Fulham and Putney; further flat-hunting; Easter weekend activities

Met Helen at Putney Bridge tube station on Saturday 16^th to go and visit Fulham Palace, the home until 1973 of the Bishops of London. I’d never heard of the place until recently when Mum mentioned it to me, but thought it might serve a purpose as somewhere vaguely cultural to head for. We had a lovely lunch in the very civilised Drawing Room Café before going for a poke about those of the Palace’s rooms that are open, including the Great Hall and various Bishops' sitting/dining rooms. A lot of the surrounding grounds, including the walled garden, seemed to be undergoing maintenance when we visited, but we managed to have a bit of a poke about. Rather nicely, the whole thing was free of charge (well, except lunch, which we had to pay for).

After leaving the Palace we walked along the Thames back to Putney Bridge, then along Putney’s Embankment for a while where we saw a blue plaque celebrating a Fred Russell, allegedly the Father of Modern Ventriloquism (as opposed to Ancient?). Wandered up Putney High Street and had tea at a nice café on Upper Richmond Road that I’ve forgotten the name of – although actually I think it was Wallace and Co - before going home from East Putney tube.

Two blessed Closure Days on 20^th and 21^st meant that I felt obliged to seize the opportunity to return to Milton Keynes for another assault on its rental housing stock. Ray kindly offered to drive me, which saved me a hefty train fare and allowed us to stop for a vile breakfast at Toddington services on the way – one to be avoided in future, although in fairness it did have a Costa which with the wisdom of hindsight, we should have used. (The 'comments' section on Toddington's entry on www.motorwayservices.info is amazing, especially 'Edna Browne's rant - seems somewhat obsessed (excited?) by the prospect of naughty goings-on in public toilets. I have to say I did visit the toilets and they didn't stand out particularly in either direction.)

Lined up viewings of 7 or 8 flats, although in the end we only ended up seeing 4 as I decided that I liked the second, a little c.70s flat-roofed one-bedroomed house in quite a cunning little development in Simpson, within walking distance of the OU and, almost as importantly, Simpson Village and a decent-seeming pub called The Plough, where we had lunch. As the rent is only £550/month I had assumed before seeing it that there was something wrong with it, but have concluded that’s just the difference in prices from Reading and probably the flat roof, as I understand these can put people off (philistines). Fascinating fact taken from Simpson's Wikipedia entry: apparently the civil parish of Simpson also includes West Ashland, which is distinguished by containing the national headquarters of Domino's Pizza.

Felt a bit sorry for the agent who showed us around the third and scheduled-to-be-fourth flats we viewed, in Wooton Court in New Bradwell (much too far from the OU but I'd booked the viewings in some desperation). The first of the two was still tenanted by a chap who had evidently just cooked up a big vat of boiled fish, as the place stank - this coupled with the fact that all the curtains were still drawn and half the living room was taken up with a c. 60-inch TV made the place appear more than a little oppressive. On our way to the second flat, in the same development, the agent saw fit to tell me that it had until recently been inhabited by a woman who had had to be evicted because she was "living like a tramp" and the place had been given an initial clean but wasn't totally clean as yet. Way to market a flat. I immediately had visions of a Life of Grime/Homes from Hell-type scenario involving rooms stacked to the ceiling with rubbish, and became rather less keen on the flat before I'd even seen it. Luckily, we were fated not to see it at all, as the locks had been changed and the agent couldn't get in. Eventually followed the poor sweating chap back to his car, chuckling inwardly.

Took Ruth out to Quattro in the evening to discuss CfBT’s latest machinations and make defiant plans involving much clinking of wine glasses.

Got the train to Abergavenny on the Thursday morning and was met by Mum, who immediately whisked us off to give Waitrose a thorough going-over. We then drove to Wormbridge to have lunch at the Galanthus Gallery and Café – lovely lunch; neither of us was particularly struck by the art on show but we had a polite peruse anyway. Returned to the house to have tea with Dad and inspect the cats – Emrys has lost weight recently and has been taken to the vet for a battery of tests designed to identify thyroid problems (common in older cats), but has been pronounced clean for the moment, I sensed almost frustratingly for Mum given the cost of the tests. Lydia also appeared somewhat slimmer than she was last year (something to be encouraged) though still a sturdy lass.

