New Year; REM's birthday; RIP Barbara Talmage

What about those Nazi supercows then?


The absurd rubber caterpillar-type thing I received as a stocking filler is now installed on my desk. When you smack its head against something, it glows as per the picture. Judith seemed quite taken with it and observed that she will be able to tell when I'm feeling stressed because of the smacking sounds from the next room.

Ruth and I accompanied Mum and Dad for their by-now-traditional New Year’s Eve dinner out at Food for Thought in Peterchurch, though it’s now a considerably longer drive than it was from the old house. Very pleasant meal; I attempted to mark the occasion with a couple of photos but neither of them turned out very well. These two are about the best; in the other version of the first, I am wearing a diabolical expression which doesn’t look as though it bodes well for my parents; in the other version of the second, Ruth is staring with an expression of intense delight at her wine glass rather than at the camera.

We were cheered briefly by a claim in the NYE copy of The Times that Reading has come out second only to St Albans among towns experiencing the biggest rises in house prices during the final quarter of 2014. Apparently the average price of a house in Reading is now £318,333. Gosh.

Marked New Year’s Day with a nice though strenuous walk. I had suggested to my parents that I might fancy a walk, and had put in a variety of requests for (moderate) hill-climbing, trees and preferably a small lake in an enchanted glade where one might see elves, pixies etc. Mum did her best to comply with this and planned a walk taking in a fair bit of the height of the Blorenge and really bringing home to all of us the benefits of the regular moderate exercise we’re not currently doing. Dad parked at the Llanfoist Crossing car park and we walked up to Llanfoist Wharf, where we turned left along the canal as far as Canal Cottage, where we joined a road that works its way up steeply past Hendre Cwrt and Lower, Middle and Upper Ninfa farms, before turning off onto a path leading to the Punchbowl, a lovely hollow containing a lake. That makes it sound quite simple, but the road up was actually quite a slog. The lake’s apparently man made, but it’s a lovely spot anyway.

The last part of the walk descended via an old transport route along the Llanfoist Incline, the steep wooded slope that (apparently) descends Cwm Craf. Llanfoist Wharf was the terminus for a tram-road which transported stuff up the Blorenge. Dad pointed out the old stone sleepers with holes in them to secure the rails that the trams ran on.

The Punchbowl apparently used to be a secret meeting place for illegal prize-fighting. Not sure how long ago. You’d never think it now. Middle Ninfa Farm is apparently one of the UK's leading small campsites. You can go on a three-day workshop there to learn how to build a coracle.

To mark Ruth’s birthday on Saturday we went to Vue to see The Theory of Everything, as Ruth had fancied a cinema outing and we were obliged to pick from the available listings. It was very good, and presented a sympathetic portrait of Hawking’s first wife Jane, though that’s perhaps unsurprising as it’s adapted from Jane’s memoir Travelling to Infinity: My Life with Stephen. Afterwards we had a very pleasant dinner at Strada.

Extended Ruth’s birthday celebrations into Sunday, as we’d put off her requested trip to the London Aquarium due to the wet weather on Saturday. Got up to London and, inevitably, eased ourselves into the trip with a second breakfast at the branch of Carluccio’s opposite South Kensington tube. We made our way over to County Hall and joined the queue for ‘priority’ ticket holders, which was ironically longer and slower than the regular queue and it took some time to be processed through the congested entrance and into the exhibits. Viewed some beautiful and fascinating creatures, including sharks. It was, inevitably for a weekend, quite crowded, but we did on the whole manage to find sufficient space to look at the critters on display. Although the central tank is certainly impressive, the whole seems crammed into quite a small area with narrow corridors, that made the congestion seem probably worse than it was, but I guess they are restricted by the space available – hardly any potential to expand as there might be in other aquaria.

Perhaps wrongly, I emerged from the aquarium with a yen for a fishy snack, so we stopped at the branch of Eat under the Oxo tower where I had a crayfish sandwich (the only fishy option available, though crayfish are pretty tasteless) and Ruth had something hammy and cheesy. Briefly considered suggesting that the aquarium should have a fish and other seafood-themed café where visitors can take refreshment (seahorse baps?).

