Public school; chitterlings; curry

Mum arrived on Thursday evening to stay for a few days and after breakfast on Friday at the Alto Lounge we took the train over to Windsor and spent most of the day mooching around Eton, including going on a guided tour of Eton College (pictures here). Our guide was a pleasant fairly elderly woman whose four sons had apparently all been through Eton – after learning that the full fees are £30,000 per year, Mum and I were dying to ask her what her husband did for a living, but refrained. The tour includes only limited bits of the College: we had a quick whiz around School Yard and the cloisters, the oldest classroom in the College and the Chapel, before finishing in the Museum of Eton Life. So no getting to poke through boys’ bedrooms, but you can watch a video about life at Eton, showing boys eating their lunch and having intelligent group discussions in masters’ studies. (An amusing thought would be an alternative video of Eton life, showing boys getting bladdered and mooning the locals. I’m sure that doesn’t happen though.) The museum takes pains to point out that both beating and fagging have long since been abolished.

It did strike me, while wandering around Eton, as inappropriate to have a primary school called The Porny School. I know it’s because it was named after a Mr Porny (a former French master at Eton College called Antoine Pyron du Martre; how that got anglicised to Porny I'm not sure). It just seems wrong.

On Saturday morning we wandered to Reading Farmers’ Market, a twice-monthly affair held in the old cattle market on Great Knollys Street. One of the meat stalls always has an interesting selection of innards, including chitterlings (NB spelt chitlings by the stall owner). A quick Google search reveals a number of web resources for chitterlings, including The Chitterling Site. Here’s how to clean them. Just not sure I fancy eating something where the preparations include picking it clean of any faeces. One might perhaps legitimately ask whether something that requires this much cleaning beforehand is actually suitable for human consumption. Needless to say we didn’t buy any chitterlings, but did acquire some tomato plants and a lardy cake.

Spent much of the rest of Saturday sitting in the garden enjoying the sun and watching Harley skit about the garden eating the heads off flowers. Dad joined us for dinner in the evening at The Spice Oven, a cavernous Indian restaurant housed in a former nightclub¹. It has relatively restrained beige décor but recovers its kitsch credentials by having a small lake in the centre complete with fish, plants and a bridge. Saturday night turned out to be Buffet Night, which I hadn’t known about in advance, but my parents and I took advantage of the opportunity to try a few different dishes, while Ruth ordered something mild and creamy for herself.

On Sunday morning we all trooped up to the marina, where Dad had left his car, to squeeze onto Ray’s boat for breakfast. In the evening Ruth and I lit the chimenea for the first time this year and had a ceremonial burning of the goddess figure I made at Samhain. She went up a treat.

Unsatisfactory start to Monday morning when entered bathroom and realised after a few moments (it being pre-coffee) that I was paddling through water. After brief negotiations Ruth agreed to stay home and call a plumber, who duly came out and tightened various areas of slackness around the bath and basin taps. One of the few advantages of having a ground floor bathroom was that no other rooms were flooded. Apparently there had been a slow leak going on for some time, which might explain the occasional sprouting of fungus on the floor. Really must get new bathroom sorted.

¹ The Nue Valbonne, where I once snogged a bloke then stood him up the next day. In my defence it was 20 years ago and I was young and silly.

Ethnic/folky stuff; property watch; bagels

Reading Borough Council has evidently been very busy planting daffodil bulbs in attractive swirly lines, as the park at the end of our road now has this cheery spring display.

Spent a pleasant evening at the Global Café on Friday. Am pleased that the excellent Tutu’s Ethiopian Table appears to be a continuing success. Enjoyed the Yefeske Beyayenetu (or, if you prefer, Special Meat Platter) for dinner, involving a nice lamb dish accompanied by lentil stew and fried spinach. As there is nothing on Tutu’s menu that is not at least mildly spicy, I was a little concerned for Ruth’s wellbeing, as she has little head for spice, but she claimed to have enjoyed the simmered lamb dish that she ordered, although she did look a little pink by the time she’d finished. The purpose of the evening was to hear local band Dolly and the Clothespegs, although thanks to a few technical hitches and a dreadful supporting act, they didn’t begin their set until nearly 10, by which time Helen and I were beginning to take on an ‘I’ll be off now for a cup of tea and my slippers’ appearance. We shuffled off by 11pm, with Claire, who is rather more of a night owl, muttering darkly about lightweights. Que sera.

Keeping a keen eye out, as I do, for houses up for sale on our street, I was cheered to note over the weekend that Ugly House Opposite (not its real name) has just gone on the market. It's being advertised as an 'investment opportunity', which appears to be estate agent-speak for 'hard-to-sell hovel suitable only for selling to a builder or letting to the desperate'.