Another sunny day on Good Friday and we went for a pleasant walk up from Peterchurch to the top of the ridge looking eastwards down into the Wye Valley. Stopped for a picnic before making our way back down into Peterchurch past Greenway Farm (whoever owns it really needs to tidy the place up - farmhouse looked nice enough but land littered with abandoned cars, caravans and assorted random machinery) and down Mowbage Lane where Dad had a chat with a nice old chap about the flowers in his garden. Called in at the Nags Head for a refreshing drink before walking back to the car park in Peterchurch.

On Easter Sunday I started, with the help of the hot steamy machine, stripping the wallpaper off the upstairs hallway in the house. Came off pretty well. Inevitably ended up wondering why, since I’ve hated the stuff for the five years I’ve lived there, I haven’t tried removing it before.

Since Sunday until time of writing I have been, unusually, afflicted with a cold and sore throat, so the remainder of the Bank Holiday weekend was a little devoid of activity. Curse this frailty.

Jobs; (mini) jackpot; further adventures in Milton Keynes

Book Group met at The Back of Beyond’s beer terrace on Thursday – it was supposed to be at Tamzin’s house but she appears to have gone to ground. The sudden onset of summery weather enabled us to sit outside for the whole evening, though we spent more time discussing everyone’s job situation than discussing the book. Few of us had made the time to tackle the book, Dan Brown’s The Lost Symbol – I may or may not get around to reading it. As probably the only person in the country who hasn’t yet read The Da Vinci Code, I should probably read that one first.

Very excited on Friday to discover an envelope from NS&I with a slip inside announcing that one of my Premium Bonds had won a prize. I bought £500 of Bonds a couple of years ago and, obviously, have been awaiting a large payout ever since, even though various people have told me that I probably don’t own enough Bonds to make that likely. Eagerly scanning the enclosed cheque told me that I’d won £25. Better than a slap in the face, I suppose. Didn’t think it was worth re-investing it in new Bonds so spent it on Amazon instead, as any responsible citizen would.

Outing to Milton Keynes at the weekend, with a view to having a scout around some residential areas within reasonable distance of the OU. Bribed Ruth to get an early train with the prospect of breakfast at La Taaza; after the usual great coffee and fried bread fest we made our way over to Euston and thence to MK. Managed to catch a bus from the railway station to Tinkers Bridge (suspect strongly that I am going to miss Reading’s excellent council-run bus system) and walked across Woughton Park to Walton Hall, the Open University’s campus. Crossed over and then into Kents Hill Park and more green space, before making our way to the first of the day’s flat viewings, a shabby little hole on the ground floor of a c.1980s block. Left feeling somewhat depressed and asked the letting agent the way to the nearest café or pub. After walking for a good 15 minutes, we eventually reached Walnut Tree¹’s Local Centre, featuring three takeaways, a Ladbroke’s and a Hungry Horse called the Tawny Owl, to which we reluctantly headed and stepped over the assorted Staffies and crying children to order a drink. Felt it prudent to order a spot of lunch as we had another viewing at 2pm, but won’t be doing that again – Ruth did manage to get through most of her disgustingly pallid-looking scampi but I rapidly lost appetite for my extremely dry Cajun chicken salad and just-about-cooked chips. Left, vowing never to set foot in a HH again, and viewed another flat in the same development as the first, also a no-go.

Headed north through Monkston and the new-and-posh Monkston Park and then, after a brief sit down near this concrete flyover, into Woolstone, presumably one of the older villages that was swallowed up into Milton Keynes. Nice, though getting a bit far from Walton Hall at that point. Proceeded to Willen Lake and the Milton Keynes East Premier Inn, which I had booked us into for the night. Discovered on arrival that we appeared to have booked into some sort of lakeside fun park, as the lake area and the pub adjoining the hotel were heaving with young families. Did the only possible thing and retreated to our room, where Ruth took a nap and I took a bath. Later that evening we had an acceptable lasagne in the somewhat ravaged pub – managed with some effort to find a table that wasn’t surrounded by discarded chips. Retired to our room fairly early and watched CSI.

On the Sunday we had a somewhat irritable breakfast (I say “we” – actually it was entirely me being irritable) before walking back to Central MK via Campbell Park. Stopped off at a Costa for me to have a cup of coffee to take away the memory of the weak brown liquid the hotel restaurant had served up earlier. After a trip to Hawes & Curtis for Ruth to stock up on some more shirts we made our way back to Reading. Bit of a question mark over MK at the mo.

