Comedy; grave; Hobbit

Waitrose’s Christmas drinks catalogue published this photo and caption this year, with a complete lack of irony. The top caption relates to a photo that I snipped off; the bottom one reads ‘Xander helps Helen shell the quails’ eggs’, and relates to an article on Helen Someone or other (possibly a buyer for Waitrose, or possibly an organic chutney-maker supported by her stockbroker hubby) burbling on about how she has a very traditional Christmas (yawn) and involves her three children, including the unfortunately-named Xander, in festive preparations.

Received the usual warning via the OU’s Go Green programme to switch off all unnecessary electrical equipment over the Christmas period (though it did end with a slightly panic-stricken footnote about not going overboard and switching off servers or fridges). The OU’s Go Green programme is fronted by a Great Crested Newt called Neville, the thinking presumably being that cute talking animals are just the thing to achieve buy-in from fully grown adults.

Comedy outing to South Street Arts on 6 January to see Roisin Conaty, a comic I hadn’t thought I was familiar with, though realised from part of her routine that I’ve heard snippets of her on Radio 4 (a rather good joke about how raising the price of cigarettes won’t stop people smoking, but will just mean that poor people stop buying fruit). Very enjoyable show, enhanced by a funny supporting set from Jen Brister. Met Claire at the Global Café prior to the show – lovely as I hadn’t been there in ages, due to not living in Reading during the weeks. Glad to find that Tutu’s Ethiopian Kitchen is still surviving. Claire appeared to have slightly sold out – given our previous anti-diet rants – by going on a low-carb diet. She had indeed lost quite a bit of weight, but I can’t contemplate the thought of giving up bread.

Amused on meeting up with Helen, Ruth and Ali before the show to learn that Ali had recently had a spell of being Mother Christmas – and subsequently a postmistress elf – at some local Winter Wonderland. She didn’t appear to have lasted very long, and was full of tales of slave labour and minimum wage.

Mum stayed over on 13 December after an afternoon at an exhibition at the Museum of London. On the Saturday morning we wandered up to St Peter’s Church to have a potter around its Christmas Market, before meeting Ruth at the Alto Lounge for lunch. In the churchyard, Mum was interested in the memorial to William Crawshay II, a South Wales ironmaster who later retired to Caversham Park.

Went for our Information Office Christmas lunch on Thursday at The Crooked Billet at Newton Longville. Nice pub and food was pretty good, though its concession to the season was pretty minimal, leading Victoria to ask the waitress in somewhat aggrieved fashion as we were leaving why we hadn’t had any crackers. I found myself sitting next to Nick, our director, which always creates an initial pressure to make polite conversation, but in fact Nick was happy to outline his plans for his forthcoming retirement.

Returned to Reading on Thursday evening for our Christmas Book Group meeting at Claire’s. As I think I’ve missed the previous three meetings, partly because of the travel inconvenience and partly because I’ve been a bit off reading, I was determined to make this one, and had actually managed to finish the book, J K Rowling’s The Casual Vacancy. Bloody good read, I thought, and was a bit disappointed at the dismissive attitude of most of the others who’d managed to finish it. Some of the disparaging comment seemed essentially to stem from the fact that JKR has had the effrontery to write something that isn’t Harry Potter, and the rest seemed to relate to the characters not being likeable. Um, no, but that’s probably real life for you. Currently considering joining a different book group that’s actually capable of having objective discussions.

With the impending release of the second instalment of Peter Jackson’s version of The Hobbit, Ray and I reminded ourselves of the content of Part 1 on Wednesday evening, as I purchased the extended edition DVD on its release in November. Some of the extra bits were enjoyable, particularly the additional scenes in Rivendell, partly because I am extremely partial to Hugo Weaving’s portrayal of Master Elrond (not ‘Lord’ – that’s a cinematic invention). It’s possibly not strictly in the spirit of Tolkien canon, as I seem to recall it being implied in the books that Elrond is a kind and reasonably gentle chap, whereas Weaving’s Elrond is not someone you would push too far in an argument, but all the same. We’ve booked tickets to see Part 2 next Monday afternoon.

