Fire and brimstone; more August activities

Received this inspirational pamphlet through the door recently. As evidence for life after death, it features a number of quotes from dying people who had behaved shortly before death in a manner interpreted as meaning they saw glimpses of “the other side”, including one Augustus Toplady, a hymn writer, who cried out “Oh, what delights!”, shortly before, presumably, dying, and a May Wilcox, who allegedly threw up her arms exclaiming “Oh, do you hear the music!”. Presumably the delirium of fever had been ruled out as a possible cause. Less fortunate souls included a Mr W, who allegedly cried “I am in the flames! Pull me out!”, an Unnamed Infidel, who saw a great high wall rising around him, and one Sir Thomas Scott, who, somewhat puzzlingly, cried “Begone you and your trumphery.” It ends (right) by suggesting ways in which one can avoid ending up in the lake of fiery torment, including sending for a free leaflet on how to prepare for Heaven courtesy of A & M McBride of 61 Sealstown Road. Thank God there are people like them who are willing to share their knowledge.

Overdue catch-up with Claire back in August at The Bull at Sonning, where we had a lovely Friday evening dinner sitting outside. Claire has recently left the hospital near Oxford she has been working at and has started a new job as an assistant Psychological Wellbeing Practitioner, part of the NHS’ IAPT service. She had been doing a week or so’s training over near Shinfield when we got together, but is apparently going to be based in Bracknell, which she didn’t seem too thrilled about. We had a look around for George Clooney, who has apparently been to The Bull since moving into the village, but no sign. Claire noted that she’s been going there more often than usual in the hope of seeing him, but no sightings as yet. Uri Geller has, conversely, recently left Sonning to move back to Israel, after living in the area for many years.

Cat

This cat, believed to be resident two doors down, has recently been spending more time in our garden, and a few weekends ago I had to chase it out of the dining room more than once. There are two small children and a dog resident at its own house, so we feel it may be searching out a quieter environment. Have some sympathy with it, but we are reluctant to condone its coming into the house as Harley is (perhaps naturally) nervous of cats.

Afternoon with the Clarks on 22 August. Arrived at their house to be greeted by Ray Sr, who gave me a brief update on how things were with the family, then Carol and I walked around the corner to Ray’s sister Caroline’s house, where we spent a few hours at Caroline’s younger daughter Leonie’s tenth birthday party, though in practice we were able to spend most of it sitting in the kitchen chatting while Leonie and her friends did crafty things in the front room. Had a couple of slices of Meat Feast pizza, plus a few dips in a chocolate fountain that had caused Caroline’s husband Tony a certain amount of stress in the preparation but which turned out OK in the end. Tony and Caroline told me about Cosmo, a restaurant on Friar Street that I’ve never been to but which apparently has an amazing chocolate fountain – indeed Tony had a photo of it on his phone. Perhaps it’ll have to be tried. I have reservations about ‘casual dining’ (presumably, aka help yourself buffet) but perhaps I should overcome these.

The following day I galvanised Ruth into going for a Sunday walk with the promise of early evening dinner in The Griffin afterwards. We took the 25 to Peppard Stores, the last stop on the line, and then walked up to Peppard (via the ‘ravine’ referred to in the Wikipedia piece) and turned down Church Lane to the church. Saw Henley House through the trees, according to this Geograph entry the former rectory; looks as though it was for sale a couple of years ago.  After wasting some time on a bit of footpath confusion, gave up and took a footpath leading from near the church south to Sonning Common via Spring Wood, where we passed Sedgehill Spring before coming out onto Blounts Court Road, where we went for a drink at the Butchers Arms. Ruth picked up a soggy bag of runner beans from among some for sale outside someone's garden.

Soggy runners

Barbecue

Went down to Mum and Dad’s for the August Bank Holiday weekend. Had a fairly quiet time with a wander around Abergavenny on the Saturday afternoon and a family lunch with Hannah and Henry on the Sunday. A barbecue was attempted and didn’t work badly, but then it unfortunately rained most of the time we were actually eating. Dad insisted on sitting outside claiming the air helped his breathing, so Ruth and I gamely sat out with him while the others huddled in the conservatory. Ruth took the train back to Reading on the Monday while I stayed over until the Tuesday morning, mainly to avoid the gridlock caused by the festival departure day. Mum and I went for a pleasant walk around the town house-snooping in the afternoon.

Found Harley in this entirely unacceptable position last weekend. Told him he is not a cat and should get his bum off my pillow. I blame Willow - he never jumped up on the furniture until he saw her do it.

