ASBO bunny; floating worktops; Blomkvist

Hired a car for the day on Saturday to do a carefully-planned list of jobs and retail park shopping. First on the list was to take the bunnies to the vets for some jabs. Lola proved easier to get into her cage, largely we think by dint of being dimmer and not seeing the impending captivity coming. Harley took some extraction from under the bed with a feather duster and then some cunning trickery to get him into his cage. He then worked himself into a tizz when the vet tried to examine him, scratched Ruth (again) and had to be taken off to a side room where the vet could try again with the help of his nurse – he was successfully given his myxi jab but the vet gave up the attempt to examine his teeth due to H’s excessive thrashing about (rabbits can, in theory at least, struggle so violently that they break their own backs). Lola luckily proved much better behaved. We carried Harley from the room in shame with the vet having put a note on his record to warn future examiners. He continued wound up while I was sitting with him while Ruth paid the bill, thumping violently on the floor of his cage and startling a large boxer dog on the other side of the waiting room. Eventually I took him out to the car, worried that the dog was starting to look agitated.

Next on the list was a round of retail parks in order to visit Pets at Home (Ruth disapproves of PaH because they sell actual pets as well as pet equipment, but they also sell a variety of litter that stops the entire house stinking of rabbit wee), Maplin electronics and B&Q, followed by a visit to the former Grovelands Garden Centre at Shinfield, now a ‘Dobbies’. Ruth bought several plants and a pot for her new olive tree, and I bought a stainless steel orb, thinking it might look artistic under the bamboo.

Went to the marina on Sunday to admire Ray's new oak worktops. The boat is really taking on quite a luxurious look. We had a pleasant lunch sitting in the prow and watched a grebe couple nest-building.

Made one of my reasonably infrequent visits to the cinema last night to see The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, or, to use the original Swedish, Män som hatar kvinnor, which sounds altogether more threatening (as it well might, given that the Swedish name translates as ‘Men who hate women’). Excellently well done and atmospheric adaptation of Stieg Larsson’s novel – a few inevitable bits of licence taken with the book but not so much as to be annoying. The film does play down Blomkvist’s playboy side and the actor playing him, while not unattractive, was less dishy than I had imagined him while reading – but there you go; it’s not Mills & Boon, after all. The film manages to make the scenes of Swedish scenery, objectively attractive, appear bleak and foreboding.

Neighbourliness; Eastern artefacts; claw-clipping

Quite excited by the news that Google Street View now apparently covers 95% of the country. Located the house; must be quite a recent photo judging by the state of the jasmine on the front wall (as of this winter’s snow, a bit brown and shrivelled-looking). This Telegraph piece fulminates that GSV is 'a service for burglars', although doesn't explain quite how this is the case, given that the images don't show any more than one could see simply by standing in the street in question. (It also sounds like the 'research' in question took the form of a straw poll of a group of people who were given the option of ticking a box beside 'I think Google Street View is a service for burglars'.)

Have resolved to try and improve recollection for faces – have quite a good memory for names but less so for the faces of people I have met only briefly. Wandered innocently out of my back door on Saturday to be greeted by a paunchy man halfway up a ladder looking at next door’s guttering. Turns out he is a neighbour from a few doors down whom I think I have said hello to once, though I know Ray used to exchange manly pleasantries with him occasionally. Asked where “my man” was and seemed almost unwilling to accept the ensuing brief explanation, launching into a detailed physical description of Ray, perhaps imagining that I had a number of men and might be thinking of the wrong chap. I think we parted on reasonable terms. According to our friendly neighbour Judith he has offered to obtain a part for the broken guttering, so I guess that’s helpful.


Ruth and I went up to London on Sunday meaning to have a look round the V&A – slow start due to train delays and the closure of the Circle Line meant that we had to walk from Paddington across Hyde Park to the museum, stopping en route for a quick look at ‘Isis’. As Ruth claimed that the apparently insubstantial pastries we had eaten first thing were insufficient to carry her through a session of museuming, we nipped into an Italian restaurant on Brompton Road that was advertising itself as doing breakfasts. Turned out to be a bit of a little gem – charmingly kitschy with a lion’s-head fountain in the entrance and multiple curtains downstairs, but had an excellent brunch of bresaola and poached eggs with strong black coffee.

