Extreme moorhen enthusiasts; petrol almost-theft; Caversham musings

The OU contains at least one member of staff (possibly more) who's really looking out for moorhens. At least two notices have been posted on the noticeboard over the last couple of weeks warning staff not to drive over roaming moorhen chicks on their way off campus. There are already two 'Moorhen Crossing’ signs (left) by the ring road near the church, which have been in situ for as long as I’ve been at the OU; I noticed that several more, more temporary looking ones (right), have recently been added. Can't say I've yet seen any moorhen chicks on campus, but given the level of interest I imagine any driver who squashed one would be hunted down and made to pay.

While booking a hotel room via Premier Inn's website last weekend, I noted that Ruth's company Capricorn Writing appeared in the drop-down list of addresses in our street, against our house number. How official. Also noted from the list that 'Berkshire & Oxfordshire Massage' appears registered at number 51, next door to us. I think it's all perfectly respectable - Terry, the owner, is a physiotherapist and I believe knows his tenants through work.

Also on the theme of small businesses, Ray told me at breakfast on Monday that he has now wound up Home Counties Turf Care and is just calling himself 'R Clark Landscaping'. More down to earth, I guess.

Amusing snippet from the latest job hunt: the University of Reading are looking for a Lecturer in Clouds. Cute.

Following up my 14p windfall from Intelligent Finance: my financial good fortune continued last week with a £5 win from the Cats Protection League weekly lottery. (Actually they're now just 'Cats Protection' - apparently the name was changed in the late 1990s, so I'm behind the times.) I signed up for a regular donation to CP last year - unusually, at the persuasion of a man with a stall in the Oracle - and have been waiting to win something ever since. Ideally money, but a cat would be acceptable.

Went for dinner last Thursday at my colleague Rebecca’s new-build house in the new Redhouse Park development in the north-east of Milton Keynes. Rebecca has recently moved into Milton Keynes with her two daughters, after some years commuting in to the OU from a village somewhere up near Towcester. Spent some time admiring the wonderfully light, clean interior with, I’ll admit, a touch of envy, especially given its freedom from rabbit droppings and puddles of wee¹. Rebecca had cooked a vegetarian curry for Matt and Guy and a chicken dish for herself and me. I pondered that it must be quite unusual for the two women to be the meat-eaters.

Compensated for having to spend much of the weekend completing a report on the OU’s performance in this year’s National Student Survey by getting today off in lieu. My job does not officially entitle me to TOIL, but Judith is understanding about such things on an occasional basis. Feeling revitalized after a super day breakfasting at Carluccio’s on coffee and a Breakfast Bread Tin, then a few hours retail therapy followed by a swim and steam room session at the leisure centre at Wolverton, which I have now switched my allegiance to as it’s cheaper and nicer than Bletchley and seems more geared up for adult swimming.

Did, however, start the day by doing something I have never before done in the over 25 years I have held a driving licence. Stopped at the BP petrol station at Emerson Valley to fill up. Filled up, opened driver’s door as if to get handbag, got in, started up and drove off back out onto the H8. Immediately I’d pulled out on to the dual carriageway I realized I’d missed out a crucial stage of the process. Sped up in the outside lane to the next roundabout muttering “Shit! Shit!”, returned to the forecourt and presented myself in the shop to pay. The man seemed understanding and assured me diplomatically that I wasn’t the first person to have made that mistake in a moment’s inattention. Relieved, though also realize I probably now project such an air of middle-aged respectability that I’m unlikely to be an obvious suspect for criminal activity.

Local (Caversham) news, mixed with a few architectural notes:

Plans for a new free school – The Heights Primary School – in Caversham Heights are causing local controversy. The new school is to be located temporarily in a site quite near us, on the old Caversham Nursery premises off Gosbrook Road. It’ll be fine as long as no one expects to be able to park in the immediate vicinity … Came home on Friday to a invitation to a public meeting on 6 August re the plans for the school’s temporary location. As the public meeting was on a week night, I duly sent an email to the representatives of the new school, intending just to issue dire warnings about not thinking they can park anywhere on Falkland/Westfield/Cromwell Roads, but inadvertently then veering off into further commentary including use of the word 'snobbery' and the phrase 'undermining the state education system'. Possibly should have stopped at the parking bit.

The Heights Primary has been started by a group of parents (of course), supposedly to address the lack of primary school places in North West Caversham. (There are in fact a number of primary schools in Caversham, but it doesn’t help that everyone seems to want to go to Caversham Primary on Hemdean Road. Bring back catchment areas?) The core of the controversy appears not to be local objection to the free schools programme but the plans for the school’s permanent location. The Education Funding Agency has bought a site in Upper Warren Avenue, one of Caversham's most exclusive roads, to locate the school subject to planning permission. The site currently houses a split-level flat-roofed house which I've always rather liked, but sadly it would seem to have been sold off for development. A group – Caversham Residents Against Inappropriate Development (CRAID), or perhaps better named Caversham Residents Against Development In My Backyard (CRADIMBY?) – is fighting the building of the school on the UWA site. Nimbyism aside, the site doesn’t seem an ideal location for a school, as UWA is a dark road with no pavement. There would however be ample room for parking – perhaps this is how most of the hyper-concerned parents involved propose transporting their lovelies.