A complicated business, booking cinema tickets these days – while trying to avoid the HFR (high frame rate) version of The Hobbit, as I wasn’t too sure about this last time, I was surprised to also be offered the choice of filtering on ‘Autism Friendly’ films. I didn’t look up quite what this meant, but the mind boggles.

Finally forced myself this morning to try out Roni’s Hand Car Wash on the V8 at Peartree Bridge, which several people at the OU have recommended. Quite an operation, and certainly not just a couple of blokes with sponges: you pull up to the first set of chaps who hose the worst of the dirt off your car (quite a lot of it, in my case), then pull a bit further on where you’re soaped, then you drive your car on to a small turntable where it’s turned 90 degrees for you to drive in to a more traditional car wash arrangement, which hoses you off. During this stage you make your choice of service from the card handed to you. Then you drive out to the final set of chaps, who polish and buff your car – and do the inside of it, depending on the service you choose – while you’re sent inside to the waiting room. All quite impressive, and a bargain at £10 for cleaning both inside and out.

Wandered along at 5pm to Simpson church to see the switching on of the lights on the tree that was planted by the church in November. Quite sweet, though I didn't stick around for the sing-song that was evidently pending afterwards.

Post-war loveliness; blue chicken; walk

Went with Ray to the ‘Brutal and Beautiful’ exhibition on 23 November at English Heritage’s Quadriga Gallery inside the Wellington Arch. The exhibition was very interesting and nicely done, focusing on listed post-war buildings, and is apparently one of a series of exhibitions to mark the centenary of the 1913 Ancient Monuments Act. It included various interesting short films, including architect Peter Aldington talking about his three beautiful houses at Haddenham, one of which he evidently still lives in.

I had never guessed that the Wellington Arch contained a gallery space – the space is over three floors but is really pretty tiny, so it was lucky that it wasn’t very crowded. In the first exhibition room, there’s a bit of history about the arch and the story of the various statues that have adorned the top of it, including the statue of Wellington on horseback which was apparently mercilessly lampooned at the time as being disproportionate (and was later moved to Aldershot, perhaps as some sort of punishment) before being replaced by the current Quadriga. We went out onto each of the two terraces and had a gander at the view.

Photos of the day here. We started the day by walking to the branch of Carluccio’s on Westbourne Grove for breakfast, then down across Hyde Park; after visiting the Arch we walked down via Belgrave Square to the King’s Road where we had lunch at Mori. Then Ray caught a taxi back to Paddington as he had a late afternoon appointment to get some work done on the van, and I nipped in to Peter Jones to use the facilities, before catching a v. convenient bus (am rapidly becoming a convert to buses over tubes) heading up via Tottenham Court Road. In the event I didn’t get that far, as I couldn’t resist getting off the bus in Trafalgar Square to photograph the super blue chicken – or the blue cock, as it is more directly called in this article.

Met Ruth in Heal’s and we had tea in the very civilised Heal’s Quarter Café and a brief discussion of the term 'Fitzrovia', which Ruth had evidently though was some sort of made-up word in manner of Narnia. Then proceeded down to Leicester Square, as Ruth fancied seeing a film but had kindly tried to cater to my lukewarm attitude towards going to the cinema by picking out a couple of films that she thought might be my cup of tea. We ended up seeing Le Week-End, which is well done though difficult to watch in parts; Guardian review here.

Slightly horrified by the crowds outside the Odeon, before realising that they were nearly all there to see the sequel to The Hunger Games. Le Week-End was showing in the tiny Screen 2 of the Odeon Mezzanine, next door. We followed up the film with dinner at the nearby branch of Café Rouge in Irving Street.

Received a texted photo from Ray last week of the Vile Cardoon, now excised from our garden and planted in the garden of Ray’s employer Laurence, who has apparently given Ray carte blanche to plant what he likes. Although it may have been pruned to a stump at the moment, have warned Ray that it grows like the blazes and will need hacking back within a fortnight.