¹ Another suburb. MK seems to specialise in cutesy/weird names for its residential districts: there’s another one called Coffee Hall.

Singing; graduation; free dinner

April here already. Spring, young things, etc.

Ruth and I met Helen S at a crowded Lyndhurst on Friday for an early-evening dinner before heading to Claire’s choir’s concert at the Wesley Methodist Church over the road. The Lyndy’s food seems to have improved since its takeover a couple of years ago; had an acceptable chicken Caesar salad, though couldn’t detect the presence of any anchovies – wish these weren’t widely regarded in the UK as some sort of controversial exotic foodstuff. Helen seemed remarkably cheerful after her first day post-redundancy; had apparently managed to sign on successfully and appeared to have enjoyed a pleasant browse around the shops. We headed over to the church and joined Claire’s mother Chris at some quite good seats up in the gallery.

The Witt Studio’s End-of-Term Showcase included a large and diverse range of pieces, many of them solos, some by the Witt Studio Singers – billed as a ‘virtuoso vocal ensemble’ – and some by the full choir, the Witt Studio Chorus, of which Claire and her friend Kay are members. Ruth enjoyed Louise Herrington’s rendition of When You’re Good to Mamma, from Chicago – great voice, but I can’t be doing with that sort of stuff. Nay to musicals, and thrice nay to Gilbert & Sullivan – what was all that supposed to be about? I think my favourite number of the evening was David Lay’s rendition of With Joy Th’impatient Husbandman, from Haydn’s oratorio The Seasons, partly because I enjoyed the title.

Up to London on Saturday to see Claire graduate with her BSc (Hons) in Psychology from the Open University. As the ceremony wasn’t until the afternoon I took the opportunity to pop in to see Hannah and her latest flat. Flat nice if cosy. Stanley, Hannah’s cuddly sheep, is still filthy but she is reluctant to try cleaning products on him. Excitingly, Hannah was due to be doing a photo shoot of a nude man later that afternoon, I gather for a new ‘erotica for straight women’ magazine.

Walked from Hannah’s to the Barbican where I met up with Claire, her parents, her sisters Tanya and Fiona and her old friend Ann. The ceremony lasted a couple of hours and was OK – speeches not too long; lots of raucous cheering of graduands – much livelier than any of my graduation ceremonies. Afterwards we took the bus to Covent Garden and had a couple of drinks at the Punch and Judy with its balcony overlooking the Covent Garden Piazza. The pub was, unsurprisingly, packed so we were forced to stand huddled in a corner of the balcony for the time we were there, though we did manage to find a stool for Claire’s flagging mother. We went on to the Covent Garden branch of La Tasca for a nice dinner, though Claire and Fiona were evidently disappointed with the refurb it had apparently had since the last time they were there. Sampled a Crema Catalana liqueur, which I discovered smells and tastes like Angel Delight, so not an experience to be repeated.

Ruth and I went for a very pleasant walk around Whiteknights Lake on Sunday, including seeing some adorable ducklings who couldn’t have been more than a few days old. Had a look around the cave-type structure at the top end of the lake, presumably built as a garden feature at one point, and a brief look at Foxhill House.

Got to try my hand a being a restaurant critic on Tuesday evening. Ray’s sister Sharon now works for the Reading Chronicle and is in charge of the restaurant review spot. Sharon is apparently becoming concerned for her waistline after doing a number of the reviews herself, so has started farming them out to family and friends. Ray and I were given a crib sheet in advance of things to take note of, and duly presented ourselves at the Himalaya Momo House in The Walk at about 7pm. Proceeded to have a very nice meal plus a bottle of house wine (a French table wine with a ‘Himalaya MoMo House’ label cunningly stuck over it) ENTIRELY FREE. I could go for more of this.