Also of interest to those of us (i.e. me) fascinated by domestic architecture: I noted that a large Arts and Crafts house on St Peter's Avenue has recently come up for sale. See right; pic borrowed from Davis Tate's brochure. Not sure why planning permission has been granted for a two-storey extension, as this will surely spoil the proportions of the house, which seems amply large enough already. Wonder if the disused swimming pool will be brought back into use? A Google Earth browse of Caversham Heights shows that a few houses there have pools - would be nice I guess, though bracing for most of the year.

To finish off the architectural notes: Reading Post recently published some interesting pictures of Caversham Park Village in its earlier (and probably hey) day. CPV is less posh than it perhaps sounds from the name; it’s a 1960s-built housing development that was built on some land formerly belonging to the Caversham Park estate. The article has a link to Davis Estates’ somewhat self-congratulatory brochure from the period. The Reading Post article has some interesting pictures and links, including this piece about the older house Caversham Place that remained standing for a while while the estate was constructed around it. Don’t know where the public house was, as there isn’t one now on the estate – perhaps it was never built. CPV has some OK housing, but I find the estate a bit odd because of its strict adherence to the Radburn layout, which is a nice idea in principle but in practice, having to walk along footpaths out of sight of the roads (there are no pavements throughout much of the estate) can be offputting. The estate’s shopping precinct off Farnham Drive is now dreadfully run down with most of the shop units empty, which is a pity. This blog has a few more recent pics of the estate.


¹ Rabbit wee.

Hols

House at Llanunwas

Spent 19 to 25 July on a fairly last minute week away in a holiday cottage on the Pembrokeshire coast. We had only booked it a couple of weeks beforehand, at some (probably correct) insistence from Ruth that we should have a week away somewhere. After a relatively minor exchange of words over the fact that my passport expired a couple of years ago and I haven't as yet bothered to renew it, Ruth recalled that she had enjoyed the weekend we spent in Pembrokeshire for Dad's 70th in 2012. We managed to book Wood Cottage at Llanunwas near Solva, via Coastal Cottages of Pembrokeshire, at a bit of a premium given that it's the school holidays but it had been reduced by a couple of hundred pounds as we were so near the date of our intended stay. Llanunwas is an estate fairly close to the coastal path that has evidently been converted into a number of smaller properties, several of which seem to be for rental through Coastal Cottages. The estate house is a bit grim but the outbuildings (which include what is now Wood Cottage) are cute.

On the way there we stopped off to visit the National Botanic Garden of Wales near Camarthen, partly because our Coastal Cottages booking had come with a voucher that got one person in free. The Botanic Garden was opened in 2000, apparently the first such to be created in the UK in nearly 200 years. It was based on the site of the Middleton Estate, a 17th-century estate later transformed into a Regency water park in the late 18th century by one Sir William Paxton, who also built himself a grand new house, Middleton Hall. The grand new house burned down in 1931 and only the former servants’ quarters, now known as Principality House, remain standing. We wandered round various gardens, including the Double Walled Garden and the Tropical House, and the Bee Garden, where one can view the honey bees at work from behind the glass of the Bee Interpretation Hut. Had a brief walk around the lakes, where we saw a heron fishing. The centerpiece of the Botanic Garden is the Norman Foster-designed Great Glasshouse, the largest single-span glasshouse in the world and containing a variety of endangered plants from Mediterranean climate regions of the world.

We were plagued entertained throughout our walk around the gardens by folk music and troupes of folk dancers – initially by the entrance, but also within the Great Glasshouse and another by the Stable Block, where we stopped for ice cream. By the third troupe I was put in mind of the line from Monty Python's Cheese Shop sketch. Ruth stopped at one (quiet) point to listen to some birdsong, but the moment was scuppered by an accordion promptly starting up again.

On the Sunday we walked into Solva along the coastal path from Llanunwas and had lunch at the lovely Lavender Café tacked on to the side of the Raul Speek Gallery, sited in the Old Chapel. Speek, a Cuban artist, was himself in evidence, playing the piano inside the gallery for the whole of our visit.

The village of Solva is in two halves: Upper Solva is a regular-looking collection of houses and seems to contain Solva’s only convenience store, Bay View Stores, a cheery little establishment with various signs outside mocking Tesco. Lower Solva, around the harbour, is a chocolate-boxy tourist village with brightly coloured houses, several pubs and a collection of shops selling paintings, pottery, hand-whittled sea birds and other crafty bits. Solva harbour is very pretty and full of little boats.

On the Monday we drove into St Davids where I did an hour’s work in the café of the Visitor Centre. We then walked up to the cathedral and paid Cadw’s entrance charge for a look around the impressive ruins of the Bishops Palace. We followed this with lunch at The Bishops, then visited the nursery on the way back out of town to the Visitor Centre car park, where Ruth went in for a quick browse and came out with two bags full of plants, which she was then obliged to tend and water for the rest of our stay.

We then, at my (fairly quickly regretted) suggestion, walked the mile or so from St Davids to Whitesands Bay intending to then do a short walk around St Davids Head that I had found on a leaflet in the cottage. We only did the additional walk because I had refused to drive to Whitesands car park because of its probable extreme crowdedness (confirmed on our arrival), but the walk out of St Davids along the country road and then along the B4583 proved extremely hot and distinctly unrewarding. We sat for a moment looking at the packed beach, then trudged back to St Davids, though I did manage to persuade Ruth that we might try the coastal walk the following day.