Enticed Ruth out for another walk on Sunday (she is getting better at this), this time from Whitchurch back to Caversham via the path through the Hardwick Estate and Mapledurham. It was only as we got off the train at Pangbourne that I remembered that Whitchurch Bridge is closed for repairs until next year, but luckily there's been a temporary structure erected for pedestrians. The walk took in some ponies, a field of alpacas at Bozedown Farm and a vegetable stall with an honesty box, where Ruth bought some muddy sprouts that she then shoved into my rucksack. We followed it with another late lunch at The Griffin.

The walk took in two atmospheric gates which I was compelled to photograph: the mossy but splendid gates at the eastern end of the Hardwick Estate (left), and this rusty gate on The Warren in Caversham (above right), which must at one time have led into someone's garden, presumably, but which is now just standing by itself.

The article on Hardwick linked above claims that 'indeed there is strong circumstantial evidence pointing to Toad Hall being Hardwick House'. Sometimes wish that the half-dozen or so houses in the Thames Valley that claim this would get together and settle it with a fight.

Credit; gammy feet; premature Christmassyness

Mightily annoyed recently to apply for the same Galaxy S IV deal via Mobile Phones Direct that Ruth took out a couple of months ago, and have Vodafone decline my application for credit. Firstly, because I have been a Vodafone customer for some years and finished a two-year Galaxy S contract last winter, on which I had never missed a payment, and secondly, because as far as I knew my credit history was pretty clean. Ruth suggested I obtain my Experian credit report (a more constructive course of action than the hour of ranting and swearing I had planned), which I duly did. Was reassured to see that my current credit score is in the ‘Excellent’ category, but did note the one ‘negative factor’ stated as ‘You have recently opened 1 or more new credit accounts’. Quite true, as I took out a Lloyds TSB credit card in September, as it had a lower interest rate than my current first direct Visa card, which I am intending to close. It had been intended at the time as a piece of sensible financial management, rather than the reckless behaviour creditors evidently take it to be. The assumption, presumably, is that applying for a new credit card means that you’ve maxed out your old one and just want some more Yummy Credit.

What was particularly galling was that my credit report also revealed that Vodafone had already searched it about a month previously following Ruth’s application for credit for the same phone deal – evidently this can happen when someone you are ‘financially connected to’ makes an application for credit – and had subsequently approved her application. A number of ‘hmph’ noises were made, before I decided that I wasn’t that bothered about having a new phone anyway, new up-to-the-minute phones being symptomatic of the grasping consumerism that plagues our society. OK, I didn’t decide any such thing.

Spent the first part of the weekend before last paying another visit to Mum and Dad’s, as Dad hadn’t been home the previous time I visited. On the Saturday we went for a lovely lunch at the Stonemill at Rockfield, where Dave and Hazel got married in 2011 and where my parents – and, evidently, also my aunt and uncle – have gone to eat a couple of times since. Don’t often order desserts, and certainly not sticky toffee pudding, but couldn’t resist the golfball-sized sphere of clotted cream it came with. And in fairness, the portions were fairly modest. Ruth and I walked down to the covered market in the afternoon, part of which was given over to a craft fair where I bought this charming doorstop in the shape of a hen. Although she is shown in the photo actually acting as a doorstop, I don’t intend keeping her on the floor as a matter of course as don’t trust Lexie not to inflict mortal wounds on her.

Bumped into my MK neighbour Susannah (from two doors down) while putting my rubbish out early last Wednesday, and enquired after her health, to be told that she’s healing well from her recent surgery. Susannah is probably around my age but evidently has some sort of problem with one or both of her legs. When I'd met her a month or so earlier I'd realised I hadn’t actually seen her for quite a while previously and she noted that she’d been housebound for a while due to a problem with one of her feet. She had appeared particularly cheerful on that occasion and shared that she was shortly due to go into hospital to have one of her feet amputated, which was “really good news”. I pondered on our strikingly different conceptions of what constitutes good news, but I concluded that it must say something for the level of discomfort she must have been in. I didn’t manage to figure out quite what was wrong with her, but seemingly some sort of infection. I subsequently spoke briefly to her scary-looking but pleasant partner while she was in hospital, and passed on my good wishes. When I next saw Susannah after this she seemed to be walking around quite freely, and indicated that her scar was healing quite nicely, pointing at her stomach. Not that I am any sort of surgical expert, but amputating someone’s foot via their stomach does seem a tad odd. In any case the freedom with which she now appears to be walking around suggests that an alternative way forward was found. All a bit mysterious though. I’m restricting myself to general enquiries as to how she is doing, rather than “What exactly was wrong with you?”, though I am a bit intrigued.