(Non)-planning; spring bunnies; shopping

Having been offered, and subsequently accepted, the job I interviewed for the OU, I am mindful of the impending need to live up there during the week, and possibly also to buy a car. At the moment, am choosing not to directly address these concerns but merely to respond to reminders of my impending move with inarticulate panic-stricken squawks. Attempting to plan a weekend up there with Ruth in a fortnight's time to pace the streets of districts close to Walton Hall. Typically, none of the Premier Inn's extremely elusive cheap offers are available the weekend we want to go, so I have booked us into the Travelodge. Attempts to find a cheap train ticket are also drawing a blank; even went so far as to look at National Express rates but, to my surprise, they aren't any cheaper. A bit rich, really, given that coach journeys are traditionally characterised by being uncomfortable and smelling of sick.

My line manager Paul, a keenly altruistic and fellow-man-minded type, spent some time last week coordinating Reading's strike of UCU members and subsequently spent two mornings standing by the campus gates handing out leaflets protesting about the proposed changes to the USS and to the cuts in the university sector. Agree re the changes to the pension scheme; have less sympathy re the protesting over our 0.4% pay award this year given that Ruth hasn't had a pay rise in three years - possibly the sort of thing that makes the public sector look slightly out of touch.

Went for a brief walk last Thursday in the University's Harris Garden, somewhere I have been meaning to explore in more detail. Only had time for a brief visit but intend to return soon.

Went into the living room in the house early on Sunday morning to hear what sounded like a rabbit’s teeth chewing on wood, but, for once, Harley was innocently sitting under the coffee table. Lola was nowhere in sight but after a few minutes trying to track down the source of the noise, I eventually removed her from inside the cupboard containing the DVD player and more importantly the wireless router and modem. Later in the day, we discovered that a crucial cable had been bitten through, so Ruth is now tasked with getting a new one. Luckily since moving to the flat I have my own mobile broadband connection, or otherwise far more of Lola’s fur would have flown.

The behaviour may form part of a more general liveliness Ruth has observed recently which may perhaps be related to the onset of spring. Apparently Lola has also been attempting to hump Harley, though, unfortunately for him, she has been humping his head rather than his lower quarters. Given that Lola is known to have borne a litter and will therefore no longer be wearing white to her wedding, you would think she would know which end of a male rabbit was which.

Met Claire on Friday evening for a lovely dinner at Prezzo; we were quite good and used a voucher for the food, but then of course blew that with a bottle of Pinot Grigio and an Amaretto each. Cunningly, that's probably what they bank on.

Ruth and I took the train over to Oxford on Saturday for a leisurely mooch. We had vaguely intended to visit the Ashmolean, but ended up just looking round the shops. Vague plans to buy new outfits for Dave and Hazel's impending wedding, as well as Ruth's sister Gail's wedding in July (given lack of any guests in common, we are intending to double up outfits for both) gave us an excuse to browse around the shops - unfortunately didn't see anything wedding-esque that we liked, but managed to spend £300 between us on clothes that had nothing to do with weddings, before calling in at The Grapes on George Street for a couple of refreshing drinks.

Milton Keynes; Quantockian jaunt; canal mooch

Made the somewhat convoluted train journey to Milton Keynes on Friday 11th for a job interview at The Open University’s main campus at Walton Hall. So as not to risk being late I took a taxi out to the campus, but after a brief wander around afterwards photographing some of the various sculptures that adorn the grounds, I caught a bus back into town and after a c. 20-minute journey along ring roads, arrived at something billing itself as ‘thecentre:mk’ which I figured must be the town centre. Got off and wandered into a vast shopping centre – after walking for what seemed like quite a while and eventually having lunch at Burger King in desperation, I emerged out the other end, hoping I’d be near the railway station, but no, then had a 20-minute walk along vast open boulevards to get back to the station. The town is certainly laid out with plenty of open space, but at first sight isn’t exactly pedestrian-friendly.

Ruth and I had last week off work for a 4-night self-catering break in Somerset. As I had to see to a number of work-related issues first thing on Monday morning, we ended up being a little late leaving Reading for our scheduled en-route lunch with Ruth’s grandmother at 1pm (in short, we left Reading ten minutes before we were due to be sitting down for lunch with Grannie in Cheddar). Ruth made a damage-limitation phone call and we eventually arrived at Cheddar at about 3pm, but luckily were still able to get lunch at Mrs Millard’s local café the Edelweiss. Grannie had, understandably, already had her lunch there by the time we arrived but ordered a cup of coffee while we had ours.