Birthday; impending dentistry

Took the afternoon off on 12 August to go and watch the last part of The Hobbit trilogy with Ray. We were both left distinctly underwhelmed by the film; the story really doesn’t merit having been stretched out into three parts – or at least, if you’re going to, spend the extra time on the characters and fleshing out interesting strands of the story. Battles, and the build up to them, are officially Not Interesting. Well, not to me, anyway.

Ray shared the news that he has been successful in securing a mooring at Enslow Marina on the Oxford Canal, so will be leaving the Thames & Kennet sometime during September – date to be fixed partly depending on the weather. I vaguely know the stretch of canal as he and I went for a walk near there a few years ago. He didn’t seem fazed by the prospect of the longer distance he’ll have to drive to work, but I guess will see how it works out in practice.

Spent a few hours at Gail’s husband Rob’s 40th birthday party a couple of Saturdays ago, though he isn’t actually 40 until mid-September. It was one of those parties containing different categories of guests, none of whom knew each other, so there were the inevitable little factions. Ruth’s mum and aunt were both there, so we spoke to them for most of the time, though I did dimly recognize one guest as working for Reading Borough Council (as does Rob), as I think it was him we saw about our Building Notice for our once-planned upstairs bathroom. The occasion did feature a hog roast with some pretty excellent crackling.

Kyoto Garden

On the Sunday and Monday we had an overnight stay in London, as last year, to celebrate my birthday, again staying in a Premier Inn on the Sunday night, this time the London Holborn hotel. We started by getting the bus over to Kensington High Street and seeing if we could visit the Kensington Roof Gardens – sadly not, as they were closed until the following Wednesday, but they sound worth a visit. They are on the roof of the building that evidently used to be the department store Derry & Toms, according to Ruth’s aunt, who evidently remembers it - as it closed in 1973, I don’t. Also hadn't realised that Barkers had now closed, though thankfully the spectacular building is still standing. I used to go to Kensington High Street reasonably regularly in my late teens and early twenties - partly because of the now long-closed Kensington Market, where I bought a little black jacket with now-unfashionable shoulder pads, which I still have - but haven't been anything like so much in recent years.

We walked down the High Street and had a look at the Kyoto Garden in Holland Park, though it was rather crowded. Then – claiming birthday dibs – I made Ruth walk down to the King’s Road, which I thought a pleasant stroll through posh streets, including The Boltons, but she confessed partway round that she isn’t quite as enamoured of just walking around in London as I am. This is a serious blow - though as I am not quite as enamoured of browsing shoes, handbags and jewellery as she is, it probably evens out. We did stop for a cup of tea en route. Made the discovery that Heal’s on the King's Road has closed its doors and seems to be becoming a Metro Bank – how sad. The Tottenham Court Road branch appears to be still there at the moment. We had a browse in Peter Jones as Ruth is on a quest for a new handbag, and also in Peruvian Connection, where she bought a dress. Then caught a bus across town and checked in at our hotel on Red Lion Street.

We made our way down to Soho in the evening for a cocktail at Balans, the bar opposite Comptons that we’d been to previously. This time I had made my mind up to have a cocktail, and decided beforehand to go for a margarita, being the only cocktail I’ve so far tried that I’d order again. However, in a fatal moment of trying to vary things, I went for a frozen rather than a classic margarita and decided to have it flavoured with passion fruit, with the result that what arrived just looked like a helping of sorbet, albeit alcoholic. Perhaps I’m not cut out for cocktail bars. The three young chaps at the table next to us were sharing a bottle of rosé, so perhaps we should have gone for that. Afterwards we wandered round trying to identify somewhere to go for dinner, and made the somewhat odd decision to try Garlic & Shots, a low-key looking establishment that looks a bit out of place among the mainly quite smart restaurants in the area. However, it was a bit of a laugh: remarkably dim lighting, pleasantly cheap yet drinkable house red, pleasant serving staff and an informal atmosphere. We did indeed have some delicious roasted garlic, accompanied by garlic bread, to start. For a main I chose the baby back ribs, though ended up envying Ruth’s steak.

On the Monday morning I’d booked us in for breakfast at the Darwin Brasserie at the Sky Garden, which I’d only been dimly aware of before but my colleague Jill had been there with her family a couple of weeks before and recommended it as somewhere to go. Having been there, it’s certainly an amazing space with incredible views – we were lucky to go on a clear sunny morning – though I thought the term ‘garden’ somewhat overblown – it’s really more in the way of a bit of planting. A few pics here. We had a nice if expensive breakfast at a table with a great view. Only downside was the un-warmed croissants, which I duly left a comment about in a TripAdvisor review. Well, you have to, don’t you.