After leaving the aquarium, we walked along the South Bank to Gabriel’s Wharf, as Ruth wanted to visit Vendula to try to buy the handbag she had seen while window shopping back in August. The exact one had sold out but she found one with the same colour scheme that she appeared equally pleased with. It’s for Gail for her birthday, apparently. I bought a pretty little pink purse that is going to be my Weekend Purse.

Although we mainly took tubes on Sunday, I made brief use of the fab Citymapper app just to find the walking route from the restaurant to Sloane Square tube (albeit that we didn't walk in the end). The app is brilliant for finding bus routes, as it finds your current location (once you have GPS enabled), you find your desired destination on the map and it plots you a route between the two points, via various transport options, including walking. If you choose to walk, it tells you how many calories you will burn off by walking the route, plus a slightly bizarre translation into foodstuffs – the walk from Carluccio’s to Sloane Square would, apparently, have enabled me to burn off 0.4 jellied eels. There’s a review of the app here, though I’ve not yet figured out how to get the app to illustrate the route with a flying Boris Johnson, which this review claims is an option.

The weekend ended on a downbeat note when Ray called me on Sunday evening to tell me that Barbara has died. I had arranged to call at her house for tea on 28 December, but she had telephoned that morning to postpone, saying that she hadn’t been feeling well all through the Christmas period and that the house was in a state, etc, though she had at least managed to go to Ray and Carol Clark’s for Christmas lunch as per usual. During the call she apologized for not having written Christmas cards, saying that she felt all in a tizz, or words to that effect – she appeared to be blaming it on having been persuaded to go along to a get-together for those with reduced vision, which she referred to disparagingly as ‘Blind Club’ though I doubt that was actually its name. One of her neighbours, apparently, had spotted that a light in her house had been on all Saturday night and alerted Ray’s mother, who went round to the house on Sunday morning and found B lying in the kitchen. Ray and his mother have apparently spent much of Sunday and Monday going through Barbara’s stuff – she was evidently more of a hoarder than they realized.She was an excellent if somewhat blunt woman, and always seemed to like me. I have few pictures of her, but here she is with me at Ray's and my flat in Henley after our wedding in 1999, and there’s this one taken in May 2005 on a windy day at Portchester Castle.

Mildly irritating Monday. Returned to work to a no doubt entirely justified prod from Hoa to check the data he’d passed to me before Christmas; did my best though realized I didn’t have nearly enough time to check in detail. Booked the afternoon off partly through sheer non-engagement and partly because I had two more flat viewings booked from 4pm onwards, both in Broughton, a newish eastern suburb of MK. Spent some time beforehand walking around Broughton and decided it seemed quite nice, and was fully expecting to take one of the flats; however the first turned out to be a maisonette, and following burglary shenanigans I fancy another door between me and the street; the second was OK but had a surprisingly grotty bathroom with black mould around the bath. Left with deflated spirits and made my way over to the Old Stratford Travelodge, where I took refuge in a bubble bath, and later that evening in a Channel 5 programme about obese people living on benefits.

Rallied myself on Tuesday to set up another flat viewing, but received a call from the agent late morning cancelling the viewing as someone else had already taken it. Grrr. Sulked briefly when Victoria asked if I wanted to go and get soup from The Hub, but then relented.

Call from Ray on Tuesday night after the poor chap had evidently spent much of the preceding few days attempting to clear Barbara’s house, helped by various family members. Apparently the keys to the house have to be handed over to her solicitors, who are the executors, on Thursday. Hardly gives anyone much time – technically, I suppose none of her stuff belongs to the family, as B is known to have left her entire estate to charitable causes, but there’s going to be sentimental stuff, for Christ’s sake. They have apparently unearthed a wad of old photographs in a suitcase in the bathroom and Ray has found B’s journals going back to the 1960s. Of course, there’s an argument to say she ought to have given away this sort of stuff beforehand or at least bequeathed it in her will – it’s not as though her actual possessions are going to have monetary value – but perhaps people don’t think to do that, or perhaps she just wasn’t sentimental.

This getreading article this week lists things left in Travelodges. A rowing machine does seem a large thing to leave behind - or indeed, take in the first place.

