out again. Impressions so far of the legal process are that it works quite slowly.

In the event, when we returned for 11am today, there turned out to be a delay due to two of the selected jurors having filed notes with the judge that they could not commit to a third week of jury service. When we were eventually re-seated in the courtroom, the judge announced that given the stated circumstances he could not compel the two in question to serve, with the result that the whole jury would have to be disbanded and a new jury selected. Slightly incredulously, we left and filed back downstairs, several of us (me included) muttering tetchily. Sat in the jurors’ lounge for another hour or so, until a new list was read out to form a revised ‘jury in waiting’ for the long case. Hadn’t expected mine to be on it this time, but it was, along with most of those selected the previous time. Then told that again, we were being released for today, but to return for 1.30pm tomorrow. At this rate it’ll go into a fourth week, never mind a third.

Obviously I am not party to the intricacies of the legal process, but several of us were at a loss to understand why they could not have simply selected two replacements from the larger group of c. 20 that had been selected the previous day. Had assumed that was the point of it. How little I know.

Still may not actually end up serving on the case in question, as we won’t know until we go into the courtroom tomorrow which 12 of us will be selected to enter the jury box. Hey ho. Trying to adopt relaxed, philosophical attitude, but with limited success currently. Emailed boss with an update and a few comments on the frustratingness of the process; received cheery reply commiserating but noting that this week's DLHE audit had gone well, which failed to cheer me up as much as it perhaps should have done.

One thing that gave me pause, and that underlines the need for my continued support of the National Secular Society, was the way in which it is evidently still the default expectation that jurors will take an oath on the Bible. The twelve places in the jury box are each laid out with Bibles and a laminated copy of the accompanying oath. You have the right to choose to 'affirm', rather than to take an oath, but you have to tell the jury officer of your choice beforehand, and the court clerk then hands you a special card when it's your turn, along with saying to the judge 'This juror has chosen to affirm' (nothing is said re those who take the oath). True to my humanist principles, I did choose to affirm, as did two others (both young Asians), but the decision makes you stand out, whereas I briefly reflected that perhaps it should be those choosing to clutch a holy book in their sweaty palm who should stand out. Or, better, for a court of law to be entirely free of holy books, and for them to be confined to places of worship and bedside tables. Rant no. 2 over ...

On a less contentious note, Ruth and I met Ray and his friend Dave yesterday for a pleasant breakfast at the Alto Lounge. Ray and Dave had been to Celtic Manor for a couple of days' golf, along with a few others, but evidently the whole thing had been pretty rain-sodden - indeed Ray and Dave had evidently bailed on Sunday's golf and spent the afternoon in the hotel spa instead. Took these two decidedly peculiar pictures - the camera on my phone evidently decided to have a funny moment. They almost look quite artistic.

Tablets; vinyl; Hammer

We begin with the joyous news that bedroom 3 has now been plastered. As it’s now almost four years since the destruction work began, its gradual recovery is almost bringing a tear to my eye. Tasks remaining: painting; getting a blind for the window; replacing the light fitting with something new and cheap; replacing the carpet, again with something new and cheap. Ruth has been starting off her garden leave from HCT by sanding down the woodwork in the room with a cunning little electric sander that she purchased in Homebase the other weekend.

Another Information Office meal out on the 24th, this time at Strada in the Hub. The snow and ice seemed to have put some people off, as we turned out to be a group of half a dozen core enthusiasts. Had a pasta dish with chilli and some sort of sausage.

Put my day at the house with the plasterer on the 25th to good use by purchasing a Samsung Galaxy Tab 2, which I briefly attempted to justify as some sort of necessity, but it is in fact simply a delightful expensive toy. After checking availability at John Lewis and PC World, who were both sold out, I gave up and ordered one from Amazon, for next day delivery. It duly arrived, before 1pm as agreed, the following day. Pondered whether one of the reasons for the demise of the high street could be that Amazon kicks the pants off it.

Took my car for a long-overdue clean (inside and out) the other Sunday. Was once again duped by the head man at Nisi into paying extra for the £20 ‘gold service’, but I felt guilty at the level of griminess. He did indeed look slightly hacked off by the time I returned 25 minutes later to pay and collect the car. Given that the car will soon get dirty again given a) necessity of parking under tree at MK flat and b) impending visit to parents’, I took two pictures of it parked outside the house.