Stupid headline from an online news site this week. Why is this news? If the word ‘upset’ had been e.g. ‘thrill’, ‘please’, ‘stimulate’ or similar, then it might have been.

Went for another curry with workmates last Thursday at the Rose of India in Bletchley - again, very nice food; in fact I took care to order exactly what I'd ordered the previous time. Matt and I met again for pre-dinner drinks at the Enigma Tavern, having both forgotten that there is a marginally nicer-looking pub much closer to the restaurant. The Enigma was much busier than the last time we'd visited and appeared to have some sort of carvery going on in one corner. Matt had bagged us seats in front of the fire well away from the gravy-slurping locals.

Little Harley had another operation to file ('rasp') his teeth down last Friday, barely six months after his previous one. His teeth are evidently out of control. He came through it with seemingly no ill effects, though when we had told Sandra at RRR that this was impending, she expressed concern about the frequency of anaesthetics and recommended a cruel-to-be-kind feeding approach involving fewer fresh vegetables but a mountain of hay and grass on tap. Harley has never shown himself to be particularly keen on hay but I think the idea is to starve him into submission.

On Sunday Ruth and I visited the Tree Barn at Greenfield Farm at Christmas Common and were suckered into buying a real Christmas tree. Only a little one, but still. It’s currently out on the patio in its pot and we’re just hoping it manages to retain its needles for the next month. Also managed to spend a further £50 or so on baubles, candles and some mini gold faux cowbells.


It's apparently unclear how the village of Christmas Common came by its name, but I still recall an incident relatively early on in my relationship with Ray, when we were driving around the area and he asked, rather to my confusion, “Is Christmas common round here?” Being unaware at the time of the existence of the village, I replied something like “Once a year, same as everywhere”. How we laughed …

We called in at Waitrose on the way back from the Tree Barn and bought some tinned goods and a big box of tea bags to contribute to Reading’s FoodBank. Hope they appreciate having Waitrose groceries. Re the tea bags: we did have a brief middle class angst-ridden discussion about whether we were making an unjustified assumption that poor people don’t use loose tea, but erred on the side of caution and grabbed them a huge box of tea bags labelled 'Everyday Brew', or some such, while Ruth sneaked her loose Assam into the other end of the trolley.

Pearls from this week’s job search: Crop Technician (remarkably poorly paid) and Climbing Wall Instructor.

Rabbit angst; washing house; countryside

Lexie has proved a boisterous and destructive lass during her first month’s residence with us, starting off by biting through not only the phone cable but also the cable protector. She appears particularly annoyed by shoes, especially my shoes, regularly picking them up and throwing them about the hallway. Most seriously, certainly in Ruth’s eyes, she has bitten a chunk out of one of the seat cushions of the smart and expensive (though not, in my opinion, especially comfortable) leather sofa in the living room. A three-figure quote for repairing the damage has been obtained, and the living room door is now kept firmly shut during the day. Slightly less seriously, but still mildly annoyingly, she shredded the bejeezus out of this relatively new IKEA catalogue.

When we collected her and Harley from RRR last Sunday after spending the weekend at my parents’, we regaled Sandra in a light-hearted yet mildly barbed fashion with Lexie’s faults, at which she tittered sympathetically before adding chirpily “Sold as seen!”. As we arrived, Sandra's opening sally had been to claim that Harley and Lexie seemed to get on together better than he had with Lola, at which point Lexie aggressively mounted Harley, staying on board as he raced around the enclosure trying to shake her off, and thrusting in a less than ladylike fashion. When Sandra eventually managed to coax/prise her off, poor little Harley had a large sucked patch of wet fur on the back of his neck. As we were leaving, Sandra somewhat shamefacedly thanked us for adopting her.

We attempted to subdue the rabbits one weekend in October by finding a recipe for the rabbit Ruth bought a while ago at Reading Farmers’ Market and shoved in the freezer. Admirably, she did a good job of jointing it after consulting a YouTube video on How To Joint a Rabbit.