Coetan Arthur

We drove to Whitesands' car park early the next morning and walked down the almost-deserted beach, populated only by a few early-morning power walkers, before setting off on a circular walk of St David’s Head. It had rained heavily on Monday night and was still overcast and misty for most of the walk, though this made for pleasanter walking than the heat of the previous day. As is often the way on coastal walks, we walked out to the tip of one headland before realizing that St David’s Head was actually the next headland over. Sat for a while near Coetan Arthur, a Neolithic burial chamber dating from 4000-3000 BC. Ruth tried to set up her camera to take an auto-shot of the pair of us, with varying degrees of success; on one occasion the camera fell forwards into some moss, which it then photographed; on another Ruth rushed back to sit down next to me in time and sat down on the flapjack I had brought along to keep our blood sugar up.

The second part of the walk, back towards Whitesands, went over the slopes of Carn Llidi, apparently the highest point on the St Davids peninsula at 594ft. We walked partway up the slopes, viewing the two small Neolithic burial chambers on the slopes and the brick and concrete evidence of the military use of Carn Llidi during both the First and Second World Wars. St David’s Head, and particularly Carn Llidi, do apparently offer spectacular views as far as the coast of Ireland, though they weren’t to be had on the day of our walk. We had lunch in the Bwthyn Y Bwyd cafe in St Davids where I had a delicious scone with clotted cream and jam and Ruth had an apparently overcooked omelette.

On the Wednesday we did what was intended to be a short relaxed walk northwards from Llanunwas along the coastal path; however due to inept map-reading on my part we went past the point at Porth y Rhaw where I had intended to turn off and make a neat circular walk out of it, and ended up at Trelerw, which we were hoping might contain a café or pub but which was little more than a collection of houses. Walked back the direction we had come along a baking hot country road and then back down to the coastal path to Porth y Rhaw, communing with ponies and cows on the way. After some difficulty finding the right path, managed to arrive at Nine Wells and the A487, which we walked along at some hazard to life back to Llanunwas. Turned in at the path with the National Trust sign saying ‘Llanunwas’, but that seemed to be leading away from the house, in a manner that appeared to bear no relation to what was on the map. Eventually arrived back at cottage, vowing never to holiday in countryside again but to restrict myself to city breaks and Center Parcs-style holiday developments. Later that afternoon, drove out to try to find Crochendy Studio Pottery, but after a few miles driving in the heat over what appeared to be a disused airfield, we both decided that none of it was worth it/we had lost all interest in pottery, and returned to the cottage. Declined to visit a nearby woollen mill, on the grounds that it was too warm to think about woolly things.

Things looked up on the Wednesday evening, when we went on a fantastic boat trip through Thousand Islands Expeditions Wildlife Boat Trips, booked through their office in St Davids. We picked the Puffin & Shearwater Cruise, departing at 6pm from the St Justinians Lifeboat Station a couple of miles from St Davids, and spent an hour and half taking us out into Ramsey Sound, past the Bitches and around Ramsey Island, before going out to the Bishops and Clerks, other clutches of rocks. We saw several seals, three lying on one of the small beaches on Ramsey Island, and the heads of several others bobbing up and down in the water. Our trip was on a particularly sunny calm evening, so we were not asked to wear life jackets though the guide cheerily told us that we could put them on if we liked. As we passed through Ramsey Sound he pointed out the areas of fast current which can apparently be dodgy for boats in poorer weather, due to concealed rocks.

The guide pointed out the absurd cluster of plastic puffins up on the shores of Ramsey Island, together with recorded puffin noises, which are a deliberate attempt by the RSPB to attract puffins back to the island, after they apparently vanished from it for 100 years thanks to rats getting on to the island. We did see a few real puffins later in the trip, though not very close up – but did see a few bobbing on the water a little way off. Ruth had expressed an interest in seeing puffins but had refused to buy a pair of binoculars, regarding that as too middle-aged, so was stuck with peering at them from a distance. I pointed out that several others on the trip did have binoculars, even though none were significantly older than us, so perhaps she may change her mind for the next trip. At the end of the trip we saw a clutch of manx shearwaters returning to the islands – we were told that, thanks to being clumsy on land and at risk of becoming prey to other birds (I forget which ones), they stay out at sea all day and only return to the islands under safety of dusk.

On the Thursday we drove a little way south to Newgale and spent some time walking and paddling up and down its magnificent length of flat sandy beach. Ruth spent 45 minutes or so lying on a towel, but I get bored with that quite quickly and eventually managed to prise her off it with reminders about the ageing and withering effects of the sun. My family took one or two holidays in a cottage at Newgale when Dave and I were quite small (possibly pre-Hannah, though I'm not sure) and I was interested to see if I could identify which house it was, though my memories of it are patchy. Did succeed in identifying the property that I think it was (later confirmed by parents), helped by the fact that it was one of the few older houses around in the village. Had a not bad lunch in the Duke of Edinburgh on the sea front.