Had a pleasant amble around the museum including the new Jameel Gallery to indulge Ruth's interest in the Middle East, and I always like a quick butchers at the Buddhas (and Bodhisattvas, and Hindu doo-das). After a few hours in the museum, we ended the day with a drink in The Prince of Wales on Kensington Church Street and a foray into the Whole Foods Market on the ground floor of the Barkers building, where we bought a large piece of rib-eye steak, some bakery goods and some ginger sweetmeats for Ruth’s mother.

Still think the demise (and, indeed, demolition) of Kensington Market is a shame – I still have a boxy black jacket that I purchased there on one of several visits when much younger. Don’t wear it often these days as the shoulder pads make it look not-quite-up-to-the-minute, but I’m waiting for them to come back in. The market closed in 2000 (lamented here) after 30 years of trading.

My father reminded me on the phone on Sunday evening that he used to lunch in the V&A restaurant at a discount when he worked for the Geological Survey in the 1960s and 70s. Nice.

On Tuesday evening this week Ruth decided that it was high time the rabbits’ claws were clipped - rabbits' claws grow continually and domestic rabbits’ claws don’t get worn down enough on their own. The exercise went off semi-successfully, as the claws were indeed clipped, although by the end of the exercise Ruth was covered in a thick layer of bunny fur and bleeding in three places. Surprisingly, Harley was more difficult to manage, turning into a little fidgety ball and lashing out with his feet (hence the wounds). Big Lola proved a bit easier, strangely, and even remained on Ruth’s lap afterwards and allowed herself to be groomed, though they did seem to be having a bit of a face-off at one point (see right). There's an amusing article here on clipping bunny claws which we may take some tips from next time.

Spent a pleasant evening last night swaying and jigging along with Björn Again at The Hexagon, along with a packed house of people ranging in age from about 7 to 77. The act included all the obvious songs plus a couple I wasn't expecting. I was surprised at the inclusion of When All Is Said And Done, an album track from Abba's best album The Visitors, but a quick bit of desk research today reveals that it was used on the Mamma Mia! soundtrack (have not yet seen MM). I could have done without the brief segue into Bon Jovi in the second half, although a gaggle of women behind me, who all seemed to fancy the long-haired bass player, evidently enjoyed it.

Orchids; rail replacement buses; knackered cables

Jude and I observed a few seconds’ silence in the office today to mark the death of Corey Haim, a heartthrob for a few months in the 1980s. Our colleagues, being either over 50 or under 30 and, either way, unlikely to have ever noted his existence, were unmoved.

On the subject of the 1980s, I was again amused to note on my recent visit to my parents’ place that they have not only kept the small portable radio they bought for me when I was a teenager, but that it apparently still works – although quite why they haven’t wanted to progress to digital radio I’m not sure; dispenses with all that tedious tuning-in stuff. I remember many a night when I fell asleep with the radio on my pillow listening to Laser 558 (none of your iPods in those days - we had it tough).

Visited Kew Gardens on Saturday for the first time in several years. Met Helen by the Princess of Wales Conservatory as she wanted to see the orchid display on what was the last weekend of Kew's Tropical Extravaganza. The glasshouse was packed but an amazing riot of colour. We also saw a puffer fish, which swam towards us puffing in a manner that Helen found quite cute, but which I'm not so sure about given that apparently they're the world's second most poisonous vertebrate.

While at the Gardens we also experienced the Rhizotron and Xstrata Treetop Walkway, opened in 2008. Great views, but I did find the lack of a solid floor disconcerting - while not being exactly terrified of heights, I would have preferred not being able to see straight through to the ground 18 metres below. Managed to make it round without having a fit of the vapours though.

My journey home was significantly delayed due to train cancellations, due to an earlier collision at a level crossing in Wokingham. As the train was pulling into Ascot there was an announcement that it was going no further and we all had to get out. We were all ushered into a waiting bus by station staff, insisting defensively that none of it was their fault. While trying to be appreciative of the behind-the-scenes organisation presumably needed to organise rail replacement buses at short notice, the bus journey did significantly extend my journey, not helped by the fact that our driver appeared unfamiliar with the area – we had a little circular jaunt around a housing estate while trying to find Martins Heron, a minor station between Bracknell and Ascot, and then drove three times around the same roundabout in Bracknell, with people on the bus who knew the area urging helpfully ‘Turn left here!’.