We then drove on to our chosen holiday cottage in Crowcombe, arriving at about 6pm where we were welcomed by Bruce, one half of the owners of Town End Farm Cottages. ‘Flora’s Barn’ is one of two holiday properties adjoining Town End Farm, and very lovely it was too. Bruce and Kirsty had thoughtfully left a cream tea out for us, which we worked our way through over the next couple of days.

On Day 1 we had a bit of a wander around Crowcombe, including a visit to the Church of the Holy Ghost, apparently believed to be the only church in the country to have that dedication. It has some interesting carved bench-ends depicting a number of pagan scenes, including one of two apparently nude men spearing a dragon, and a rather cute bat. Had a look down the drive at Crowcombe Court, an 18^th century mansion which apparently these days can be hired for weddings, and then a wander into the village shop where we stocked up on a pork pie and a packet of cheese & onion crisps, and several postcards. I then dragged Ruth on quite an uphill walk up Lower Quantock Combe to look for St David’s Well, which I had seen marked on the map. After several wrong turns, and thanks largely to Ruth’s perseverance, we eventually found it, quite nicely marked with a little sign. After appropriate photo-taking, we tramped our way back down to Crowcombe for a pint and lunch in The Carew Arms, the village pub.


On Day 2 we drove out to the coast to Kilve beach, a Site of Special Scientific Interest and known for its fossils and exposed rock formations. Also, according to a book I got out of the library called The Hidden Places of Somerset, 10-foot conger eels that lurk in rock pools, though we didn't see any of those. We went for a walk from the beach past Kilve's little church and the ruins of Kilve Chantry, which is propped up all over the place and looks as though it would blow over in a strong breeze, then to the trapped-in-a-bygone-age/echoes-of-yesteryear type village of East Quantoxhead and then back along the clifftop path to the Chantry Tea Gardens for tea and cake. In the afternoon Ruth decided that she wanted to go to Minehead, so I dutifully drove her there and we had a brief wander around. To make adequate use of the parking fee we walked to the little harbour at one end of the bay, which appeared to be the most attractive part from what we could see.

On Day 3 we drove to the beach again first thing to take some more photos, as it was much sunnier than the previous day, and then up to the top of the Quantock ridge to somewhere called Dead Woman's Ditch (an iron age fortification). Had a walk around there and down into Rams Combe, where we spent a while looking for the alleged public conveniences (eventually located them) and ate cold sausages and a cheese sandwich. While driving back over the top to Crowcombe we encountered a small gang of ponies, which turned into a bigger gang once we stopped the car and Ruth got out and started petting them. One suspects they may be used to getting fed by tourists. Eventually managed to negotiate the car through the mass of ponies. In the afternoon we went to visit Dunster, where we had a particularly delicious cream tea at 'Cobblestones' cafe and visited the castle. As we were so late in the day (about 3.45pm) the nice man on the gate let us in for a discounted rate. The castle itself was closed, but we had a pleasant wander around the gardens in beautiful weather and appeared to be the only people there. Later in the evening we wandered down to The Carew Arms to try out their not very extensive dinner menu - having had a bit of a meat-heavy week I ordered the Thai fish cakes off the specials board, but was a bit surprised to discover that they came with chips - as, indeed, everything on the menu appeared to.

Drove back on Friday in relentless rain the whole way. Collected the rabbits from Steve and Sandra’s, where Sandra reassured Ruth that Lola’s dominance over Harley is normal for rabbits; apparently they’re a bit of a matriarchal bunch. Go sister.

Met up with Ray on Sunday for our postponed walk from a few weeks ago. We initially set off for the Harcourt Arboretum intending to have a gentle stroll and admire some spring bulbs, but on arrival found that it’s shut at weekends until April. Continued on up the A4074, initially rather aimlessly but Ray then came up with the idea of going to visit the Oxford Canal. The only problem was that we had come out without either his satnav or a map, so headed off northwest of Oxford with the vague idea that we might bump into the canal somewhere en route. Eventually I remembered that I could use my phone’s GPS, which isn’t flawless but certainly better than nothing, and enabled us to drive to Tackley, where we parked by the tiny railway station and walked across country to meet the canal at Pigeon Lock. We then walked along the towpath past a good number of narrowboats to Enslow Bridge, where we stopped off for a reviving drink at The Rock of Gibraltar. Then back to Tackley on a minor country road past the Satellite Earth Station northwest of Enslow. All good fun and lovely weather.