In the evening we walked down into Solva and had a pint at the Harbour Inn, which is indeed by the harbour but unfortunately has a view largely of the intervening car park. Followed that by dinner at the Cambrian Inn, which Dad says used to be more of a pub-type pub but is now a smart establishment that looks largely set up for dining. The surroundings and ambience were nice but the food, while OK, didn’t quite live up to them. We were driven back to Llanunwas by a cheerful chap from the St Davids Taxi Service, who told us it was hotter than he remembered it.

Decided to start our journey back on the Friday, in deference to the lengthy drive and various jobs to do at home. Took the more cross-country route from Camarthen on the A40 all the way back to Abergavenny, via Llandovery and Brecon. Had tea at The Old Printing Office in Llandovery, which has a lovely café with outdoor courtyard and delicious crumpets. Stayed over with Mum and Dad on the Friday evening. Pleased to see that Lydia is now going out regularly and was apparently enjoying rolling around in the patch of earth that Dad has cleared for his impending new lawn – the following Tuesday was prominently marked TURF DAY on their calendar.

Contract news; visiting; wealth

Remarkably good news at the end of June that my fixed-term contract is to be replaced with a permanent (or, more correctly, ‘open-ended’) contract from 1 August. Although I knew this was possibly on the cards, I had been told not to get my hopes up given that there has been a moratorium on the creation of new permanent posts for the past few years. My colleagues Guy and Young Claire, two other fixed-termers who’ve been in the unit a few years, were also included in the good news. To celebrate, I bought this OU mug to accompany my Friday pain au chocolat from The Hub.

Travelodges continue. Had my first week at the Bedford Marston Moretaine hotel a few weeks ago, a traditionally-placed Travelodge next to a dual carriageway and surrounded by little else other than a garage forecourt and a Little Chef. I wasn’t sure if Little Chefs were still in business, but evidently some are. In fairness to them, they do open at 7am, which is useful; I had breakfast there one of the days I was there and was served with quite a passable cafetiere of coffee and French toast.

Have been vaguely worried that the staff at the various hotels I stay at might be recognizing me by now, but had been trying not to think about it. Illusions were dashed while staying at the Buckingham hotel the other week and hearing the receptionist call out “Emma!” as I passed the reception desk. One day I shall look back on all this and laugh. Or chronicle it in some surprise bestseller.

Had a long weekend the first weekend in July at Dave and Hazel’s Saturday afternoon and night, and then on to my parents’ house for Sunday through to Tuesday. Surprisingly fine weather in Newport on the Saturday; we were able to walk to their local park and watch Nia run about and have a bit of a go on the playground equipment. She appears to be developing into a gung-ho sort of little girl which is all to the good. Dave cooked a characteristically good dinner on the Saturday night.

We were diverted on the way there via the old Severn Bridge, carrying what used to be the M4 during my childhood but is now the M48. While crossing it, Ruth – who hadn’t been across it before – commented at the much better view compared to the new bridge, due to the protective barriers along each side of the new bridge, presumably erected to improve wind resistance and stop the bridge frequently having to close in blustery weather. I’d probably sacrifice a good view to reduce my chances of being blown clean off the bridge.

While browsing Wikipedia, have just found out about the Severn Railway Bridge, which I don’t think I ever knew about. How fascinating.

On the Sunday we drove up to Abergavenny and I presented Mum with my (finally) typed draft of the 48 letters written by her to my aunt and grandmother during our stay in Indonesia from 1978 to 1980. I left her with instructions to read it and choose appropriate photographs, while I am now browsing Blurb and other similar ‘make your own book’ sites. On the Monday we went out for a walk northwards along the Gavenny River and under the A465, past Tredilion Park and up New Court Lane to the Court Cupboard Craft Gallery cafe. Pleasant enough spot, though the café was staffed by a woman who didn’t seem prepared to actually receive any punters – I tried to order an iced water but was told they didn’t have any ice, despite its being a warm day; Ruth tried to order one of their advertised cold drinks only to be told they hadn’t put any Cokes in the fridge; she was reduced to asking what exactly they had in the fridge; the hostess rootled around and found a Tango, so she took that. I was a bit irritated, as well as extremely hot, by this point, so threw a KitKat into the mix and scoffed half of that.

Non-provision of ice, and indeed non-chilling of drinks, is one of the occasional things that really annoys me about my countrymen. It’s getting better – in any town bar you’ll get a lavish portion of ice with a drink, but in some more traditional pubs and cafes, not only ice but even chilling the drinks appears to be considered some sort of optional extra, or perhaps some foreign abomination. Indeed, my father, admirable in other ways, refuses to chill lager and comments on my ‘Australian’ tastes in beer whenever I have occasionally been known to shove a couple of his lagers into the freezer an hour before I want to drink them. Perhaps it’s an age thing – at my lunch last Sunday with Barbara – see below – B laid great emphasis to the waiter that her elderflower cordial was to come with No Ice. This despite the warmth of the day and the fact that we had been sitting outside the pub in somewhat uncomfortable heat for half an hour, as we’d arrived too early.

Returning to the walk: the rain set in on the way back, but Ruth took this picture of my parents and me to preserve the moment. In the evening we went for a nice dinner at Plas Derwen, the hotel further up the Monmouth Road that several of us have booked into for my parents' upcoming Golden Wedding party at the end of August.