Harley’s munchathon continues, with two severed phone cables in the space of a few weeks. (Actually we can’t swear it was Harley, but have started attributing most bunny-related evil deeds to him.) Here he is under the bed in the master bedroom (his latest favourite spot), looking hungrily at an extension cable.

While on the subject of domestic minutiae, I managed to lose one half of an expensive pair of leather gloves while walking around Kew on Saturday. As soon as I realised the loss I quickly retraced my steps around the sprawling Temperate House (almost knocking a few dawdling pensioners into the vegetation while doing so) while Helen kindly revisited the Evolution House, but it was not to be found. Contacted Kew's 'Constabulary', who got me briefly excited by announcing that a leather glove had indeed been handed in, but a description of it revealed that it wasn't mine. It's been a bad year for gloves as I've already lost one pair this winter.

Kamikaze bunnies; modern architecture; dying swans

Last Wednesday Ray and his brother Lee helpfully relieved us of the filing cabinet that has been occupying the third bedroom since I moved into the house. I originally bought it when I was doing postgraduate study in Colchester and had a full-blown home office set up, but it is now a bit surplus to requirements. Lee and his wife have recently set up their own home office and were willing to give it a home. They got it down the stairs and out of the house very quickly and efficiently, perhaps helped by the fact that, as Lee reminded me, the two of them have shifted it up and down stairs at least three times before.

Shortly after they had left, I had a quasi-parental sixth sense experience, which I will relate here. Ruth’s sister Gail and her boyfriend had arrived for dinner while the furniture removal was going on and I was chatting to them, when I suddenly realised simultaneously that a) the men would not have been able to shut the door of the third bedroom behind them (their arms being full of filing cabinet and all) and b) the smaller and naughtier of our rabbits was nowhere to be seen. I bounded from the room and up the stairs, arriving in the third bedroom just as Harley was eagerly making his way towards the open chimney shaft. I lunged and grabbed him with more speed than gentleness and carried him from the room, shutting the door behind us. Little critter. Glad we don’t have an open fire, as presumably his first impulse would be to throw himself into it.

There follows a bit of an architectural digest as Ray and I went for a ‘modern architecture’ walk in London on Saturday (pictures here), partly triggered by his recently having started a WEA evening class in same. Started off with breakfast at La Taaza then nipped across the road and took a bus to St Paul’s – I always forget that Travelcards can be used on buses but they are certainly a more interesting alternative to the tube. Hopped off the bus and made our way to view the controversial No. 1 Poultry, apparently a major exemplar of postmodernism in London. In my uninformed view, the building’s a bit of a gaudy incoherent mess, but I was childishly amused at the existence of a street named Poultry. Here’s a picture of the Mappin & Webb Building that previously occupied the site - I have to say that in this instance I do think the previous incumbent was more elegant.

We then walked from Poultry to the Lubetkin-designed Finsbury Health Centre off Farringdon Road, and were a bit saddened to note that despite being Grade I listed, it looks very shabby, although it appeared to be still in use from what we could see. There’s a good article about the building here. Sadly, it appears that last year Islington Primary Care Trust announced their intention to sell it due to the large cost of refurbishment (pah – that just means that someone high up doesn’t like it). A quick Google search revealed that there’s currently a campaign to save it.

We walked a short distance to Angel and took the tube to Highgate, where we emerged into a monsoon and consequently nipped into the Highgate Café for a hot chocolate. Then we walked a short distance to view some more Lubetkin buildings, the Highpoint apartment blocks on North Hill. We were agreed that Highpoint I is fab but were less sure about Highpoint II – and yes, those caryatids are very odd.

We then moseyed onto Hampstead Heath past the interesting West Hill Park estate and Highgate Ponds, entering Hampstead along Downshire Hill where we viewed the Hopkins house at number 49a - certainly avant garde although possibly too much of a goldfish bowl to live in.

We then trekked out along West Heath Road past the amazing Schreiber House at No. 9. This Times Online piece from 2007 refers – evidently the house was for sale at the time. There’s a picture on Flickr here apparently taken in 1965 – the house is now hemmed in by a more recent building on its left-hand side. There's another picture here from a different angle. This piece calls it one of the most significant town houses of the postwar period.