Made it to Alison’s house in Spencers Wood last Thursday to discuss Mitch Albom’s The Five People You Meet in Heaven. Alison had amassed some very organised thoughts about the book and had actually made some notes, unusually for our group which prefers to express itself in disorganised random outbursts amid slurping of cakes and wine. I hadn’t been greatly taken with the book – perhaps because of not setting much store by the idea of a comforting afterlife awaiting me – but several of the others appeared to have enjoyed it, except Helen, who, bless her, hates most things.

Drove down to my parents’ house on Friday morning after a brief congratulate/commiserate with Ruth on now being (hopefully temporarily) a woman of leisure. Arrived in time for lunch and spent some time in the afternoon with Dad on some family tree software from www.ancestry.co.uk, trying to figure out the best way to print out a chart of the Irish relatives, as Dad is hoping to get some of them to fill in some gaps. Also spent some time with Mum going through a large pile of vinyl that she had routed out of the sideboard. We listened to bits of a few records, including an old single of ‘This Here’ by the Cannonball Adderley Quintet, a first for me but evidently something Mum used to listen to. Here’s a recording on YouTube. Put all of the records on slightly nervously, not having manipulated a turntable in some years – the sound quality was pretty good though, despite a bit of crackling, which just gave them a nice air of authenticity.

We took advantage of some nice weather on Saturday by going for a walk near Cwmyoy, including scaling the Twyn y Gaer hillfort – summit cairn in pic above. Dad pointed out the ‘Cwmyoy slip’ – an old land-slip that resulted in the top part of a hill separating itself and coming to rest some way further down the hill. I had visions of it hurtling dramatically down the hillside burying innocent villagers, but Dad noted that it wouldn’t have moved quite that quickly. Local tradition, apparently, has it that it was caused by a terrible earthquake during Christ's crucifixion. After the walk we called in to the Queen’s Head Inn hoping to get lunch, but discovered that they weren’t serving any on account of the rugby – indeed, they were just switching the match on as we drained our drinks and left. We got lunch instead at The Crown at Longtown, who didn’t have the rugby on.

In the evenings we watched two more films from the substantial Hammer box set that my parents got for Christmas: on night 1, The Witches with Joan Fontaine – OK but I think I dozed off at crucial moments towards the end. On night 2 The Plague of the Zombies – much livelier and actually not bad. Mum emailed me on Monday to say that they had made it a triple on Sunday night with Prehistoric Women, which had apparently been as bad as the title suggested. I think I remember reading on the insert that they had made it in order to re-use the sets and costumes from One Million Years B.C.

Minor piece of drama on the drive back to Milton Keynes on Sunday when I pulled into Cherwell Valley service station intending to get a cup of tea and became aware of smoke billowing from under my car’s bonnet. Parked really quite quickly and turned the engine off; was then not quite sure whether one is supposed to open the bonnet, but had vague (and doubtless over-dramatic) concerns about having face burnt off by a sheet of flame, so called the AA instead. Evidently they had had an operative already in the car park, as an AA man and van appeared at my elbow practically as I was hanging up the phone. Turned out the cap had come off the oil reservoir with the result that pretty much the whole of the engine and the inside of the bonnet was coated in smoking oil. He wiped this off while chatting amiably about Radio 4 and audio books. I had topped up the oil in the week but couldn’t quite believe I had been absent-minded enough to leave the cap off, but the man reckoned that it must have been loose and popped off during the journey. He observed that he’d attended plenty of people who’d done much stupider things to their cars, which I think was supposed to offer me a nugget of comfort.

Birthday; civic duty; snow

A brief summary of post-Christmas activity:

Ruth and I went up to London on 2 January for a walk along the Regent’s Canal from Little Venice. Started with a bite at the Waterside Café then walked for I suppose a couple of miles along canal bank of varying degrees of attractiveness, before arriving at Camden Lock and taking a brief look around the market and surrounding streets. Quite rapidly realised that the whole shebang holds considerably less appeal for me now than it did when I frequented it occasionally in my early 20s. Perhaps some things are best left to the young. We had a quick drink in the World’s End, looking, I think, world-weary, then made our way home.

Celebrated Ruth’s 40th birthday on 3 January by heading to Hungerford to meet several of her relatives for lunch at The Bear. After a limited yet quite stressful liaison with the hotel beforehand over Prosecco and fairy cakes, have decided that I am not cut out to be an events organiser. I got to sit next to Ruth’s mother’s delightful cousin Mary, who is always good value, so that was a plus. The picture is of Gail and Ruth and their teenage cousin Norman, who manfully sat through what must have been a tedious occasion full of much older people – I applaud him for not getting out his mobile half an hour in and starting to text friends, but he’s obviously too well-bred for that. I had booked us in to stay at the Bear overnight, as a birthday present, which was lovely, especially as I got to wallow in a bath while Ruth fiddled with the dodgy TV reception. Despite having had a large lunch we forced ourselves to have dinner in the bar, which was probably a bit unnecessary.