My parents’ other cat Lydia appears to have blossomed somewhat since the passing of Emrys, and according to them she appears much friendlier and more relaxed. She remains, however, a tad rotund. Amused to hear from Mum that there is now a special clinic at their vets for overweight pets. Imagining Lydia being subjected to a motivational lecture before being weighed in front of a sympathetic gathering of other fat cats.

Dad has recently, with Dave’s help, filled in the pond that they inherited with the house, part of his master plan to make space for a small lawn. Being a sentimental type I was a bit worried about the fate of the wildlife that was probably making a home in the pond. Highly amused though to receive the following in an email from Mum the next day:

We sneaked out last evening with a frog and a newt from our ex-pond and rehomed them in a lovely pond down on the river meadows. I hope they settle in and make friends. There was another frog but he must have escaped overnight.

I was left with an image of my parents clad all in black with balaclavas, sneaking down the road in the dead of night carrying an assortment of small amphibians. Nice that the creatures have (hopefully) been re-homed though.

Went over to Maidenhead on Sunday for the first time in ages, to take Ray's 'Auntie' Barbara out for lunch. Barbara is in fact not Ray's aunt but his father's cousin, but has always lived near his parents' home so seems to reckon as a closer part of the family than the relationship perhaps implies. She and I always got along well and indeed I always looked on her as something of a role model; Barbara is a retired medical secretary who  has never married nor had children, but has kept up an impressively active life involved in any number of groups and committees, including the National Council of Women. I hadn't seen her in at least a year, but it struck me there was no reason I couldn't visit her sans Ray, and luckily she seemed to leap at the suggestion. B is now in her eighties and appeared frailer than when I last saw her, and I got the impression her confidence to get out and about has been dented by deteriorating eyesight coupled with a fall she had a few months back. Despite this, her voice is as strong as ever and her hearing seemed fine (nothing worse than having to bellow into elderly people's ears) and we had a good catch up. After lunch at The Golden Ball at Pinkneys Green (evidently a popular Sunday lunch spot) she showed me round her somewhat overgrown garden and made me tea in her apparently freshly-tidied living room. I was pleased to see she's relocated her living room to one of the rooms at the front of the house, as it was much lighter and sunnier than the somewhat dingy room at the back that we always used to sit in.

More local news: no idea this tunnel existed, but opening it to the public sounds like a good idea. Also, took this pic a month or so ago of this impressive new set of steps in front of Reading station, part of the amazingly comprehensive overhaul the station is having. The developers have evidently gone ahead with the 'sinking' of Station Hill that was attracting controversy a few years ago. In fact, technically, it's not really sinking but restoring it to its original level as the road was evidently balanced on stilts over a void - wonder how it was ever designed this way? Intriguing.

Amused after closing an Intelligent Finance savings jar recently to receive a cheque for some unpaid interest. I guess small amounts mount up.

Birmingham; local blurb

Got this flyer through the door a few weeks ago, from a young couple interested in buying a house in our area. I’m sure Antony and Emma are perfectly lovely, but we were turned off by all the socially acceptable boxes they’d managed to tick: professional couple, check, reference to starting a family, check, deposit in place and mortgage ready to go, eh? We binned the flyer with an uncharitable ‘sod you, you smug gits’. However, it’s obviously good to know that the house might be in demand.

Retracing steps back a few weeks … Mum and I met up for a city break in Birmingham from 8 to 10 June – our fifth, having now done Glasgow, Manchester, Cardiff and Chester. Pictures here. The decision to go to Birmingham was because Mum was keen to see the Staffordshire Hoard, the treasure trove of Anglo-Saxon gold found in a field near Lichfield in 2009, some of which is on display at Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery. We had decided to stick with Premier Inns and went over a Sunday and a Monday night when hotel bills are cheaper. We met at Birmingham New Street and walked from the station via the new Mailbox development (still on my quite old A-Z as the Royal Mail Sorting Office) to the Canal Side PI, where we left bags and lunched on some nice fishcakes at Red Peppers Grill and Cantina. After lunch we went for a walk, starting with a visit to the new Library of Birmingham in Centenary Square. Not entirely sure what I think of the exterior view, but it’s certainly eye-catching, vaguely reminiscent of a giant dolly mixture, or perhaps a colourful cottage loaf. The interior is jolly nice and Mum was reassured to see that it does contain books, among all the computers, relaxation pods etc. The finest features, I thought, were the two garden terraces, which are a lovely idea and I was particularly taken with the beautiful planting of green fennel, which was very effective.

But but but … I personally think it’s a bit of a tragedy that this has meant that the old (1970s) Birmingham Central Library is now scheduled for demolition. It’s perhaps inevitable given the current vicious backlash against Brutalist architecture (and that term doesn’t help), but depressing all the same. I never got the chance to go inside it, but it’s a striking building with an interesting central atrium. English Heritage have apparently twice tried to get it listed, but been unsuccessful both times, apparently due to lobbying from Birmingham City Council, who have now managed to get it a Certificate of Immunity from Listing, meaning that it can’t be protected from demolition until 2016. They must be so proud of themselves. And the poor architect – architects put all this effort into designing something they think is beautiful, just for it to get destroyed, in a way that doesn’t happen to painters and sculptors. The architect of the Central Library, Roger Madin, is now dead, though it sounds from the Wikipedia entry as though a fair amount of his output has already been flattened.