We then swung left into Redington Road, a long road of large and mainly dull villas, but there are some interesting more modern houses. Disappointingly, Oliver Hill’s ‘Hill House’ at number 87 is now barely visible – there’s a great picture of it in Modern: The Modern Movement in Britain but the garden has been grown in considerably since then and there may or may not have been infill development – the tree cover was too thick to see. The road has some great smaller houses though including number 50 (picture here), the white-rendered 85a (picture here) and the spanking new 14 (pictured right).

After a late lunch at the quirky Coffee Cup on Hampstead High Street, which claims to be "the oldest coffee lounge in London", we strolled to Frognal Way. Have strong suspicions that the Cooper House at 22 Frognal Way (there’s a picture here) may be being demolished, as there was high fencing all around it. There’s an article here published in October 2008 about the house - from the picture it looks a neat and attractive house. WANTON VANDALISM. Fume, rant, etc.

Progressing along Frognal Way we passed Maxwell Fry’s Sun House, which looked distinctly shut up, and then emerged onto Frognal with the striking 66 Frognal (pictured right) on the corner. After a quick whiz around Frognal Close and the half-dozen neat 1930s houses there, we passed my favourite house of the day, 41 Frognal (Alexander Flinder, 1968; pictured left) a well proportioned low-lying house sited well back from the road.

Went with Ray and his Auntie Barbara to The Hexagon to see ‘Swan Lake’ last night, as performed by the Moscow City Ballet. I have seen a few ballets before but am hardly an aficionado so won’t attempt any intelligent critique. I had never seen ‘Swan Lake’ before. I thought the girl who danced Odette/Odile was good; the chap who danced Siegfried was good-looking but seemed to have less energy and lightness of foot than some of the other male dancers – also didn’t manage to convey much expression. The scenes by the lake were pretty and parts of the score are well-known, so that there are a number of “ah, so THAT’S where that’s from” moments. Have to say though that it’s a thin story with a LOT of padding.

Before the show I had quite an acceptable snack at The Hexagon's Café 6 of a coronation chicken baguette and a small plastic bottle of Sauvignon Blanc (about a glass's worth). Cute.

Cocktails; fat cats; top security universities

The Hippobag was duly collected, having been well and truly filled with assorted rubble. How satisfying.

A group of us had a nice night out for Claire’s birthday on the 12th, starting off at Las Iguanas for cocktails. This may be one of the many areas in which I am probably a traitor to my sex, but I can’t really get excited about cocktails – sweet gunky drinks with random bits of fruit in them. Give me a glass of wine any day. I did try a margarita, and a couple of others whose names I’ve forgotten. Then we decamped for a nice dinner at La Tasca where Ali and I shared a decent bottle of Rioja.

Had booked last Thursday and Friday off as part of a plan to have a day out by myself somewhere before going on to my parents’ house to stay a few nights. In the over-optimistic assumption that spring must be well on the way, I had omitted to consult any weather forecasts so was surprised to receive an agitated phone call from my mother early on Thursday morning saying that there were severe weather warnings for their area. “Pah”, I thought sceptically, and set out – however, by the time I got into Gloucestershire and up onto Birdlip Hill, it was snowing quite heavily so, reluctantly, I considered it prudent to omit my planned visit to Painswick Rococo Garden and drive straight on to my destination, via a slight detour to Waitrose at Abergavenny where I managed to spend around £50, mainly out of annoyance. The country lanes that form the last part of the journey were indeed quite snowy by the time I reached them, so it was probably sensible not to have left it any later.

I was invited to assess whether Mum’s cat Lydia had lost any weight since I had seen her at Christmas, as she has apparently been on a strictly restricted eating regime, including low-fat Iams. She did indeed look marginally slimmer, so it would seem to be having some effect. Here she is lying on her back in appealing fashion. Think she was resting rather than simply beached.

On the Friday Mum and I took a trip out to The Weir Garden, a National Trust property near Hereford, in an attempt to view some snowdrops in the light of my aborted visit to Painswick. We had a pleasant walk around the 10-acre garden on the banks of the Wye. The Wikipedia piece on the garden mentions that notable birdlife can be viewed there depending on the time of year – I don’t think I spotted any though I wouldn’t recognise a goosander if one landed on my head. I did see a cute little wren when it briefly landed on the wall in front of where Mum and I were sitting.