Had another birthday meal on 5 January, this time with friends at the Forbury Hotel’s Cerise restaurant. Expensive, but all agreed food v.g., which compensated. Afterwards, all of us except Claire went on for a nightcap at what is now a wine bar called Valentino’s on Valpy Street (it was previously the restaurant ‘Chronicles’ where we in fact had dinner for my 40th in 2008).

Kicked off a New Year notion of making more effort to make some money out of old stuff by selling a pair of shoes via the OU Noticeboard. The shoes are the kind of style I like but as I don’t really do heels over about an inch, I’d bought them and never worn them. After an absurd series of exchanges with a postroom operative called Vince, who tried persistently to haggle me down on the price (only discovered quite late in our exchanges that he wanted the shoes for his wife; prior to that I’d been adopting an open-minded ‘takes all sorts’ attitude), I eventually sold them to a lovely woman called Jenny, who seemed dead chuffed with them. So a rewarding outcome. Next up is a pair of mirrors – might give eBay a go. Still convinced that it’s going to be the ‘Diana funeral’ issue of OK! lurking in the attic that’s going to make my fortune.

HESA seminar in London on 15 January: went up to town blitheringly early to meet Ruth at Café Central on Old Street for a pre-work emergency summit. Then walked from Old Street to the venue near St James’s Park tube, for my exercise for the day. Judith and I made our way back to Euston after the seminar to barely manage to cram onto a train to MK, which was packed due to earlier cancellations and then moved at a snail’s pace as it had inserted a few extra stops at villages along the way, presumably in deference to the earlier cancellations. Was reminded once again of how I wouldn’t fancy a lengthy daily commute.

Vaguely excited to return home at the weekend recently to open a brown envelope from Her Majesty’s Courts Service and be greeted by the words ‘Jury Summons’. In case there should be any doubt as to what the communication is about, these words appear in a thumping great pink font (see below), followed by the exciting news that you’ve been selected at random from the electoral register to perform an important civic duty. Your employer is obliged to give you the time off to perform jury duty, though they’re not required by law to pay you for it – thankfully, the lovely OU does, at least for the first 10 days. Agreed with boss that deferring it would only mean having to do it at a busier time of year, so as things stand, I shall be reporting to Reading Crown Court on 11 February. Hoa in the office, who did jury service last year, says it involved a lot of hanging about.

On scanning the OU’s ‘Public Commitments Guidance’ I also noted that, should I be elevated to the peerage during my employment, I won’t be required to resign my position with the University. What a relief.

Though I have had a Twitter account for a while, I haven’t up until now ventured onto it much, probably largely through fear of getting hooked. However, the frustration this week of trying to contact T-Mobile, my current mobile broadband provider, to ask some questions about their Fair Usage Allowance (the precise details of which seem to be, one suspects deliberately, shrouded in mystery) led me to send a tweet to their @TMobileUKhelp service (this following an unrewarding phone call to their premium rate phone number, which consisted of being subjected to deafening ‘hold’ music for around 3 minutes before someone in their second line support eventually answered, whereupon my phone credit promptly ran out). As I write it’s five days since my initial tweet; have since followed up with two others. My tweets are threatening to become a squawk.

Snow on Friday led to my, perhaps over-cautiously, opting to stay in MK for the weekend, though the further snowfall on Sunday seemed to validate that decision. Took the bus into CMK on Saturday morning and had a bit of a wander about, including making what may I guess have been my last ever visit to HMV. Bought two DVDs for a tenner (the BBC Pride & Prejudice, plus the more recent Keira Knightley film, as Ray nicked our joint copy of the latter and now won’t be parted from it). Here’s the receipt, just to record the event. Amazing to think how much time when younger I spent browsing around HMV and the Virgin Megastore, though much less in recent years. All hail the cornucopia of online wondrousness that is Amazon – while, obviously, giving it a token slap on the wrist for obliterating high-street media retailers. The latter won’t stop me shopping there though. Pic is of the concrete cows, looking snowy.