Brief departure on the subject of demolition of brutalist architecture: I noted from a video posted recently on Facebook by the University of Reading Alumni that Sibly Hall, formerly one of Reading’s halls of residence, has been demolished. I lived in Sibly briefly during my final year at Reading – only for about a term, I think, as I went off the whole hall living thing and, from memory, even more briefly moved in to my parents’ attic room in Hungerford.  I was never particularly enamoured of Sibly as a building and don’t think it was particularly architecturally interesting, but still think it was a bit tasteless of Reading alumni to post a video of its demolition, as many students must have enjoyed living there. Perhaps inevitably, the redevelopment of the site seems to be causing some controversy.

Returning to Birmingham. After visiting the new library, we wandered through Chamberlain and Victoria Squares; the latter houses several pieces of modern sculpture, including Antony Gormley’s Iron: Man which when we visited had fencing right up against it around some work being carried out. Also, this creature (left) with the most enormous buttocks. Didn’t take a picture of Dhruva Mistry’s The River, which forms the centrepiece of the square, but it is quite nice. We had dinner on the first evening at the Water's Edge branch of the Handmade Burger Company.

On Monday morning we had a not-bad breakfast at the PI, after a few problems with the Costa coffee machine had been overcome, and then walked from the hotel to Cambrian Wharf, which claims to mark the beginning of the Birmingham and Fazeley Canal. We walked down past the Farmer’s Bridge flight of locks (apparently unusual in having only a single lock gate) and a bit further along past some flats, before heading up into the Jewellery Quarter. We had a fairly brief walk through the Jewellery Quarter before heading back down via St Paul’s Square to a branch of the Urban Coffee Company, where we stopped for a drink. Then paid a brief visit to the cathedral and walked past the Bullring out to the junction of Hurst Street and Inge Street to see the Back to Backs. I hadn’t checked their opening hours in advance and Monday is the one day of the week they’re closed, which was a bit tiresome after the trek out there. Another time perhaps.

In the afternoon we went to BMAG to view the Staffordshire Hoard, though I fitted in a peruse round a few other galleries including the Buddha Gallery, which houses the Sultanganj Buddha, apparently the largest known complete Indian bronze sculpture, and the interesting 'Birmingham, its people, its history' galleries. Apparently a new public gallery for a permanent display of the Hoard is due to open this autumn. We had tea in BMAG's capacious but distinctly lacklustre café - apparently it’s just about to undergo a refurb. Dinner that evening at Strada followed by breakfast the next morning at Carluccio's, before travelling back. I could get used to the constant eating out.

Birmingham is a bit of an architectural mishmash of a city – but perhaps more interesting for that – and large swathes of it appeared to be being dug up when we visited. Its network of canals is probably one of its most striking features and one it appears to be rather gradually making the most of. I had visited a few times before, two brief trips with Ray, during one of which we went on a boat trip around then-derelict stretches of canal – v. interesting – and once for a conference with Progress South Central.


Another classic top story this week on BBC News' 'Most Popular' slot this week, right. Here's the detail.

Local news to finish: 1) Escaped llamas and alpacas in Whitchurch; 2) the apparent planned demolition of Didcot Power Station - seems rather a shame in a way, as it is part of the local landscape. Surely everything's ripe for conversion into luxury apartments these days, even cooling towers? 3) initial success in the latest bid for lottery funding to preserve Reading Abbey. The ruins have been closed for five years, which does seem a shame.

Willow; moths; inept photography; RIP Emrys

Willow, far from being less destructive than Lexie, is borderline worse, certainly as regards the furniture – she is so far less offended by shoes than Lexie was. Given access to the living room she will jump up onto the chairs at every opportunity and start munching. She is, though, also the friendliest rabbit we have yet encountered, pushing her head up into our hands to be stroked and jumping up onto the sofa and climbing all over our laps (albeit often while also trying to nibble clothing and the picnic blanket that currently covers Ruth’s mauled sofa). Feebly, we are so taken with her on this account that there is no question of returning her to the rescue centre, so we will just have to try to take whatever action possible to protect the furniture.

Ruth had a sort out and prune of her wardrobe the other week, which inspired me to have a sort through mine, though I lack her discipline and am still keeping a number of items of clothing that don’t currently fit me, in the optimistic hope that they might once I’ve shed that couple of stone that I’m going to lose any day now. I did though put a number of things on the charity/rag pile, including this pair of size 12 white jeans that I have owned for over 20 years, but which have only fitted me for probably about 3 of them altogether – they have always been my benchmark for whether I was at my (in my eyes) ideal weight, but I was persuaded that it was ridiculous to keep them.

Took a couple of more or less unworn skirts back to MK with me to advertise on the OU noticeboard, and have successfully sold both of them; one of them a frumpy Country Casuals just-below-the-knee number that I still didn’t feel quite old enough to wear (though actually the woman I sold it to was quite a bit younger), the other a short cream number from Zara, which was quite ludicrously marked XL but is a 12 at the largest – Zara is one of those shops best not shopped in if you’re over this size. I don’t think it quite fitted me in the shop so Christ knows why I bought it. Sold that one yesterday morning to a bubbly woman named Jenny who seemed delighted with it.