After leaving the Sky Garden we checked out and made our way over to Tate Britain – where I’d not been for a number of years – to see the Barbara Hepworth exhibition ‘Sculpture for a Modern World’. Some beautiful pieces on display. I’m keen to see the Sculpture Garden at her former studio, but that does necessitate organising a trip to Cornwall, which I haven’t done yet.

Episode of toothache a week or so ago in the molar that was diagnosed with a crack earlier in the year (bit down on something, possibly a salt crystal, in tooth with large filling; X-ray subsequently showed crack under filling; dentist made woeful noises about possible root canal needed in future). Partly in fear of likely cost of major dental treatment and partly due to thinking that I really should register with a dentist in Milton Keynes, I made attempts to register as an NHS patient with a dentist here – however, despite having spent a lunch hour going in and filling in their registration form, they still haven’t confirmed that they’ve registered me. As a result, when toothache became worse a couple of weeks ago I panicked and booked an appointment at my private dentist in Caversham. My usual dentist was away and I had to see her stand-in, a chap named Peter who suggested that my toothache might be due to bruxism (apparently the latest buzz thing in dentistry). He even gave me a Post-It with 'Bruxism' written on it, so that I could Google it. As I was visibly sceptical, he hedged his bets and gave me a 7-day course of Amoxicillin as well, thus possibly contributing to the apparently rampant problem of over-prescription of antibiotics – though in my case no one can say that I demanded them, as I don’t think I’ve taken antibiotics since childhood (if then). I dutifully finished the course, and my toothache did wear off about halfway through the course, though whether because of anything to do with the drugs, who knows. Saw my usual dentist Jill earlier this week, who confirmed that bruxism was NOT a likely explanation of my toothache and suggested various treatment options. Have said I’ll go away and think about it.

Festival of Spirit; quiche; London delights

On the last Saturday in July took myself to the annual Peace in the Park ‘Festival of Spirit’ event held at the Global Retreat Centre, as I’d never been. As with all the GRC’s events, it’s free to attend, something I have wondered about previously. In true loving the planet and the all-seeing supreme consciousness fashion, I took the bus from Caversham to Nuneham Courtenay (about a 50-minute journey) and walked the mile up the drive of Nuneham Park to the house. The event was all very feel-good and I enjoyed a pleasant few hours, though didn’t stay beyond mid-afternoon. Going to one of the GRC's events is worth it just to get access to the lovely grounds, quite aside from anything that might be laid on, so I spent much of the time just wandering around, including doing the Tree Trail. Went to Cello in the Chapel and a guided meditation in the Higher Power Pavilion. Decided against a session with the Emergency Optimist as was put off by the queue; she was evidently striking a chord with people in need of a shot of optimism. Briefly considered some Self-Mastery Cards.

I was presented with a couple of leaflets during the course of the day, one about veganism, given out with my lunch by the caterers Veggies and one about the Compassionate Revolution. Never had any inclinations towards veganism (partly through laziness at what must be the sheer effort involved, plus probably accepting never eating out in a restaurant again, plus liking meat – the last one’s probably the deal-breaker); probably should engage with the CR but not honestly sure I will. Veggies would have more chance of converting people if they made their veggie burgers tastier; it was one of the dullest things I’d ever eaten. Bung in a bit of chilli? Salt? MSG?

Grounds of Nuneham Park

Had our Strategy & Information Office ‘Summer Event’ on the Friday afternoon prior to Peace in the Park, a day characterized by torrential rain the whole day, somewhat to my relief given that the event was scheduled to end with ‘Games’ from 3pm to 4pm and I had had nightmare visions of being corralled into some sort of team ball game (one of the finest things about leaving school, IMO, was never having to participate in one of these ever again). In the event, the ‘Games’ consisted of an amusing array of giant Jenga, giant Connect 4, skittles and similar (Twister was also brought out, but no one seemed to want to play that - probably, like me, not finding the thought of possibly ending up with nose pressed against a colleague’s thigh all that enticing). These delights were all from a large storage box in the OU’s Pavilion Bar, where the afternoon was held (NB bar not actually open).