Lunches; Cutbush Lane; sofa movements part 2

Our game with the chocolate orange has ended – Dad expressed a desire to have it if we were just going to muck around with it, so I gave it to Ray to take down to my parents’ place when he goes down this coming weekend to help service Dad’s mower, and sundry other outdoor tasks.

Claire kindly took me out for lunch on Thursday to The Black Boy at Shinfield, a pub that I last visited over 15 years ago - it's had a substantial refurb in the meantime. It seemed busy for a weekday lunchtime but the food was very good. Claire had been given a Honda Jazz as a courtesy car while the Smart is in for repairs, but didn't seem any too taken with it. I have to say the dropped bonnet did look a bit awkward.

Met Kate for another lunch time catch-up on Friday, although as before not actually involving lunch in her case. Dol.che Vita was packed so we tried out Café Index at the new ‘Henley Business School’ building. Amused from reading the ‘Places to eat on campus’ page that Café Index makes big claims for its tea and coffee, but does however only sell ‘Sandwiches’, as opposed to the ‘Quality sandwiches’ sold by Dol.che Vita. My sandwich was, indeed, somewhat inferior, but I padded it out with a packet of overpriced handcut crisps.

Crisps are one of the relatively few foodstuffs (sausages being another) where I am relatively OK (indeed, one might say better) with the more downmarket varieties. I don’t require my crisps to have been handcut and lovingly fried that morning on an organic farm in Devon; Walkers will do fine. Equally with sausages: where I can see the arguments in favour of better quality meat, I prefer sausages without the addition of leek/apple/rosemary/chocolate; nor do they need necessarily to be made from wild boar or venison.

Henley Business School was formed from the merger in 2008 of Reading’s business school with the Henley Management College, whose splendid riverside campus is now being referred to as the University’s ‘Greenlands’ campus. The Reading operations have built themselves a couple of nice new buildings on the Whiteknights campus to compensate.

Some of Saturday was spent working as I had a job interview to prepare for and Ruth had a bid template to finalise. In the afternoon, inspired by Thursday’s visit to The Black Boy, we (I) decided to see if it was walkable from my flat. Indeed it is – about 45 minutes at a reasonably brisk trot along Cutbush Lane. Cutbush Lane is really quite interesting, at least for those of us who find disused roads interesting – although presumably at one point it was a continuous country road, much of the Earley end of it has now been made into a footpath with the building of the Lower Earley estate, and its former route over the M4 has been closed off and is now pedestrians and cycles only. This page on the website of the The Society for All British and Irish Road Enthusiasts (SABRE) gives a bit of history and links to an aerial photo of Cutbush Lane as it is today. Once over the M4, the lane passes Upperwood Farm (was owned by the university; not sure if it still is), Oldhouse Farm (still is) and Shinfield Grange (pic here), apparently formerly the home of the Palmer family but since 1989 the home of the College of Estate Management, until recently linked to the University of Reading but a 'going our separate ways' plan was agreed last year.


Sunday was such a nice day that although I had intended doing some more interview prep, I went for a walk instead over to Woodley, using Woodley's branch of Waitrose as a goal for the afternoon (although Asda's closer, I have avoided it for the last few weeks as it doesn't have much to recommend it; have instead being buying essentials at the useful little branch of the Co-op on Wokingham Road). Crossed over the railway and the A329(M) at Earley station and then had a bit of a stroll by South Lake (right) before heading for the precinct.

Woodley Town Council's website describes it as "a thriving town", though it is in fact a sprawling housing estate with a 1960s shopping precinct in the middle. I lived there for a short time while a student at Reading, on the slightly newer 'Airfield' development on the eastern side. Here's the house where we lived - my Renault 5 is on the drive and my then housemate Diana in the doorway.

For the last week, both the new sofa and my old orange sofa have been occupying the living room, rendering it necessary to step over them in order to enter room and sit down, made more challenging when armed with glass of wine and plate of food as per Friday evening. Howver, we moved the orange sofa out into the front garden at the weekend, where I insisted on a final photo shoot with it. Ruth texted me on Monday evening to say that it had been collected by the council. RIP sofa. Have now entered a short period of mourning.