Managed to miss spotting Ed Miliband at the OU the other week, though Victoria did return to the office excitedly after getting her morning latte saying she’d seen him. I did though do my bit by pointing out that the intranet people had spelled his name wrong in the original piece. Well, it’s not hard to get these things right.

Moth-related emails from both of my parents over the last month, the one from Mum about the oak processionary moth, which has apparently been causing a kerfuffle in the Thames Valley area. Some aerial spraying of local woodland has been taking place, though this has apparently been condemned by wildlife groups – indeed, it’s hard to see how that sort of action wouldn’t kill other things besides the moth. A more recent BBC Berkshire article seems to claim that it has been responsible for a decline in blue tit numbers by depriving them of an important food source. B*stards. Received a photo from Dad a few days later of a pair of mating poplar hawk moths. They are indeed striking in appearance, but I have been vaguely squeamish about moths since the offputtingly large ones that we used to see in Indonesia years ago, though I don’t know what type those were. Perhaps these beauties?

Ruth and I went a few weeks ago to view the proposed redevelopment plans for Caversham’s precinct (officially known as St Martin’s Centre, according to the article, though I’ve never heard it referred to as such). The plans look very nice on the whole, though it seems to me a shame that it would apparently necessitate the removal of the mature trees that currently occupy the paved area between Costa and House of Cards (they are cunningly referred to in the Reading Post article linked above as ‘the existing non-native trees’ – aha, drum up support for their removal by making them sound like foreigners). Fully supportive of the proposed extension to Waitrose though – and relieved that there appear to be no plans to move the supermarket out of Caversham to a larger site, as is often the way these days – and the proposed revamp of the car park couldn’t hurt. After viewing the plans we went for dinner at Casa Roma, the latest in a line of restaurants to occupy the space on Caversham Road opposite TGI Fridays. Although it was a large brightly lit space and not very atmospheric – though the garishly kitsch artworks are endearing in a way – we were impressed with the food – we both ordered seafood dishes which came with a generous amount of actual seafood, not always the case – and with the staff.

Ray visited me during the last week in May while I was staying at the Buckingham Travelodge, and we went for dinner at Prego, an Italian restaurant on Buckingham’s High Street and rather the sort of place I wish we had in Caversham. Ray has managed to acquire a Land Rover Discovery from his friend Darren at the marina, which I was a bit stunned by although he appears mightily pleased with it.

Finally managed to overcome previous problems in trying to take out a new phone contract, and am now enjoying my new Galaxy S4. The whole ‘life companion’ bit is pretty corny, but its 13-megapixel camera does appear to take great pictures – better than those from my actual camera, a few-years-old Sony Cyber-shot with a piffling 8.1 megapixels. However, working out how to use it isn’t immediately straightforward, and the Dual Shot facility – which I couldn’t work out how to get out of at one point – seems irritatingly pointless. This is a facility which superimposes your own face in a postage-stamp-type frame over the main photo, as per this one, which I took accidentally in Mum's kitchen while trying to switch the wretched facility off. Am in agreement with this review, which describes it as “hilariously daft”.


The process of getting the new camera led to some more chat sessions with Vodafone, which are always fun.

While staying with Mum and Dad a few weeks ago Mum and I went to explore the lovely Gliffaes Tree Walk at the four-star Gliffaes Country House Hotel - the house is a bit of a monstrosity but the setting is beautiful. Could fancy the idea of a short break there, if the rooms weren't £200+ a night. Would have been a beautiful spot to take a few pictures, especially as the rhododendrons were just finishing, but I couldn’t get the phone’s camera to work – managed to unintentionally shoot a short video of Mum’s foot before getting it stuck again on the Dual Shot facility (evidence right).

Briefly cheered last Friday by thought of solution to housing crisis, but it was short-lived. My colleague Lizzie appeared at my office door asking if I’d seen the ad on the intranet for an apartment sublet in Woburn Sands, at a seemingly extremely reasonable £450 a month. I did duly express interest and drove over at lunchtime to meet the tenant, a swarthy German postdoc called Andy, and view the flat. Flat very nice, though my suspicions were slightly aroused by the sound of the parking arrangements, and the fact that both Andy and the owner of the flat would still want to sleep there for some of the time. I met the owner on campus that same afternoon, a young chap called Sam working on contract as a web developer. Very pleasant and laid-back, but I inferred quickly that Andy was in fact his lodger not his tenant (amazed at the number of people who don’t seem to know the difference) and that Sam, albeit claiming to spend most of his time with his girlfriend in France, evidently does spend a certain amount of time at the flat. Decided I wasn’t after a flat-share with a twenty-something, so bowed out, after having interrupted a fair portion of my Friday looking into it. TIRESOME.

Received news from Dad this morning that their now-elderly ginger cat Emrys has died. Mum got Emrys from the RSPCA sometime around 1999-2000, as I have this photo (left) in my collection labelled ‘Milly and Emrys 2000’. I believe he was thought to be possibly a couple of years old at the time of adoption, and had apparently been found wandering loose around Hereford. Emrys had, it has to be said, a somewhat spiky edge to his personality and was never a cat with whom one could let one’s guard down. Having said that, in later years he appeared to have become (slightly) more placid and enjoyed sitting on Mum’s or Dad’s laps – and indeed, often in their spot on the sofas while one or other of them sat on the floor. Also posting what must be one of the last photos of him, taken about a month ago lying on his mat.