Another perturbing snippet (right) recently from the ‘Most Popular’ section of the BBC News homepage. Currently considering my best course of action in light of the impending wine shortage. Secondly, I do own a Dell laptop, but had never noticed that it smells of cat urine. Perhaps it’s a new sales pitch.

Spent a weekend in Milton Keynes towards the end of October to catch up on maths, clean bathroom etc and, somewhat ludicrously, clean the front door, as the report from the latest inspection by the letting agents noted that although the flat/houselet was largely in excellent condition, the front door was grubby. Indeed it was. Here’s a picture of it looking sparkling clean after the brisk scouring and sloshing with water I gave it. On the Sunday I decided to explore some more of the local area and took a bus ride to Stony Stratford, a suburb on the northwestern edge of the town and presumably once a little town in its own right. Took a walk along the high street in increasingly windy weather (it being the day prior to the recent strong – by UK standards – winds) and then turned into Bridge Meadow, where I briefly admired the bridge over the Great Ouse before walking south along the river for a bit and then back to the high street.

Stony Stratford’s website describes it as ‘The Jewel of Milton Keynes’. Indeed it seemed quite nice, though it had a bit of a desolate feel on a Sunday as not much was open though the branch of Costa on the high street was doing a roaring trade. Here’s a time lapse sequence of an afternoon in Bridge Meadow, posted on YouTube. The crazy things some folk do.

As per usual, constructed a modest Halloween display of this candle and munchkin. Ray didn’t make it up this year, unlike the previous two, but we did manage a long telephone conversation, though this didn’t involve too much of a spiritual bent but did include our shared loathing of antique shops, though I can't quite remember how that came up.

Ruth and I had a healthy country walk on 3 November through Caversham Heights, across Caversham Heath golf course and down through Park Wood to Mapledurham, where we poked briefly around the village and the churchyard that adjoins Mapledurham House, before walking back to Caversham along the footpath that eventually emerges onto the end of The Warren. We had, unusually, booked for Sunday lunch at the Griffin, which was very pleasant – I rarely order roasts when eating out but occasionally they have their place. Beef was overcooked, as it more often than not is, but it wasn’t bad.

Came across a weird monument while walking through Park Wood, which must originally have commanded views down to the house but is now pretty overgrown. Haven't been able to find out much about it but this blog entry mentions it.

Day in London last Thursday to attend Ipsos MORI's annual NSS conference, held at the Church House Conference Centre in Westminster. A moderately useful day though some of it is less than relevant to the OU as a distance learning institution. Did derive some amusement from observing that the somewhat irritating speaker from Oxford had misspelled 'Bodleian' on one of his slides.

Progressing reasonably well with Discovering Mathematics, though I believe I am about to encounter surds, and really don’t have a clue what those are.

Bunny bonding; job search tedium; maths

Walked up to St Peter’s Avenue on the afternoon of Sunday 22nd to meet the lovely Sandra to view potential new companions for Harley. We were shown three female rabbits who were currently without companions – two, Patches and Lexie, whom Sandra had identified in advance as potentially suitable, and a third, Cherry, whom she included mainly because she’s been at the rescue centre for over two years. Ruth settled on Lexie, a largish and seemingly quite boisterous bunny, as her potential mate of preference, deciding (unfairly, I thought) that Cherry was too timid. Patches dented her chances by biting Ruth during the inspection.

I was personally rather charmed by another lone female Flopsy, a pug-faced dwarf lop with, evidently, personality issues – Sandra did try and find a few nice words to sell her to us with, but kept falling back on ‘She’s a dwarf lop’. Flopsy did indeed appear to be wearing a somewhat grumpy expression, but it could just have been the set of her face. By the time we emerged from viewing Cherry, Flopsy had turned her back on us. Poor thing. I do hope she finds an understanding mate.

Ray came round for dinner that evening, for the first time in a while, and we spent a pleasant evening in conversation, though as often happens, mainly him and Ruth in increasingly animated conversation while I chipped in occasionally. I broke up the party at around 11pm in deference to my 5.30am start, and bundled him into a taxi still clutching a bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape we had been keeping as a reward for extended bunny-sitting, but which had somehow got broken into during the course of the evening.