'Tis the end of the year, etc

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lydia

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

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

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

Bike kit; London outing; keeling woodcocks

Only been searching for jobs intermittently lately, but my keywords on indeed would appear to need some tailoring. Recently got this job ad included among a list of supposedly information-related jobs in the Reading area.

Ray came up for a visit last Thursday evening, partly to equip me with some apparently essential stuff for my bicycle as a Christmas present. We emerged from Halfords with a neat little ‘essential bike tools’ kit and a pouchy-bag thing (may not be the technical term) which apparently gets attached under my saddle and carries essentials like tools and a spare inner tube. Or, am thinking, my phone and a bar of chocolate. Then went for a bite to eat at Nando’s at the Kingston Centre – hadn’t been to Nando’s for years but their chicken is really not bad. Took a while for either of us to remember that you have to go to the counter to place your order though – for a while we looked around for a waitress in crabby middle-aged fashion.

Pre-Christmas day in London on Saturday with Ruth. Started with a visit to the ‘Christmas Past’ exhibition at the Geffrye Museum in Hoxton – we had been looking around for something Christmassy and Mum has been to the Geffrye and recommended it. Lovely setting in some 18th-century former almshouses set around lawns – apparently there are gardens behind the museum as well but these are only open April to October. The museum was busy, perhaps inevitably, but its room displays were very interesting and were peppered with tidbits about changes in Christmas traditions from the 1630s onwards. The ‘Christmas Past’ exhibition is subtitled ‘400 Years of Seasonal Traditions in English Homes’ and is evidently an annual thing.

Bought a card in the Geffrye's shop showing 'Woodcock by Frozen Lake', by Angela Harding. Amused by angle of woodcock's feet and its listing dangerously to the right. But then, who am I to assess art.

After leaving the Geffrye we attempted to go for lunch at a Vietnamese restaurant Ruth has been to recently with the HCT crowd, but it was closed, as are many venues in that neck of the woods at weekends. As Hoxton seems to have a plethora of Vietnamese restaurants, we went to the Viet Hoa Café on Kingsland Road instead. Very nice interior with cunningly concealed door to toilets - in fact the two older gents who were sitting right by the door were probably surprised to see Ruth walk straight towards the wall next to their table. Food was nice enough - I had a beef 'pho' which is evidently a typical noodle soup dish.

Got bus back west to Tottenham Court Road for our inevitable visit to Heal’s and Habitat. Ruth bought a furry throw in Habitat, to drape over sofa to cunningly conceal bunny damage. I think I resisted raining on parade by pointing out that the bunny will probably just shred the throw. Stopped at Patisserie Valerie on Torrington Place to ponder what to do next – Ruth was keen to see a film and I reluctantly allowed myself to be forced to choose between ‘Paddington’ and ‘Penguins of Madagascar’ – plumped for the latter as the penguins do look quite cute, though I’ve not seen any of the rest of the ‘Madagascar’ series. Got another bus down Charing Cross Road and fought our way to Leicester Square, me gritting my teeth against the Saturday early evening hordes. On arrival at cinema, Ruth had second thoughts given the price of the tickets, and we ended up getting yet another bus (maximum use wrung out of Travelcard) back to Paddington. We thought about going out to dinner, but ended up buying some stuff in M&S and going home to try out the furry throw.

Got Christmas decorations down from attic on Sunday and dug out the little desktop tree I've had for years, which is now installed on office desk in attempt to create a festive atmosphere.

Curry; Mum's birthday; road confusion

First post since August due to a combination of: 1) idleness; 2) hotel room-induced fractiousness; 3) side effect of stress and longer hours due to workplace battlefield promotion. May produce backfill update later, but here’s a potted summary of the last week:

Clockwise from left: Matt, Rebecca, Paul, Galina, Victoria, Guy, me

Finally galvanized myself to do my bit for workplace socialising and organise a meal out last Thursday evening. Matt and I met for pre-dinner drinks and a nice chinwag at the Vaults Bar on Stony Stratford’s high street, before joining half a dozen or so others at the Naidni for a curry. Was determined to actually get a photograph taken of the occasion this time, so roped in one of the waiters, who was extremely helpful and in fact took about nine from a variety of different angles, while my colleagues developed rictus grins and I assured him that a couple would do, honestly.