Since Willow’s death, Harley has been re-exploring the ground floor, having been more or less banished upstairs by Willow during her residence. Ruth swears she spotted a binky in the living room during his first weekend without her. Willow was given to chasing Harley out of the living room if he dared to enter, sometimes tearing out a lump of his fur for good measure. Why they couldn't just co-exist I've no idea - unless rabbits just don't do that. But then they live in burrows in the wild. Perhaps they're so tightly packed there that resistance isn't really possible. Subsequently, Ruth appears to be wavering and on the verge of deciding that Harley may well need another companion. I am resolutely ignoring this.

As a follow up to May’s Wine Tasting Experience, Helen kindly delivered the two bottles of Calle Mayor Cabernet Sauvignon 2011 that I’d ordered as part of the communal case we bought from the company Pieroth. Now pondering a suitable occasion to drink one of them, with appropriate company, as obviously they just shouldn't be slugged back as part of relief of finishing a week's work, etc, and Ruth doesn't drink red wine (making her, to my mind, not a proper wine drinker).

As our recent purchase of a splendid new Bosch fridge-freezer made our old freezer redundant, I advertised it on Reading Freegle (Freecycle as was) at 12.30 a couple of Saturdays ago and was surprised when it was taken by just after 1pm. In fact I had four replies to the ad in the first hour. People are obviously hovering in desperation for secondhand freezers. Now worried in case one of the people I didn’t offer it to was more worthy. Tend to adopt the approach of offering it to the person who can collect first, as by the time I get around to advertising stuff I’m already at the stage of no longer wanting it under my feet.

Nia racing Daddy

Paid a flying visit to Abergavenny on the first weekend in August, partly to visit Dad who has been ill with pneumonia; Ruth came down on the train and Dave and family joined us on the Saturday. In an attempt to relieve Mum I offered to bake quiches to accompany lunch, continuing recent enthusiasm for quiche-making. Nia baked two jam tarts with offcuts of quiche pastry I gave her – she had a good go at negotiating for more pastry but I managed to resist. Alys spent some of the day on her all-singing all-dancing playmat. (At one point I went into the sitting room to find Alys gone – Dave had taken her upstairs for a nap – but the playmat still emitting relentless tinkly music, while Dad stared at it from the sofa with a “Make it stop” expression. I managed to find the off switch.) We went for a short walk down to the water meadows in the afternoon. Nia appeared not too thrilled with much of the walk, though cheered up briefly for a race with Daddy.

Learned that sadly the cutting of our black bamboo hadn’t survived. The pruned section of the other bamboo we’d donated seems to have taken well, though unfortunately Dad doesn’t seem to like that one.

After 10-hour day on Friday compiling updates and report on the National Student Survey data, had intended to do a bit more this morning but couldn’t in the end face it. My update to Judith at close of play on Friday risked turning into babbling about how I didn't feel I'd done enough, at which point she told me to go home and have a relaxing weekend. Consequently, I ignored work this morning and went out to Asda instead to purchase a mop and some drain unblocker, as the bathroom in the flat was in desperate need of a clean. I indeed know how to enjoy myself. Bathroom is now, hopefully, sparkling.

Met Violetta, from the next flat to mine, in the bin store on Friday morning. She noted how nice it was to meet a fellow resident as she'd feared there might be no one else actually alive in the building. 'Tis the way with flats mainly rented to working people, I guess - you'd have to rely on bumping into someone else in the corridor either on your way out to work (when most of us are probably not at our most conversational) or on the way home.

Had a day in London yesterday, officially to meet up with Helen, whom I don’t think I’d seen since her wedding last September, but I generally make the most of the Travelcard by going in early. Had myself breakfast at Carluccio’s (naturally) before taking a walk down through Bloomsbury and past Coram’s Fields and Great Ormond Street Hospital to find the Premier Inn that Ruth and I have booked into for my birthday next weekend. It’s close to Lamb’s Conduit Street (love London place names; no idea which part of a lamb that is ...) and comes out on High Holborn right next to the Kimchee. Walked from there down to look at the Walkie-Talkie (quite a long walk) as we may also be going there next weekend. On the way, passed the gardens in the ruins of Christ Church Greyfriars, which I'd not seen before. Then took a bus to Oxford Street and wandered around briefly before going for a cold drink in the café of The Photographers' Gallery, where Helen and I had arranged to meet. The last time I’d been there was five years ago prior to the refurb, though I have to say I think I preferred the café’s previous position on an upper floor. It served nice food though and was surprisingly uncrowded considering it’s just off Oxford Street – we got tables with ease for both lunch and afternoon tea.