Spent pretty much the rest of the weekend holed up in the flat with Series 2 of Sherlock, recently lifted from Ruth’s DVD collection after she succeeded in getting me hooked on it. Repeated viewings definitely assisting with grasping the somewhat convoluted plots. According to this Telegraph piece, the nature of the Holmes/Watson relationship has been the subject of speculation since long before the current BBC version. The piece also quotes the two actors from the BBC version denying that there’s any funny business going on between their characters, though it’s not clear how this sits with Martin Freeman’s earlier comment about Sherlock being the gayest story in the history of television.

After a snowy early morning walk on Monday, making good use of my invaluable snow spikes, I arrived on campus at 08:45 to find the North Spur car park completely empty. A bit funny, I thought. On reaching my office and discovering that the entire corridor was deserted, I became suspicious and checked the staff intranet, to see the message below:

Hadn’t occurred to me to check in with this before leaving home, but I shall be wiser on any future snowy days. All of my colleagues had seemingly either had the presence of mind to check the intranet before leaving home, or had come in earlier and already buggered off. Actually I discovered on Tuesday that quite a few of them are signed up to the OU’s ‘emergency text alert’ service, which notifies staff should campus be closed/be annihilated during the night by nuclear holocaust, etc. I was dimly aware of it but had never got around to signing up. Have done so now, though s*d’s law there probably won’t be another campus closure now.

Christmas; Pomeranians; Twilight musings

Have made the disquieting discovery that the nosey neighbour we have been referring to as Norman for the last four years may in fact be called Kevin Price. The Thames Water contractor who called round a couple of weeks ago noted that the inspection had been prompted by the resident of number 43, one Kevin Price, reporting damp problems at his property. The man we know as Norman lives at number 43, so either we’ve been getting his name wrong, or he has a live-in male housemate. The latter seems improbable so I assume it’s the former. Racking my brains now to try and remember why we thought his name was Norman in the first place.

The Information Office Christmas lunch was held again this year at The Carrington Arms at Moulsoe, a village to the east of Milton Keynes. Information Office Christmas lunches are a sedate affair, with much fizzy pop and going back to work again after a couple of hours, unlike our Progress South Central Christmas lunches where Fay would allow us to get through several bottles of wine and then blow off the afternoon to go shopping. The perks of a small team, perhaps. Ruth’s team at HCT appeared to have the right idea, going out mid-afternoon for a Christmas pizza and descending later into karaoke. She texted me the following morning to say that she hadn’t made it into work and that one member of the group appeared to have gone completely AWOL.

Took Lola to the vets first thing on 22 December, as she appears to have lost some weight over the past couple of months, though seems otherwise well. The vet couldn’t come up with much by way of possible explanation, though did flirt with the idea that being a rescue animal, Lola might have been older than we thought at the time we adopted her, and consequently could now be making it into the older bunny territory and getting a bit sore and arthritic – Steve at Reading Rabbit Rescue seemed sceptical about this idea when we put it to him later in the day. The vet did identify evidence of an over-groomed patch on one of Lola’s legs and suggested that she might have had a sore knee (or whatever the bunny equivalent of a knee is). Lola has been duly dosed with an anti-inflammatory for the past week, but we’ll have to see if it makes any difference. Ruth has also got her some alternative food, at Steve’s suggestion, which she appears to be enjoying.

Met Claire on the evening of the 22nd for a drink in the ex-Hobgoblin (now The Alehouse), where I met a bearded friend of hers whose name I’ve forgotten, but who appeared to have amassed an impressive number of degrees, most recently an LLB with the OU. We talked briefly about the impressiveness of people who do OU degrees while working at actual jobs. Claire appeared to have fallen out with Prezzo, her usual preferred dinner spot, so we ended up having a pleasant dinner at Strada instead.

Left Reading early on Sunday 23rd and managed, unbelievably, to arrive at Mrs Millard’s house in Cheddar in good time, thanks to there being much less traffic than I expected. No evidence of the village being flooded, though apparently Mrs M had been woken a month or so earlier in the middle of the night by the police, telling villagers that they should prepare to evacuate as a nearby river was threatening to burst its banks. In company with her neighbours she decided not to evacuate, and evidently nothing much happened.

Proceeded from Cheddar to Newport to have lunch at Dave and Hazel’s house, in company with Mum, Dad and Hannah, and Hazel’s sister Paula. Had a delicious lunch consisting of a chicken dish prepared by Dave, followed by choice of damson crumble prepared by Mum or some excellently chewy chocolate brownies prepared by Hannah, so a real family effort. Ruth, Hannah and I went into Hay on the morning of Christmas Eve to pick up some outstanding bits and pieces and to have a mooch around in rather damp weather. On the way back we met Mum and Dad for a drink at the newly revamped Bridge Inn in Michaelchurch – the pub has had a chequered history over the past 10 years or so but seems to have been recently taken over by some people who are doing their best to make a go of it.