Went swimming first thing on Friday morning, followed by treating myself to an entirely justifiable breakfast at Carluccio’s, rapidly starting to become a staple on days off. Had managed up until that point to barely take in the whole Black Friday thing, though did note that the restaurant seemed quite busy; while meandering back through the shopping centre I saw that a couple of shops – including GAME – had people queuing outside the door and that the shops appeared to be letting people in in small batches. Ray later told me that he had called in at Tesco around 11.30pm the previous evening to see people queuing to access the Black Friday bargains that went on sale at midnight. Quite bizarre. Selfishly, I enjoy sleeping far too much to be doing with any of that.

Returned to Caversham around midday to be greeted with another comprehensive round of sofa destruction from Willow, which in the spirit of sharing I left for Ruth to clear up. Attempted once again to persuade her of the merits of goldfish. Willow had skipped out of the way in the photo but was lurking under the coffee table like the evil minx she is.

Made an early start on Saturday to drive to my parents’ house for the weekend, kicking off with getting the train with Mum into Bristol to meet Dave and Hannah for a lunch to celebrate Mum’s 70th birthday on Sunday. Mum had been keen for the four of us to get together without any partners attached – something that probably hasn’t happened for over 20 years – and Bristol had seemed like a convenient option. We had a pre-lunch drink at The Berkeley, a Wetherspoons pub on Queens Road, before lunching at Bill’s, where Hannah had efficiently reserved us a nice booth at the back of the restaurant. Post-lunch we walked up part of Brandon Hill and sat briefly.

The train journey from Abergavenny to Newport was slightly marred by the crowds on board heading for a rugby international in Cardiff; the Newport to Bristol train was only slightly less crowded, this time due (apparently) to a Christmas market in Bath. On the return journey I balked at boarding the first Abergavenny train due to its stuffedness and my mild crowd phobia, though in fairness to Mum I think she would have been prepared to fight her way on; as we suspected the following trains would be similarly well stacked, she phoned Dad and asked him to pick us up, which, to his credit, he did.

Family lunch on Sunday coupled with Mum opening cards and presents, assisted by Nia. Ruth and I had a nice walk to Waitrose first thing to pick up a few groceries, and Nia as Fireman Sam had a frisk around my parents’ garden, assisted by Dad as Station Officer Steele. In the evening Mum, Dad and Ruth watched some of Mum’s new Miss Marple box set, while I flicked through some Rupert annuals and a Famous Five book.

Left on Monday and drove to Newbury as Ruth had an interview at Vodafone HQ for a possible contract. Disconcerted by the realization that I am no longer familiar with the exit from junction 13 of the M4 in the post-bypass landscape, though as I’ve barely driven that way in the past 20 years I’m not sure why that should be surprising. After dropping Ruth at the main reception I opted out of sitting in the car and waiting for her – largely because I couldn’t in fact find a parking space – and drove off the site, intending to wait for her at Chieveley services but actually heading towards Newbury by accident. Managed to locate Waitrose where I did some shopping, then to kill the remaining time I thought I’d drive out to Snelsmore Common, where we often used to go at weekends as kids, to see how it’s been affected by the new road. Unfortunately – again, as it’s been a while – took the wrong road and ended up going through Winterbourne and then onto a tiny back road to Bagnor. When I was about half way along it and hoping not to meet anything, Ruth texted asking me to pick her up, so I turned round and retraced my steps, having had an entirely pointless half hour or so drive around in the countryside.

Today went to another concert in the OU’s ‘Lunchtime Chamber Music’ series, this time by an ensemble called 4 Girls 4 Harps. Lovely sound; never heard a harp quartet before.

Surprised to arrive home a couple of Fridays ago to find a Corby trouser press in the hallway. Turns out Gail has bought it as a present for her husband, and had it delivered to Ruth's house to avoid Rob discovering it. Aside from the fact that it's taking up space in our narrow hallway, Ruth was in London when it was delivered so our neighbours at 51 kindly took it in for us. Fear Ruth's assurances that it wasn't actually ours may have sounded to them like protesting too much. The embarrassment.