We’d come to see the Shirley Baker ‘Women, Children and Loitering Men’ exhibition - fascinating photos of what looked like incredible deprivation, though Baker's point was evidently the destruction of the community life in the terraced streets that resulted from the 1960s slum clearance programmes. As a ticket gives you access to all the gallery’s exhibits we also looked round the We Want More exhibition on the top two floors, though I think all that clever visual imagery stuff might have passed over my head somewhat. After tea and some excellent chocolate cake and a gander at some of Helen's wedding photographs, we made our way out past some deafening garage music which had set up camp on Ramillies Street, me muttering in grumpy old woman fashion though I don’t think Helen was far behind. Wandered down Oxford Street a bit to prolong our chat, though I hate fighting against the crowds and eventually made Helen turn off down a side street.

We parted around 4pm, her to buy sheets in BhS and me to return to Euston. Helen and her new husband Greg have been living in one room in a house shared by seven people until quite recently, which from her descriptions sounds horrendous. Thankfully they've now moved into a flat of their own. Concluded that neither of us is suited to house-shares - though I have pondered for some while the possibility of moving into some sort of commune in later life. My boss Judith appears to be pondering a similar 'house shares for old people' type of plan. We concluded at lunch last week that there has to be a market for that. Both Ruth and previously Ray have been of the view that someone of my general anal-retentiveness and tenacious cling to personal privacy would be manifestly unsuited to any sort of shared living arrangement, but they are both of course wrong.

Dorsetry

Ruth and I returned on Friday 17th from a week (actually six nights) in Dorset on the Jurassic Coast. As happened last year in July, we (I say ‘we’ – actually it was entirely her) decided quite late on that we just HAD to have a week away, and consequently had to do a quick search for what was still available. Ruth decided that she fancied a coastal property and as our brief visit to Kilve Beach in 2011 seems to have fired her up with enthusiasm for fossil-type things, she chose the Jurassic Coast. We found somewhere via www.holidaycottages.co.uk and booked in. Potted synopsis of our holiday (pictures here):

Saturday
 

Charmouth beach

Distressingly, had rabbit put down. Buried rabbit. Caught remaining rabbit by dint of poking him out from under the bed with a feather duster. Packed remaining rabbit. Lovely lady at RSPCA place assured us we’d probably done the right thing re Willow. Left Reading heading south towards Basingstoke, a route I irrationally loathe. Stopped at Winchester services around 3pm for a sandwich as we were starving and hadn’t been able to face lunch after earlier death duties. Drove on and arrived at Charmouth, our destination, sometime around 6pm I think. Opened wine. Can’t remember much after that.

Sunday
 

Black cliffs at Charmouth

Walked down to Charmouth beach and had a poke about. Strikingly black cliffs which my geologist father told me are made of marine muds formed with little oxygen and are oil bearing at Kimmeridge Bay, further to the east on the Isle of Purbeck. (Indeed Wikipedia flirtatiously suggests that there’s an actual division of the Jurassic period called the Kimmeridgian.) Ruth tried to book onto a fossil hunting tour for the coming Wednesday, but disappointingly it was already booked up. The beach was indeed crowded with people hammering at rocks with little hammers, which you could hire from the shop. 

Monday 
 

Bathing nudes

We caught the X53 Jurassic Coaster into Lyme Regis (as I flatly refused to drive there, being afflicted with nightmare visions of getting trapped in cobbled cul-de-sacs). Walked down to the beach and along to The Cobb. Pleasant beach front. Walked to the end of the Cobb and queued behind various other people to take a photograph on the end of it. We didn’t have a black cloak handy so there was a limit to how Meryl Streep-like Ruth could look in this picture. We had a nice lunch in The Royal Standard – I had a crab sandwich; I forget what Ruth had. We were amused by this picture behind our table featuring a number of frolicking nudes, no doubt taking a spot of sea bathing for their health. Walked around the town a bit and popped into a few shops. I bought two rings in a fossil shop also selling a lot of New Agey crystal stuff, one in black hematite (for which this site claims lots of good things, though I’ve never meddled with my Root Chakra as yet) and one in red chrysocolla. Had a pleasant dinner in the evening at The Royal Oak, a pub towards the top end of Charmouth’s steep high street.

Tuesday 

Day Out in the Car, though I made Ruth leave the cottage at 7.30am to avoid crammed car parks (am a tad over-anxious). Drove to the Chesil Beach car park and parked (obviously). Walked up onto Chesil Beach, past this wooden cormorant. Discovered rapidly that Chesil Beach is hell to walk on. For some reason I’d imagined it as a pleasant sandy spit, but it’s a strenuous pebble fest. Rapidly abandoned plans to go for a walk along it and crossed the A354 and walked along the footpath towards Portland. Ruth decided there wasn’t anything very interesting-looking on Portland so decided to sit for a bit while I walked on and eventually came to Portland Marina, which has some pleasant views of boats and some boards with bits of history. Portland certainly isn’t very prepossessing from the causeway side.