On the Saturday, my parents and I ended up having a bit of a drive around Herefordshire, initially to seek out the church where my father’s great-grandparents got married. After some negotiating over directions we did eventually locate this, though couldn’t get inside as it was locked. Mum did go and knock on the door of the neighbouring cottage to ask if they had a key (they didn’t), while Dad and I hid round the side of the church in embarrassment. We then drove on to Newland and had lunch at The Ostrich, followed by a brief visit to the church over the road, apparently known as The Cathedral of the Forest (though its real name is the Church of All Saints). We then parked at the car park at Cannop Ponds and had a brief and chilly stroll along the side of the ponds before calling it a day. Shame as I’ve only been to the Forest of Dean once before and could have quite fancied a walk – but quite possibly it would be better later in the spring.

My Dad cooked a lovely curry in the evening, all the more impressive given that he had had to replace the diced lamb in the recipe with stewing steak.

Travelled to High Wycombe today to stand in for our Director at a meeting at Bucks New University. As there is no practical way to travel by train from Reading to HW, I made use of Arriva's excellent 800 bus service to Wycombe Bus Station via Shiplake, Henley and Marlow. Most of the hour-and-a-quarter route is a pleasant meander through country villages and affluent riverside towns (until one gets to Wycombe, where it all goes a bit downhill). And, at £6 for a return ticket, I feel I have saved my department money as well as saving the planet by not driving. Am currently bathed in glow of thrifty eco-smugness.

The meeting was held at Bucks' new Gateway building, which would appear to have security levels that would not disgrace the Ministry of Defence. I had received an email the day before confirming my attendance at the meeting, and informing me that on arrival I should sign in at reception where I would be issued with a visitors' badge (which I would be obliged to wear for the duration of my visit) and escorted to the meeting room by a university representative. This did indeed happen, although as I arrived early I asked the meeter-and-greeter if I could perhaps go somewhere for a cup of tea first - this flustered him somewhat but he did duly escort me to some sort of eating and drinking 'zone'. I had taken about two sips of my cup of tea before he reappeared to collect me, explaining that three other delegates had just arrived and it would be easiest if he took us all up together. I thought about asking "Can't I just make my own way up when I'm ready?", but thought better of it - I soon saw why as both the lift and the conference room door required swipe cards to operate them, resulting in a constant stream of people having to knock to get back in from the toilets. Although I'm all for sensible security precautions, this did all seem somewhat OTT.

I had thought about taking a photo of the Gateway building to illustrate this entry, but given the security levels I was a bit worried that this might result in my being taken out by a strategically-placed sniper. There's a picture here if you scroll down the page.

My ex-boyfriend Andy lived in Wycombe during the time we were together, so I spent quite a bit of time there in 1990-91. I never cared for the place, although my view was no doubt coloured by the succession of squalid shared houses that Andy lived in. In at least one of these, the kitchen was almost certainly dangerous to human health, so that we only ate microwaved food in Andy's room. I remember one cosy dinner for two being a microwaved roast-dinner-in-a-box eaten sitting side by side on Andy's bed. Simpler times ...

Wycombe also has one of those town centres where to get anywhere on foot you seem to keep having to go through dank concrete underpasses. It probably has its nice bits, though.

Overeating; bedside tables; DIY SOS

Last Friday Ruth and I went to South Street Arts to see comedian Laura Solon doing her live show ‘Rabbit Faced Story Soup’. Have to confess to being unfamiliar with Laura prior to the show, although Ruth had heard and liked her on the radio. The show was entertaining although I struggled briefly to keep awake during part of it – less a reflection on Laura than on our not-so-light pre-show supper (see next paragraph).

For a (supposedly light, but actually quite heavy) pre-show supper, we ended up going to the Art of Siam, a Thai restaurant in Reading’s ‘The Walk’ shopping centre. The last time I went there was the night before my BA graduation in 1996 – am surprised that it’s survived given that the shopping centre has never managed to successfully fill its units for any length of time. When it first opened, it was peach-coloured and named ‘King’s Walk’ – as of a few years ago, it’s now black and named ‘The Walk’, presumably in an effort to revitalise it. It has a website stating that it is designed to “suit the needs of upmarket specialist retailers” (given the fortunes of the centre, I'd suggest that there aren't enough people in Reading who shop at such retailers). It’s also described as “a shining light in Reading” – ironic, given the new black décor. At least, since the Oracle was built, the balcony of the first floor ‘Dolce Vita’ restaurant (originally a brasserie, now a pizzeria) no longer looks out straight into a multi-storey car park – bit of a design blunder, that one.