Extreme moorhen enthusiasts; petrol almost-theft; Caversham musings

The OU contains at least one member of staff (possibly more) who's really looking out for moorhens. At least two notices have been posted on the noticeboard over the last couple of weeks warning staff not to drive over roaming moorhen chicks on their way off campus. There are already two 'Moorhen Crossing’ signs (left) by the ring road near the church, which have been in situ for as long as I’ve been at the OU; I noticed that several more, more temporary looking ones (right), have recently been added. Can't say I've yet seen any moorhen chicks on campus, but given the level of interest I imagine any driver who squashed one would be hunted down and made to pay.

While booking a hotel room via Premier Inn's website last weekend, I noted that Ruth's company Capricorn Writing appeared in the drop-down list of addresses in our street, against our house number. How official. Also noted from the list that 'Berkshire & Oxfordshire Massage' appears registered at number 51, next door to us. I think it's all perfectly respectable - Terry, the owner, is a physiotherapist and I believe knows his tenants through work.

Also on the theme of small businesses, Ray told me at breakfast on Monday that he has now wound up Home Counties Turf Care and is just calling himself 'R Clark Landscaping'. More down to earth, I guess.

Amusing snippet from the latest job hunt: the University of Reading are looking for a Lecturer in Clouds. Cute.

Following up my 14p windfall from Intelligent Finance: my financial good fortune continued last week with a £5 win from the Cats Protection League weekly lottery. (Actually they're now just 'Cats Protection' - apparently the name was changed in the late 1990s, so I'm behind the times.) I signed up for a regular donation to CP last year - unusually, at the persuasion of a man with a stall in the Oracle - and have been waiting to win something ever since. Ideally money, but a cat would be acceptable.

Went for dinner last Thursday at my colleague Rebecca’s new-build house in the new Redhouse Park development in the north-east of Milton Keynes. Rebecca has recently moved into Milton Keynes with her two daughters, after some years commuting in to the OU from a village somewhere up near Towcester. Spent some time admiring the wonderfully light, clean interior with, I’ll admit, a touch of envy, especially given its freedom from rabbit droppings and puddles of wee¹. Rebecca had cooked a vegetarian curry for Matt and Guy and a chicken dish for herself and me. I pondered that it must be quite unusual for the two women to be the meat-eaters.

Compensated for having to spend much of the weekend completing a report on the OU’s performance in this year’s National Student Survey by getting today off in lieu. My job does not officially entitle me to TOIL, but Judith is understanding about such things on an occasional basis. Feeling revitalized after a super day breakfasting at Carluccio’s on coffee and a Breakfast Bread Tin, then a few hours retail therapy followed by a swim and steam room session at the leisure centre at Wolverton, which I have now switched my allegiance to as it’s cheaper and nicer than Bletchley and seems more geared up for adult swimming.

Did, however, start the day by doing something I have never before done in the over 25 years I have held a driving licence. Stopped at the BP petrol station at Emerson Valley to fill up. Filled up, opened driver’s door as if to get handbag, got in, started up and drove off back out onto the H8. Immediately I’d pulled out on to the dual carriageway I realized I’d missed out a crucial stage of the process. Sped up in the outside lane to the next roundabout muttering “Shit! Shit!”, returned to the forecourt and presented myself in the shop to pay. The man seemed understanding and assured me diplomatically that I wasn’t the first person to have made that mistake in a moment’s inattention. Relieved, though also realize I probably now project such an air of middle-aged respectability that I’m unlikely to be an obvious suspect for criminal activity.

Local (Caversham) news, mixed with a few architectural notes:

Plans for a new free school – The Heights Primary School – in Caversham Heights are causing local controversy. The new school is to be located temporarily in a site quite near us, on the old Caversham Nursery premises off Gosbrook Road. It’ll be fine as long as no one expects to be able to park in the immediate vicinity … Came home on Friday to a invitation to a public meeting on 6 August re the plans for the school’s temporary location. As the public meeting was on a week night, I duly sent an email to the representatives of the new school, intending just to issue dire warnings about not thinking they can park anywhere on Falkland/Westfield/Cromwell Roads, but inadvertently then veering off into further commentary including use of the word 'snobbery' and the phrase 'undermining the state education system'. Possibly should have stopped at the parking bit.