Returned to the Chesil beach café and had brunch (coffee good). Drove back along the Jurassic Coast road as far as Abbotsbury and went to the Subtropical Gardens. V. nice. On the way back to Charmouth diverted off to West Bay, for reasons that now escape me as it’s horrid, though does have some interesting-looking (and apparently quite crumbly) cliffs. Went for another dinner at the Royal Oak in the evening – we had intended to visit the Charmouth Fish Bar and Pizzeria, but it was closed for the first half of the week we were there thanks to its fryer breaking down, and after that we’d kind of lost interest in it.

Wednesday 

Ruth went down to Charmouth beach in the morning and spent a couple of hours fossil-hunting, while I loafed around the cottage. She returned with a collection of nondescript rocks (as opposed to the entire ichthyosaur we had hoped for) which she is threatening to arrange on Willow’s grave. I suggested it was because she hadn’t been wearing a Mary Anning-style bonnet. In the afternoon, I suggested we took the bus to Morcombelake, the next village along from Charmouth, and walk to  Golden Cap and thence back to Charmouth along the coast path. How little I knew. After a brief visit to the Artwave West gallery, we embarked on undoubtedly one of the most strenuous walks I’ve ever done. Actually collapsed on all fours at one point, thinking I couldn’t go on, but managed to, largely through not having much choice and all. Slogging from Morcombelake up to Golden Cap, apparently the highest point on the south coast, was a walk in itself, but we then had a walk of several miles up and down

headland back to Charmouth, not helped by the coast path having fallen into the sea in several places resulting in sizeable diversions inland. We eventually staggered back to the cottage via Charmouth’s branch of Nisa, where I bought a piece of steak, feeling in need of some red meat. Pondered fitness levels. We had been passed at one point on the walk by an American woman probably 10 years my senior, who strode past us in shorts with a hearty “Lovely on top, isn’t it?” She was probably at Poole before we’d staggered back to Charmouth.

Thursday

Weymouth Old Harbour

Went to Weymouth, as Ruth decided she fancied it and I couldn't face another coastal walk after the previous day. I decided again that I didn’t fancy driving, so we took the Jurassic Coaster in the other direction – about an hour and a half’s journey but much of it is a pleasant drive along the scenic coast road, including creeping through villages like Abbotsbury which weren’t designed for cars never mind double-deckers. Saw the striking St Catherine’s Chapel up on the hill. Got off the bus at Weymouth in a cool breeze and immediately bought ice creams, in true British fashion. Walked along the beach for a bit in an easterly direction. Turned back and walked down towards the pier area, but found it a bit depressing so turned off towards the Old Harbour, which is quite attractive and we were briefly cheered. Found the Galley Bistro where we stopped for lunch, plaice in Ruth’s case and a somewhat alarming-looking whole crab in mine. Had a bit of a walk around Brewers Quay, but it seemed to be entirely an antique/junk emporium rather than the artisan jewelers Ruth had been seekng out. Walked up to Nothe Fort and the accompanying gardens and along to Newton's Cove, then back into Weymouth and caught the bus back.

Friday

Stourheadian view

Left Char Valley Cottages at about 9.30am. I had decided I fancied an alternative route home so drove briefly west to Honiton and then picked up the A303, ignoring its reputation as a holiday snagfest. Saw signs to Stourhead and I made some comment to the effect that I'd been there once years ago and it was nice, with the result that we made a snap decision to turn off and go there. Started with refreshments in the café and then went for a pleasant c. 2 mile walk around the gardens. Drove on, leaving the A303 at Andover and detouring via Newbury, arriving back in Caversham around 4pm. Went to RRR to collect Harley.