On Christmas Day we ate a pleasantly moist turkey and in the evening watched the Hammer film The Reptile, not one I'd seen before but part of a Hammer mega-box set Mum and Dad had got for Christmas. It wasn't bad, as these things go, and nice that the 'wife' character (Jennifer Daniel) has a bit of backbone. On Boxing Day Mum, Ruth and I went for an extremely wet walk from Llanfoist along the Monmouthshire and Brecon Canal, before returning to Michaelchurch for another drink at The Bridge. On the way back to Reading on the 27th we stopped off at Mrs Spence's house in Lambourn for a ham and bubble and squeak lunch. Mrs S's dog Bertie appears to have gained some weight, but apparently he's recently been neutered.

Ruth went creative with Christmas gift tags this year, including this one for me of a Pomeranian, following my outbreak of hysteria over the winner of the Toy Group at Crufts 2012. Pomeranian Belliver Unexpected Dream (‘Dreamer’) has his moments in the spotlight from about the 31 sec point onwards in this YouTube video. On the Pom’s final walkabout, the male commentator abandons dignified commentary and descends into: “It is a ball of fluff, isn’t it? I mean, they’re just so cute”. The judging is at about 42 secs. Look at it go after its win is announced. (The Pom in the gift tag picture, Carripom Zachariah, apparently won Pomeranian of the year 2012 in Scotland.)

Among my Christmas presents this year was this book on the architectural practice Aldington, Craig and Collinge, part of the ‘Twentieth Century Architects’ series. ACC designed some interesting houses and public buildings in the 1960s, 1970s and 1980s, including the Anderton House in Devon which is one of the buildings now available for upmarket holiday rentals via the Landmark Trust.  For some reason I’d been thinking that ACC also designed the housing development at Old Groveway that I’m currently renting in, but I had remembered this wrongly as this was, according to this entry in Iqbal Aalam’s excellent Flickr photostream, designed by the firm of Phippen, Randall & Parkes. Iqbal has a set on these architects here. Parkes’ obituary from 2008 is of interest and notes that he was responsible for Britain’s first sheltered housing scheme. PRP evidently still exists as a firm and is celebrating its 50th anniversary in 2013.

Aldington, Craig and Collinge did do some work in Milton Keynes though, the attractive development near the canal at Woolstone pictured here.

Called in at Ray's on New Year's Eve to deliver him a couple of presents, this bottle of whisky from Dave and a book about canals from Mum, both of which were well received. He is off to Tenerife tomorrow for ten days in the sun.

Some disparaging comments about the Twilight series made at our ex-Progress South Central lunch a week or so ago reminded me of this excellent article a year or so ago in Times Higher Education, in the context of the low status afforded to books and films that are perceived to have a largely female fan base. Though I would hazard a guess that neither of the commentators at our recent lunch had actually read the book (am always amazed at how this doesn’t deter some people from expressing strongly-voiced opinions), my all-female book group, ranging in age from 30 to 60, read Twilight a year or so ago as our monthly book, and almost all enjoyed it (from what I recall the only dissenting voice was Helen’s, who was annoyed not on account of its ‘trivial’ femaleness but on account of the perceived licence taken with traditional vampire canon, evidently a topic of some importance to her).

It’s interesting, though the THE article does not discuss this, that a book’s being aimed at children does not per se afford it a low status, provided that the target audience includes boys. The Harry Potter books are the best current example – adults can fawn over these without embarrassment, but as an adult it’s not really possible to admit to liking the Twilight series without some qualification and/or justifying yourself in some way. Less embarrassing to be caught reading a children’s book, provided a boy might like it too, than to be caught reading a book solely aimed at girls and women. A point to reflect on.

On the subject of Harry Potter: I read Philosopher’s Stone, and quite enjoyed it, but have never felt drawn to read any of the subsequent books. Have seen the first two films, but none beyond that, though Ray assures me they improve – certainly in the first one, of the core trio only Rupert Grint does anything resembling acting. So far I’ve only read the first in the Twilight series, but I may well read the others. Steering clear of the films though after having seen the first one – Stewart is quite good but R-Pattz doesn’t do it for me as Edward, but possibly I’m the wrong age. Perhaps when reading the book, one has more licence to imagine someone really not far from your own age …