The Heights Primary has been started by a group of parents (of course), supposedly to address the lack of primary school places in North West Caversham. (There are in fact a number of primary schools in Caversham, but it doesn’t help that everyone seems to want to go to Caversham Primary on Hemdean Road. Bring back catchment areas?) The core of the controversy appears not to be local objection to the free schools programme but the plans for the school’s permanent location. The Education Funding Agency has bought a site in Upper Warren Avenue, one of Caversham's most exclusive roads, to locate the school subject to planning permission. The site currently houses a split-level flat-roofed house which I've always rather liked, but sadly it would seem to have been sold off for development. A group – Caversham Residents Against Inappropriate Development (CRAID), or perhaps better named Caversham Residents Against Development In My Backyard (CRADIMBY?) – is fighting the building of the school on the UWA site. Nimbyism aside, the site doesn’t seem an ideal location for a school, as UWA is a dark road with no pavement. There would however be ample room for parking – perhaps this is how most of the hyper-concerned parents involved propose transporting their lovelies.

Also of interest to those of us (i.e. me) fascinated by domestic architecture: I noted that a large Arts and Crafts house on St Peter's Avenue has recently come up for sale. See right; pic borrowed from Davis Tate's brochure. Not sure why planning permission has been granted for a two-storey extension, as this will surely spoil the proportions of the house, which seems amply large enough already. Wonder if the disused swimming pool will be brought back into use? A Google Earth browse of Caversham Heights shows that a few houses there have pools - would be nice I guess, though bracing for most of the year.

To finish off the architectural notes: Reading Post recently published some interesting pictures of Caversham Park Village in its earlier (and probably hey) day. CPV is less posh than it perhaps sounds from the name; it’s a 1960s-built housing development that was built on some land formerly belonging to the Caversham Park estate. The article has a link to Davis Estates’ somewhat self-congratulatory brochure from the period. The Reading Post article has some interesting pictures and links, including this piece about the older house Caversham Place that remained standing for a while while the estate was constructed around it. Don’t know where the public house was, as there isn’t one now on the estate – perhaps it was never built. CPV has some OK housing, but I find the estate a bit odd because of its strict adherence to the Radburn layout, which is a nice idea in principle but in practice, having to walk along footpaths out of sight of the roads (there are no pavements throughout much of the estate) can be offputting. The estate’s shopping precinct off Farnham Drive is now dreadfully run down with most of the shop units empty, which is a pity. This blog has a few more recent pics of the estate.


¹ Rabbit wee.

Hols

House at Llanunwas

Spent 19 to 25 July on a fairly last minute week away in a holiday cottage on the Pembrokeshire coast. We had only booked it a couple of weeks beforehand, at some (probably correct) insistence from Ruth that we should have a week away somewhere. After a relatively minor exchange of words over the fact that my passport expired a couple of years ago and I haven't as yet bothered to renew it, Ruth recalled that she had enjoyed the weekend we spent in Pembrokeshire for Dad's 70th in 2012. We managed to book Wood Cottage at Llanunwas near Solva, via Coastal Cottages of Pembrokeshire, at a bit of a premium given that it's the school holidays but it had been reduced by a couple of hundred pounds as we were so near the date of our intended stay. Llanunwas is an estate fairly close to the coastal path that has evidently been converted into a number of smaller properties, several of which seem to be for rental through Coastal Cottages. The estate house is a bit grim but the outbuildings (which include what is now Wood Cottage) are cute.

On the way there we stopped off to visit the National Botanic Garden of Wales near Camarthen, partly because our Coastal Cottages booking had come with a voucher that got one person in free. The Botanic Garden was opened in 2000, apparently the first such to be created in the UK in nearly 200 years. It was based on the site of the Middleton Estate, a 17th-century estate later transformed into a Regency water park in the late 18th century by one Sir William Paxton, who also built himself a grand new house, Middleton Hall. The grand new house burned down in 1931 and only the former servants’ quarters, now known as Principality House, remain standing. We wandered round various gardens, including the Double Walled Garden and the Tropical House, and the Bee Garden, where one can view the honey bees at work from behind the glass of the Bee Interpretation Hut. Had a brief walk around the lakes, where we saw a heron fishing. The centerpiece of the Botanic Garden is the Norman Foster-designed Great Glasshouse, the largest single-span glasshouse in the world and containing a variety of endangered plants from Mediterranean climate regions of the world.