The cottage we rented, Jurassic Tide Line, part of the Char Valley Cottages development, was perfectly pleasant, though afflicted with a few niggles: rather a dingy dining area at the end of the kitchen (why did the designer not put the French windows on the kitchen/diner rather than the living room? I never get that); the presence of an inventory of kitchen equipment which guests were requested to check on their arrival at the property, presumably so anything missing could be deducted from the £50 holding deposit they make you put down - we looked at it briefly, decided we were on holiday and left it. Additionally, there was indeed a 'private patio area' but it was one of the least inspiring outdoor spaces I’d ever seen – far more space than we reasonably needed, but simply a large expanse of concrete slabs with some unattractively cheap patio furniture. We christened it ‘the drill yard’. Kind of put paid to my plans for some pleasant outdoor breakfasting. On the plus side, we both guiltily enjoyed the recliners in the living room, though vowed never to speak of it to anyone. Additionally, I realised after we'd arrived home that I'd left my DVD of The Devil Rides Out in the DVD player (having taken it and The Wicker Man away with us in order to have a bit of an homage to the late Christopher Lee) and the owners were kind enough to send it back to us. So that was nice.

I was amused by how many cute ‘danger’ signs we encountered over the course of the week. Obviously the west Dorset coast is an area filled with many hazards. Here are a selection that I photographed:

Phew. Watch your step.

RIP Willow

As of last Saturday, Willow, the friendly, smelly and exuberantly destructive female bunny we have homed for the past 18 months or so, is no more. She had always struggled to put on weight since we had her, but had become progressively thinner recently and had eaten less and less, and had started withdrawing under a chair in the living room that she hadn’t sat under before. We took her to the vet who advised that she couldn’t feel any tumours and agreed with Ruth that Willow’s symptoms didn’t seem to indicate GI stasis, but was of the view that there was undoubtedly something seriously wrong. The upshot, after some discussion, was that we ended up having her put to sleep (and have consequently now received the customary card from Oakley Road vets, containing the bill and a stirring verse condoling re the loss of your loved one). We brought Willow back from the surgery as Ruth wanted to bury her in the garden, which she duly did and is now pondering an appropriate plant for the space. Posting a small photographic tribute in memory of Willow.

Pondering her next move	With Ruth on the sofa	Pondering going out of doors
On the green waste bag	Her favourite spot by the fence	Down the drain: another of her favourite spots
Really getting stuck in	On the sofa again	An unreadable expression

Rundown of June

Ruth and I attempted to have a video call on Skype in early June as prep for an interview she had coming up which was to be held via this medium. In addition to checking that there was e.g. no controversial literature on display directly behind where she planned on sitting, she also wanted to get an idea of where to look in order to appear to be looking at the interviewers, etc. Since beginning this whole fun-filled dual living thing, I have only had mobile rather than fixed line broadband, which is quite adequate for web-surfing and emailing but not so hot for video calling. The last exchange we appeared to have had on Skype was the following over a year ago, during which we seem to have actually managed a 16-minute call. We did at least manage to check the angle she was facing, even if the video did indulge in endless buffering and eventually gave up altogether.

Wolverton Park has been in the (at least, regional) news recently due to this incident earlier in June in which a man’s body was discovered in one of the flats in Trevithick Court (the block across from mine). The initial incident was in fact a fire in the flat at around 11.30 one evening, apparently attended by more than 30 firefighters – proving again what a heavy sleeper I am, as I had the bedroom window open and my bedroom looks out onto the area where the fire engines would have pulled up, and yet I heard nothing. The body was discovered by firefighters inside the flat but I believe I’ve read subsequently that it’s thought that the poor chap died prior to the fire. The first I knew of the incident was the following morning when I looked out towards the canal and saw a ‘Police – do not cross’ line guarded by an actual policeman. A section of the towpath was closed off for a day or so and it sounds as though the flat was completely gutted. Someone has evidently appeared in court – or rather via video link from prison – charged with arson with attempt to endanger life. Not heard anything about what’s happened subsequently, but the idea of the killer abseiling to safety, mentioned here, does seem rather far-fetched.

As far as I got by myself

I did get a knock on the door from the police a few evenings later, as part of their doing the rounds of both blocks, but was able to say conclusively that I Know Nothing. Very happy to have no further involvement with police or the justice system for a while. It’s already become something of a joke at work that I was burgled at my last flat and now there appears to have been a murder near current flat. Matt has cautioned me not to move to live near him any time soon lest I bring bad karma.

Finished product

Recently bought a Poäng chair and footstool from IKEA, which I am very pleased with. Actually made some headway with putting it together myself, though required Ruth’s assistance to finish the job. V. pleasant for evening reclining.

We had our first ever weekend visit from Ruth’s mother on Friday 12th. Mrs M had driven from Norfolk to her sister’s house in Lambourn earlier in the day, and had got the train to Reading from Hungerford, arriving full of the news that the last time she’d made that train journey was around 1970. Gosh. She and Ruth went off to London on the Saturday as Ruth had got them tickets for Trooping the Colour; they arrived back late afternoon seeming to have enjoyed it, plus a browse around King’s Road. And apparently they sat only a few rows back from Phil Spencer, the back of whose head did feature in some of Ruth’s video footage of the occasion.