Afroblighty; junkyarding; sofa movements Part 1

On Thursday, took the ‘flagship’ 17 bus from the Three Tuns all the way through to Tilehurst for Book Group at Ali’s. We admired Ali’s newly redecorated living room and sympathised over Claire M’s story of that morning’s contretemps between a Tesco delivery lorry and her Smart car. The wee car is currently, not surprisingly, in for repairs. Although Helen seemed disappointed with her choice of book, Ali Shaw’s The Girl with Glass Feet, I had rather enjoyed it, although perhaps a little more resolution of things at the end, or at least some explanation of why Ida was turning into glass, might have been more satisfying.

Ruth and I went to South Street Arts on Friday to see Andi Osho’s show Afroblighty. Osho took up the whole first half of the show – about 45 minutes – with interaction with the audience, which struck me as risky but her handling of it was perfect, managing to make gentle comedy out of certain members of the audience while at the same time keeping the whole thing good-humoured. The second half of the show moved on more to what we had come to see, which was her reflections on growing up in the East End as a member of Britain’s Nigerian community. I would have preferred it if this slot had taken up a bigger proportion of the show, but she certainly knows how to manage an audience. Here's an Independent review of Afroblighty from the 2010 Edinburgh Fringe (the accusation of posturing is a bit harsh, but I thought similarly about the spoken-word piece at the end - keeping to comedy would have been better) and another rather more complimentary one of the same show.

Ruth and I had intended to go to an auction on Saturday, but got up too late to make the early-morning browsing slot, which had been our chief interest in going, so went for a leisurely breakfast at the Alto Lounge instead. We then hit the reclamation yard on Pell Street for a bit of a browse among the discarded Victorian fireplaces for an ash tray for ours, as it’s lost its original. We did sift through a big pile of rusting trays on a table, but none were the right size and shape. According to the chap there, they can be a bit hard to come by but he did suggest we could have one specially made. Unsure whether I want to go that far at the moment. On the way back to Caversham we called in to Fanny’s Antiques on Lynmouth Road, though this is definitely more of an antiques arcade than a junk yard. Had a pleasant browse – slightly alarmed at the parlous state of their building – roof leaking all over the place and visibly propped up on supports in several areas.

Had originally planned to visit Kew Gardens with Ray on Sunday but he had unfortunately sustained a knee injury the previous Monday falling down the steps into his boat, so wasn’t up to the walking involved. We met for a late breakfast and instead watched some of a DVD about the Grand Union Canal that I had given him for his birthday. Rock on. Also admired the new glossy paintwork around his windows.

Met the lovely Sue B on Tuesday for a post-work drink in O’Neills. My afternoon spent discussing Annual Report with boss paled into inadequacy beside hers spent playing football with disadvantaged youth. Sue now works for include and seems to have been plunged straight off into dealing with excluded teenagers, in addition to working for Reading Borough Council as a youth worker on Thursday evenings. Good on her.

Met Ray for an after-work supper on Wednesday at the Green Olive in Henley; he had managed to acquire a voucher which entitled diners to four free meze dishes (of the restaurant’s choosing; apparently they are trying out a new menu) on the proviso that you gave them written feedback afterwards. We duly scoffed our way through lamb koftas, some rather odd fishcakes, garlic bread and a potato and onion dish, and I gave a written thumbs-up to three out of the four.

This week Ruth finally had the sofa that she bought on our Christmas weekend in Winchester three years ago, and that has been in storage at her parents’ home ever since, shipped (or rather, driven in the back of a van) to the house. After an initial quote of £220 for the transport, she managed to find a site online where you say what you want ferried from where, and someone with a van who’s going that way will bid for the work. Nifty system, although it did mean that the sofa ended up being delivered at 7am by a chap who apparently spoke little English but did manage to say “Your mother is very strong”. Visions of him reclining against his van with a fag at the collection point, while Ruth’s approaching-70-year-old mother tossed the sofa lightly into the van with one arm.

Have made the reluctant decision to get rid of my orange sofa. It's about 11 years old, which certainly isn't antique for a sofa, but the covers are now refusing to come up clean after a wash and, more damningly, the rabbits have between them done a good deal of damage to it, with the result that they are now actually able to get inside it and run around. Intend to purchase nice new sofa at some point in future, which will be kept at least a mile away from the nearest bunny.