We were plagued entertained throughout our walk around the gardens by folk music and troupes of folk dancers – initially by the entrance, but also within the Great Glasshouse and another by the Stable Block, where we stopped for ice cream. By the third troupe I was put in mind of the line from Monty Python's Cheese Shop sketch. Ruth stopped at one (quiet) point to listen to some birdsong, but the moment was scuppered by an accordion promptly starting up again.

On the Sunday we walked into Solva along the coastal path from Llanunwas and had lunch at the lovely Lavender Café tacked on to the side of the Raul Speek Gallery, sited in the Old Chapel. Speek, a Cuban artist, was himself in evidence, playing the piano inside the gallery for the whole of our visit.

The village of Solva is in two halves: Upper Solva is a regular-looking collection of houses and seems to contain Solva’s only convenience store, Bay View Stores, a cheery little establishment with various signs outside mocking Tesco. Lower Solva, around the harbour, is a chocolate-boxy tourist village with brightly coloured houses, several pubs and a collection of shops selling paintings, pottery, hand-whittled sea birds and other crafty bits. Solva harbour is very pretty and full of little boats.

On the Monday we drove into St Davids where I did an hour’s work in the café of the Visitor Centre. We then walked up to the cathedral and paid Cadw’s entrance charge for a look around the impressive ruins of the Bishops Palace. We followed this with lunch at The Bishops, then visited the nursery on the way back out of town to the Visitor Centre car park, where Ruth went in for a quick browse and came out with two bags full of plants, which she was then obliged to tend and water for the rest of our stay.

We then, at my (fairly quickly regretted) suggestion, walked the mile or so from St Davids to Whitesands Bay intending to then do a short walk around St Davids Head that I had found on a leaflet in the cottage. We only did the additional walk because I had refused to drive to Whitesands car park because of its probable extreme crowdedness (confirmed on our arrival), but the walk out of St Davids along the country road and then along the B4583 proved extremely hot and distinctly unrewarding. We sat for a moment looking at the packed beach, then trudged back to St Davids, though I did manage to persuade Ruth that we might try the coastal walk the following day.

Coetan Arthur

We drove to Whitesands' car park early the next morning and walked down the almost-deserted beach, populated only by a few early-morning power walkers, before setting off on a circular walk of St David’s Head. It had rained heavily on Monday night and was still overcast and misty for most of the walk, though this made for pleasanter walking than the heat of the previous day. As is often the way on coastal walks, we walked out to the tip of one headland before realizing that St David’s Head was actually the next headland over. Sat for a while near Coetan Arthur, a Neolithic burial chamber dating from 4000-3000 BC. Ruth tried to set up her camera to take an auto-shot of the pair of us, with varying degrees of success; on one occasion the camera fell forwards into some moss, which it then photographed; on another Ruth rushed back to sit down next to me in time and sat down on the flapjack I had brought along to keep our blood sugar up.

The second part of the walk, back towards Whitesands, went over the slopes of Carn Llidi, apparently the highest point on the St Davids peninsula at 594ft. We walked partway up the slopes, viewing the two small Neolithic burial chambers on the slopes and the brick and concrete evidence of the military use of Carn Llidi during both the First and Second World Wars. St David’s Head, and particularly Carn Llidi, do apparently offer spectacular views as far as the coast of Ireland, though they weren’t to be had on the day of our walk. We had lunch in the Bwthyn Y Bwyd cafe in St Davids where I had a delicious scone with clotted cream and jam and Ruth had an apparently overcooked omelette.