Spent most of the following weekend preparing a presentation and other bits and pieces for another job interview, this time at the School of Oriental and African Studies as was, though it now seems to refer to itself just as SOAS, University of London. The actual interview itself was a mixed bag – presentation and first tranche of questioning went well; after that things went a bit downhill. Shoe crisis led to my wearing a none-too-comfortable pair of shoes I hadn’t worn for a while, so my feet were raw by the end of the day. Ended the day by realising I’d lost my debit card in a self-checkout machine at Euston, which said it all really.

Drove down to Abergavenny last Friday afternoon for my first viewing of Mum and Dad’s new house. There seems little way of ever making it a less than 3 hour journey from Milton Keynes, but my chosen route via back roads down to the A40, and thence on the A40 via Gloucester and Ross-on-Wye, proved particularly long-winded, not helped by snagged up Friday traffic at the A417 Air Balloon roundabout at Birdlip and around Monmouth. The journey was quite pretty though. Returning on the Sunday I chose the dull but quicker M5-M42-M40 route.

Much of Saturday and Sunday morning was spent looking after Nia while Dave and Hazel went to a wedding reception. I say “looking after” – Mum did the brunt of it, though I did contrive to push pushchairs and put DVDs in the DVD player. Was quite intrigued to see the revamped version of Postman Pat, in which Pat is no longer a mere postman but has been promoted to Head of the Special Delivery Service, and has a satnav and a mobile. Hannah and Henry called in for an hour or so in the afternoon, and we had cupcakes to celebrate Nia’s 18-month ‘birthday’ the day before.

As I write, Harley is now back home from his week away being ‘bonded’ with Lexie, together with his new ‘companion’. We had received a ‘heads up’ from Sandra during his time away to the effect that the bonding appeared to be going well, and indeed they posted this photo on Reading Rabbit Rescue’s Facebook page, together with slightly over-cutesy caption.

At the moment I have my reservations – a few days in to the new couple’s bonding, Steve and Sandra discovered that she had given Harley a bite for which he has had to go on a course of antibiotics. When I spoke to Ruth on the phone at the weekend, the two of them were apparently about as far away from each other as they could get. Time will tell if things improve.

Have recently signed up for another OU module, this time ‘Discovering Mathematics’. While not especially interested in maths for maths’ sake, I am quite interested in a couple of the statistics modules the OU offers, but as they both advise students to have a certain level of mathematics proficiency, and as I haven’t formally studied maths since taking my O-level in 1985, I thought perhaps a refresher might be the thing. Going OK so far, though I'm only a short way in to Unit 1. I have worked out how to switch on my newly-purchased scientific calculator though.

On the topic of exciting training opportunities: received a recent email from one of the several JISCMail lists I am subscribed to at work, advertising an Autumn 2013 programme of workshops, one of which was titled ‘Hands-on Augmented Reality’. ‘Augmented Reality’ probably has some technical meaning of which I am unaware, but on the surface it sounds as though it might involve magic mushrooms or similar.

Propaganda; cocktail bar inadequacy; job applications

Went up to London on the 7th to the Propaganda: Power and Persuasion exhibition at the British Library. Interesting, though very crowded – as it closed yesterday, the day would have been one of its final Saturdays. Ruth bought a book and I bought a postcard of Chairman Mao striding across hilltops to stir up revolution among the masses. We had tea afterwards in the first floor café behind the King’s Library Tower.

Afterwards we walked down via Bloomsbury to Soho, where we paid a visit to Prowler and bought a few DVDs. Ruth did ponder what our ability to go into Prowler and emerge armed only with documentaries says about us (as it’s not the first time) and also appeared to be having a fit of conscience as to whether the presence of women – particularly in the ‘back room’ – might be a tad unsettling for any older chaps in there. Possibly, I suppose – we did venture briefly into the back room, which stocks DVDs of a somewhat more explicit variety, but from the glut of flesh on display on the covers it was impossible to make a choice as to which might have the most artistic merit, so we passed on those. Aside from the couple of documentaries we left with, I picked up a copy of the Canadian family comedy Breakfast with Scot, which is an enjoyable piece of fluff, if only because the two male leads are excessively easy on the eye.