Aldbrickham Clog Dancers

I amused myself by popping into town to do some shopping, and on the way back meandering along the Holy Brook and through Forbury Gardens to check out Reading Water Fest. Lots of boats and stalls selling tea towels etc. The crowds in Forbury Gardens were entertained by the Aldbrickham Clog and Step Dancers, who are apparently celebrating 50 Years of Clogging in Reading this year. Their sole male dancer was a chap of reasonably advanced years, so hopefully they’ve got some younger men coming up through the ranks. Here’s some actual footage of them (and their piper) filmed on the day. Gail and Rob joined us for lunch on the Sunday and I blitzed them with yet more quiche, and Ruth baked a crumble.

I managed to persuade Ruth up for a visit to MK for the weekend of 20/21 (the recent murder – see above – having only added fuel to her argument that it’s no fit place to live). On the Friday evening we went into Stony Stratford (as a far more enticing option for drinks and dinner than Wolverton) and had a drink at the Vaults before trying out the restaurant of The Bull next door (pleasant enough pub but food a bit disappointing). Not sure whether I believe Stony’s story about the two former coaching inns on its high street having been the origin of the phrase ‘cock and bull story’. On the Sunday we took a walk along the disused railway line as far as the canal at Great Linford, where we turned off for a drink at The Black Horse before walking along the towpath back to Wolverton.

Mum gamely came up for a visit the following weekend – I say ‘gamely’ as it seemed to involve a circa 4-hour train journey; for travelling east-west Milton Keynes might as well be in bloody Lincolnshire. After giving her lunch I drove us out north of Milton Keynes via Haversham and Hanslope to Salcey Forest, as I’d seen something a while ago to suggest there was a sculpture trail there. In the event we didn’t come across the trail or indeed any reference to it on the signage, though we did have a pleasant walk in the woods once we were away from the central car park/playground/ice cream area. We did indulge in an ice cream ourselves at the end of our walk.

Mum on forest seat

Have since tried to find out more about Salcey Forest but without much success. Mum was interested in the bit in the centre of the map labeled ‘Salcey Lawn’ and marked as private. I’ve gathered that Salcey Lawn is a house, as I found this entry on British Listed Buildings, but no picture – indeed have drawn a blank on trying to Google any images of it. It must be a shy, elusive type of house. I did find this picture labelled “House at the start of the drive to Salcey Lawn’, but that was as close as I got.

The British Listed Buildings text notes that Salcey Lawn was “formerly the seat of a younger branch of the Fitzroy family”. I gather FitzRoy is the family name of the Dukes of Grafton, so assume it’s the same family, though could find nothing about which bit of them lived at Salcey Lawn or when/if they left. (Relevant to nothing, but how young is the current Duke of Grafton? It’s obscene. I realize dukedoms are inherited, not striven for, but really.)

Apparently Salcey Forest once had its own railway station, though it sounds as though it was one of the shortest-lived stations ever; I quote: “The station was not situated near any settlement and only saw passenger services for four months, it being most likely an error of judgement by the railway company”.

In the evening we dined at the Calcutta Brasserie, the most upmarket-looking of Stony Stratford’s circa half a dozen Indian restaurants. The Calcutta is housed in a converted chapel, so I had been curious to go there partly on that account; also I did have a takeaway chicken dish from there while staying at the Old Stratford Travelodge last year and thought it pretty nice. In the event Mum and I both thought the food was very good and it’s certainly an interesting setting for a restaurant. Mum did a bit of cunning Googling and discovered that the building (of which the restaurant occupies only part, the bit that looks like a chapel) appears to have been originally built as a school and later occupied by the Fegan's Home for Boys.

Mum on platform

Stylish white fence. And mat.

On the Sunday we went out for a walk – despite the rain – along the same route that Ruth and I had walked the previous weekend, this time going a little further as far as the platform of the former Great Linford station. The last train ran through in 1967 and it evidently then fell into general disarray - there are some interesting photographs here. Today, the platform area is amazingly well kept with a neat flowerbed and everything. We went for lunch at The Black Horse and then did the canal walk back to Wolverton Park.

The garden at the house has been looking jolly pretty lately. Ruth’s painting of our side of the fence along the side return has helped with the trendy urban air we’re going for. Also, the grasses behind the water feature have become amazingly swishy.