Digressing rather: Retrowow mentions the car park in question, the Yield Hall car park, and its bigger brother the Chatham Street car park, apparently built by the same designer. When we used to come into Reading for the day as kids, Mum usually used to park in the Chatham Street car park. Even by the 1970s, I remember it seeming scruffy and smelling of wee. I suppose the exterior design was quite cool in a way though. Both car parks have now been demolished.

The master bedroom now has two cool new Walnut S side tables from Dwell. Had almost given up my quest to find a bedside table after last year’s Furniture Today fiasco (did eventually cancel the order in question, after the replacement failed to turn up because they had forgotten to load it onto the van – thanks, that was a day of my annual leave) but have become keen on Dwell’s modern, decent quality and generally rather super furniture – we also purchased an office chair recently to replace the old and mysteriously stained Staples number.

It was a weekend of targeted destruction in the house, with the master bedroom fireplace and the third bedroom ceiling both coming a cropper. With the recent passion for all things Victorian looking set to continue, I had thought that it might enhance the house to have an open fireplace in the master bedroom – not actually to USE or anything, just to look good. The fireplace had, unfortunately, been bricked rather than boarded up, so Ruth knocked the cr*p out of it while I ferried the rubble downstairs in buckets and into an open Hippo bag in the front garden (v. useful, these, especially if you don’t have a car). The plan is to re-use the cast-iron fireplace that we removed from the second bedroom last year – for now it’s just wedged into the gap but will be properly fitted at a later date. Harley has already found out how to wriggle under the fireplace into the rubble-y space underneath – in fact he showed a keen interest in the whole process and was not noticeably deterred by the noise and dust. I remain in doubt as to whether his level of fearlessness is a good thing in a small prey animal.

To keep my end up, I dismantled an old and cheap IKEA chest of drawers that had had its day. All went smoothly once Ruth had pointed out which bits required an allen key rather than a screwdriver. Well, I mean. I’m used to having men do this kind of thing.

As the Hippo bag wasn’t full, Ruth also decided to take down the ceiling in the third bedroom, the possible new-bathroom-to-be. The job was necessary labour as we want both insulation and a Velux window fitted, but appallingly messy and dirty. Am currently giving the room a wide berth, although we will have to clear the rubble away this coming weekend. It’s definitely not my home office any more.

Statistics; tree relocation; Hip and Thigh

The bunnies’ concerted work on the dining room wallpaper continues – managed to photo them ‘in flagrante’ last week. They looked round briefly when I took the photograph, but obviously decided that I posed no serious threat and carried on.

Went on a day's statistics training last Thursday at Reading's Statistical Services Centre, which proved a useful refresher, and we were able to download the SSC's useful Excel add-in SSC-Stat. I have to say my head does not naturally get itself round such probably elementary notions as confidence intervals, so the occasional refresher is useful.

Saturday morning saw the re-homing of a small silver birch tree from the garden, a job that has been on the to-do list for a while but delayed by necessity to wait until sap had stopped rising and then necessity to wait until ground had thawed enough to get a spade into. I had been keen that the tree should go to a good home and my boss Paul came up trumps by offering it a home in a small patch of local woodland owned by his mother-in-law. Ruth and Ray dug it up and tied the root ball, while I, true to form, made tea and watched helpfully. The tree was then loaded into Ray's van - my estimate of its height as being around 7 feet was pointed out, in unnecessarily blunt terms, to have been slightly inaccurate - and driven to its new location, where Paul had helpfully already dug a hole of just the right size. A seamless procedure.

Last night's Book Group meeting was enlivened by the hostess' having taken up Rosemary Conley's Hip and Thigh Diet, so the table was laden with more chopped raw vegetables than I think I've ever seen gathered in one place, together with Weight Watchers crisps, low-fat dips made with yoghurt and pure air, etc. Luckily there were a few other more tempting offerings available for those of us who eschew diets. Dessert, along with the usual array of chocolates, fondant fancies and mini-Victoria sponge cakes, included Weight Watchers brownies, which caused a certain amount of intrigue - suspected that they are low-calorie mainly by dint of being about the size of a postage stamp.

My only flirtation with the Stepford-esque Ms Conley's hugely successful diet was over 20 years ago, not long after it came out, when Mum and I briefly decided to go on it. Neither of us lasted very long. There's a brief and not particularly complimentary summary of the diet's main features here.