Spent the day in London on Tuesday at the termly LLN Research Forum meeting at Birkbeck in the morning, and at the Institute of Education library in the afternoon. Started off by visiting Bagel Nash on Shaftesbury Avenue for breakfast, as part of a minor quest to find nicely chewy bagels (supermarket varieties being a bit bready). The bagel I had was excellent and Bagel Nash do do mail order, though unfortunately only in quantities of 72. Am undecided at the moment, given that this might necessitate buying a new freezer. On a different food quest, I had hoped to pop in to the Hanna Korean supermarket on Store Street on the way home to buy some kimchi, but was disappointed to find that it was closed and, according to the notice on the door, under the care and protection of the bailiffs.

Enjoyed the civilised open-door ambience of the University of London buildings, cf others I have visited recently (see post of 24 February).

Wholefood collectives; West Country city breaks; Lindt fervour

Went for a c. 6km walk around Emmer Green the Saturday before last in a continuing attempt to get to grips with the distance counter on my new pedometer. Sure it can’t really be that complicated, but am struggling at the moment. En route, took in the new True Food Co-op Community Shop on Grove Road. The True Food Co-op hold weekly markets in different venues across Reading, which, typically, I have occasionally thought about going to, but never actually been to. They have recently – as of three weeks ago – opened a ‘community shop’ in Emmer Green, which is tucked away in an obscure little parade of shops near St Barnabas Church and I would have remained unaware of it had my boss Paul, one suspects a bit of a wholefoody type, not alerted me to its presence. A worthy endeavour though not sure how it will do. I had a bit of a wander around, giving some strangely-shaped carrots a wide berth. Decided I was OK for spelt and flax products, but to show support bought a packet of coffee, some organic corn cakes and some nettle tea, which apparently has a cleansing and purifying effect. Bring it on.

Small and exclusive Book Group gathering at Claire’s house last Wednesday to eat a very nice pasta salad (and a few other bits) and discuss Keith Ridgway’s novella Horses. For a short book it had sparked a variety of interpretations, one involving the ‘village idiot’-type character Mathew really being Jesus, which I can’t say had occurred to me as a possibility, unless Jesus was really stupid and wore ill-fitting trousers.

Ruth and I spent a pleasant couple of days on a mini ‘city break’ in Bristol for the first part of the Easter weekend. I had booked us in to the Premier Inn on King Street which turned out to be rather fabulously positioned right on the harbourside. We started off with a stroll across Castle Park and a couple of hours shopping in the new Cabot Circus shopping centre, triggered by Ruth’s quest for a pair of well-fitting jeans. We drew a blank on those, but did buy a few tops between us. Next up was a visit to the Blue Reef Aquarium - by the time we arrived we had missed the last showing in the IMAX 3D cinema, but the upside was that we got a relatively uncrowded walk around to look at the fishies and some other intriguingly weird creatures. It was pouring with rain when we emerged so we nipped into the Watershed for a drink and ended up staying to see a movie, Jessica Hausner’s Lourdes. We ended the day with dinner at the rather super half-afloat Spyglass.

We started Saturday by hopping onto a sightseeing bus intending to have a bit of a walk to the Clifton Suspension Bridge, but the inclement weather put us off that idea (the tour bus was largely empty except for us and a group of over-enthusiastic German tourists). We got off the bus in Clifton and had a hearty breakfast at the Clifton Bistro and a bit of a poke around the Clifton Arcade. The rain eased off sufficiently for us to have a bit of a walk around Clifton and a visit to Clifton Cathedral before tea and cake at the lovely Primrose Café and then heading back into the city. I paid a brief visit to the Imogen Stidworthy exhibition, part of the Arnolfini’s 'Lingua Franca' series: interesting in parts, though I’d dispute that the phrase ‘Get here!’ (as uttered by ill-bred harpies to their children) is unique to Liverpool. We dined at Loch Fyne before going to see another movie, Tom Ford's A Single Man (Ruth's payback for having to sit through Lourdes). Actually it was good and Colin Firth does at least seem to have stopped playing Mr Darcy. That lad from About A Boy has certainly grown into a bit of a hottie, if you like that kind of thing.

NB Premier Inns aren’t bad value for money and I do like their extra-large beds and flat screen TVs, but I’ve yet to find one that costs £29 a night, despite the advertising campaign. Maybe in Hull or similar.

Easter Sunday began with the discovery that my Easter display of colourful chicks had produced a large Lindt golden egg between them. This was followed by an exciting hunt for Lindt gold bunnies that Ruth had cunningly hidden around the house for me (see this one on top of the marmalade). Then went over to Ashbury for Sunday lunch at Ruth's aunt's house, via The Bear at Hungerford for tea while waiting for our lift. Quite nice; never been there before. After a sustaining lunch of roast lamb and sherry trifle we took the customary walk to see the ponies - I tend to steer clear of horses/ponies and their ilk so left Ruth to pet them while I tried, again unsuccessfully, to befriend Mona the farm cat.

Had a slightly bizarre but enjoyable picnic breakfast with Ray by the Thames in Pangbourne early on Easter Monday, before he went off to a job and I went for a walk. Tried to make good use of the Closure Day on Tuesday by going to the gym for the first time this year. Even went for a swim as well afterwards. That's me done for the next couple of months.

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.