On the Wednesday we did what was intended to be a short relaxed walk northwards from Llanunwas along the coastal path; however due to inept map-reading on my part we went past the point at Porth y Rhaw where I had intended to turn off and make a neat circular walk out of it, and ended up at Trelerw, which we were hoping might contain a café or pub but which was little more than a collection of houses. Walked back the direction we had come along a baking hot country road and then back down to the coastal path to Porth y Rhaw, communing with ponies and cows on the way. After some difficulty finding the right path, managed to arrive at Nine Wells and the A487, which we walked along at some hazard to life back to Llanunwas. Turned in at the path with the National Trust sign saying ‘Llanunwas’, but that seemed to be leading away from the house, in a manner that appeared to bear no relation to what was on the map. Eventually arrived back at cottage, vowing never to holiday in countryside again but to restrict myself to city breaks and Center Parcs-style holiday developments. Later that afternoon, drove out to try to find Crochendy Studio Pottery, but after a few miles driving in the heat over what appeared to be a disused airfield, we both decided that none of it was worth it/we had lost all interest in pottery, and returned to the cottage. Declined to visit a nearby woollen mill, on the grounds that it was too warm to think about woolly things.

Things looked up on the Wednesday evening, when we went on a fantastic boat trip through Thousand Islands Expeditions Wildlife Boat Trips, booked through their office in St Davids. We picked the Puffin & Shearwater Cruise, departing at 6pm from the St Justinians Lifeboat Station a couple of miles from St Davids, and spent an hour and half taking us out into Ramsey Sound, past the Bitches and around Ramsey Island, before going out to the Bishops and Clerks, other clutches of rocks. We saw several seals, three lying on one of the small beaches on Ramsey Island, and the heads of several others bobbing up and down in the water. Our trip was on a particularly sunny calm evening, so we were not asked to wear life jackets though the guide cheerily told us that we could put them on if we liked. As we passed through Ramsey Sound he pointed out the areas of fast current which can apparently be dodgy for boats in poorer weather, due to concealed rocks.

The guide pointed out the absurd cluster of plastic puffins up on the shores of Ramsey Island, together with recorded puffin noises, which are a deliberate attempt by the RSPB to attract puffins back to the island, after they apparently vanished from it for 100 years thanks to rats getting on to the island. We did see a few real puffins later in the trip, though not very close up – but did see a few bobbing on the water a little way off. Ruth had expressed an interest in seeing puffins but had refused to buy a pair of binoculars, regarding that as too middle-aged, so was stuck with peering at them from a distance. I pointed out that several others on the trip did have binoculars, even though none were significantly older than us, so perhaps she may change her mind for the next trip. At the end of the trip we saw a clutch of manx shearwaters returning to the islands – we were told that, thanks to being clumsy on land and at risk of becoming prey to other birds (I forget which ones), they stay out at sea all day and only return to the islands under safety of dusk.

On the Thursday we drove a little way south to Newgale and spent some time walking and paddling up and down its magnificent length of flat sandy beach. Ruth spent 45 minutes or so lying on a towel, but I get bored with that quite quickly and eventually managed to prise her off it with reminders about the ageing and withering effects of the sun. My family took one or two holidays in a cottage at Newgale when Dave and I were quite small (possibly pre-Hannah, though I'm not sure) and I was interested to see if I could identify which house it was, though my memories of it are patchy. Did succeed in identifying the property that I think it was (later confirmed by parents), helped by the fact that it was one of the few older houses around in the village. Had a not bad lunch in the Duke of Edinburgh on the sea front.

In the evening we walked down into Solva and had a pint at the Harbour Inn, which is indeed by the harbour but unfortunately has a view largely of the intervening car park. Followed that by dinner at the Cambrian Inn, which Dad says used to be more of a pub-type pub but is now a smart establishment that looks largely set up for dining. The surroundings and ambience were nice but the food, while OK, didn’t quite live up to them. We were driven back to Llanunwas by a cheerful chap from the St Davids Taxi Service, who told us it was hotter than he remembered it.

Decided to start our journey back on the Friday, in deference to the lengthy drive and various jobs to do at home. Took the more cross-country route from Camarthen on the A40 all the way back to Abergavenny, via Llandovery and Brecon. Had tea at The Old Printing Office in Llandovery, which has a lovely café with outdoor courtyard and delicious crumpets. Stayed over with Mum and Dad on the Friday evening. Pleased to see that Lydia is now going out regularly and was apparently enjoying rolling around in the patch of earth that Dad has cleared for his impending new lawn – the following Tuesday was prominently marked TURF DAY on their calendar.