Finished our afternoon with a visit to the cocktail bar opposite Comptons, whose name I’ve forgotten – Ruth dutifully had a cocktail, at vast expense, but I decided I was more in the mood for a cold beer, and was surprised at having to trail right down to the bottom of the menu, to where it said, in small print, something along the lines of: ‘Beers (generic) - £3.95’. As we were surrounded on all sides by men drinking cocktails, Ruth pointed out that this section might as well have been headed ‘For the lesbians’, and chided me for fulfilling stereotypes. As I don’t consider I make a point of fulfilling these, I stand by my decision – though my Peroni was inadequately chilled, quite possibly deliberately.

Had two men round on the Sunday to give us quotes for two new windows for the rear extension, one a salesman-type from Anglian, and the other a straighter-talking chap from local(ish) company Academy. We suspect the local chap is going to be cheaper, but are waiting to see.

Spent all day last Saturday preparing a job application, which may or may not come to anything, and had dinner with Ruth at the River Spice in the evening. On Sunday we went to John Lewis for new hand towels, as we're a bit short partly because Ruth elected to bury Lola in one of mine, and Ruth bought a new bedside lamp. She carted this home while I went to visit the Polish Catholic church on Watlington Street, which was open for visitors as part of the Heritage Open Days weekend. Spent about 20 minutes there before going a short way down the road to the Lyndhurst, where I spent a couple of hours with Claire discussing a job she wants to go for.

Walking home I spotted this 'For Sale' sign outside HMP Reading, presumably a member of the public's comment on the prison's impending closure, announced earlier this month.

B-movie; scaffolding; job hunt

Ruth and I amused ourselves at the weekend by watching a videotaped copy of the 1950s movie From Hell It Came, which one of the family taped off the TV at my parents' place some years back. I had thought Hannah had appropriated the tape, but Mum and Dad turned it up while clearing out their attics. Couldn't resist the opportunity for a second viewing as it is quite ridiculous.

Had booked Monday morning as leave so went for an early walk, part of my half-arsed attempt at an exercise routine, then met Ray at Julia's Meadow for breakfast. Here's a photo I took of officially the best coffee in Reading, while waiting for Ray to turn up. He had just returned from another 'camping' weekend in Woolacombe with Emma, following the partial conversion of the back of his van into a rough-and-ready camper. Am still deriving considerable amusement from this, though I detect faint affront on Ray's side.

Arrived back at Old Groveway mid-morning to discover a man on the back patio erecting scaffolding. Somewhat surprised, we had a brief conversation before I firmly drew all the curtains (floor-to-ceiling windows on both floors can have their down sides). I arrived at work to an email from my landlord, timed, suspiciously, only about 15 minutes earlier, apologising for the scaffolding and claiming that he hadn't known in advance that it was going to be necessary. As I had heard the scaffolder on the phone to him shortly before leaving, I suspected that the conversation had included something along the lines of "your tenant don't look too happy, mate". The purpose of the scaffolding is to replace the fascia just above the living room window, as part of this appears to have rotted. I had assumed that this task could have been achieved with a long ladder rather than scaffolding, but evidently not. The original wooden fascia is apparently being replaced with a length of uPVC, which is probably understandable but a bit of a shame, as this development must have originally had an attractive coherent look when viewed from the rear. Some of the properties have retained their wooden windows, but several, including mine, have had theirs replaced with white uPVC. It's a travesty. Obviously, when I win EuroMillions, I'll buy the whole development and restore it to its original glory (assuming I win enough to make the necessary outlay mere small change).

Job-hunting now on a weekly basis, both at selected institutions and at www.jobs.ac.uk. Seen a few possibilities, though annoyingly, several of them have been at institutions in East Anglia, as jobs.ac.uk conflates this into its ‘South East England’ category which is, obviously, entirely wrong. Interesting job titles noted during today’s search included Slaughterman (at the University of Bristol – unsure what department) and Heavy Duty Cleaner, which sounds, if anything, even less pleasant.