Rabbit exchange; further Travelodgery; retreat

Change of rabbits. Ruth and I made the sad decision that Lexie was a bit too much of a handful for us, given that we have limited time to spend in an intensive pet training regime and were unsure whether she would benefit anyway, so returned her to Reading Rabbit Rescue on the Saturday of the Easter weekend. Sandra was nice enough to make sympathetic noises and to assure us that pets are meant to enhance your life and Ruth had to be happy with her choice. Here’s a parting shot of Lexie with my Ugg boots – she expressed a violent dislike of all my shoes during the time she was with us.

Some discussion ensued about a possible alternative choice to try with Harley, and Sandra’s front runner was either Willow, a dwarf lop close to Harley’s age or Cherry, the long-term resident whom we viewed before at the time Ruth chose Lexie. Partly influenced by a desire to give Cherry a home, we decided to give her a go – however, Sandra later emailed us to say, somewhat cryptically, that they’d quickly realized Cherry wasn’t the right companion for Harley. It later turned out that the allegedly timid Cherry’s favoured technique during bonding attempts is to ignore the male for the first 15 minutes while pretending to eat hay, then viciously attack him. We inferred that she has done the same thing on a number of previous occasions, though Sandra wasn’t too explicit about that. Ruth and I theorized that she may be quite happy at RRR and it could be a deliberate strategy she’s developed in order to ensure that no one adopts her.

After Harley’s swift removal from Cherry’s proximity, S&S tried him with Willow. The first update noted that he was quite wary of her and there’d been quite a bit of chasing – indeed, we were sent this photo of Harley taking refuge under a box. However, we gathered that things had gone acceptably well, and we collected both Willow and Harley on the following Saturday, after Ruth had spent a day converting our cupboard under the stairs into a new bunny residence. Mightily pleased to have a dining room free of the unattractive cage and litter tray. Ruth is not enjoying cleaning out the cupboard with its awkwardly sloping ceiling, but no doubt she’ll adjust to the stooping involved. Willow appears a friendly bunny and we are quite taken with her so far, though not sure of Harley's opinion. She is very fond of the outdoors, probably because her previous owner apparently kept her loose in the garden.

Tried out a new Travelodge the week before last, this time the Old Stratford branch on a junction with the A5 north-west of Milton Keynes. Back there this week. Small place but like the Central has undergone a recent refurb to Travelodge’s ‘new look’, so pleasantly new-smelling with a great bed. Old Stratford seems to be a long line of houses either side of Towcester Road, with a couple of pubs and a convenience store. The long straight walk from Old Stratford into the more attractive Stony Stratford forms part of the Roman road Watling Street.

Although the page on Travelodge's website shows a Little Chef next door to the Travelodge, it's now next door to a ‘Buddies USA Diner’, according to Judith a local Northamptonshire mini-chain of restaurants. Mildly annoyed by it as although it boasts a breakfast menu, it advertises its opening time as 10am, which to my mind isn’t much use to anyone for breakfast. As is the way of the modern world I took to Twitter to query this:

and received the following response:

Well, yes, I suppose you could open at 4pm and serve bacon and eggs, but I personally wouldn’t count that as opening for breakfast.

It wasn't a major issue as I am set up to prepare coffee and muesli in my room, providing there's somewhere nearby to buy a pint of milk, but it's just the principle of flaunting a breakfast menu in people's faces.

While I've had a Twitter account for a while, I've only made sporadic active use of it, partly because I haven't yet decided quite how I want to use it, and haven't expended the necessary energy to find out How It All Really Works. On a related note, I also have a LinkedIn profile which I more or less keep up to date, although I’m not a particularly active user of it. I enjoy the mild amusement value of occasionally receiving endorsements for various skills from people who hardly know me - this week, an endorsement for ‘Management’ and ‘Program Management’ (neither of which I consider myself to have any particular experience in) from a chap who used to work in the IT Unit at the OU, with whom I exchanged the occasional email although we never actually met. Quite bizarre. He’s good-looking, though, so I may stay connected for that reason alone.

On a cultural note: killed some time a few weeks ago by visting Old Thornborough Bridge, just off the A421 between Buckingham and Milton Keynes. The bridge dates from 1400 AD and is (according to the information board in the car park) the sole surviving medieval bridge in Bucks. The old bridge, a scheduled monument, no longer carries traffic; the current bridge carrying the A421 was built in 1974.

Day in Hungerford a couple of Sundays ago to meet Ruth's aunt for lunch. I roped Ruth into a pre-lunch walk across the Common and a little way along the back road to Kintbury, past the gates of the former Hungerford Park. I had had a vague idea that years ago we used to walk up the driveway between these gates, but on this occasion I couldn’t see any indication that it was a public footpath, so we walked a bit further on and took the footpath leading south through Foxley Covert, coming out on the little road that used to pass Inglewood Health Hydro, though I don’t think that exists any more. There are some pictures here of the former house at Hungerford Park. We met Ruth's aunt for lunch at The Bear, our second visit since the takeover by Old English Inns; although the snacky soup-type lunch we had on Ruth's birthday had been fine, the roasts we ordered on this occasion were distinctly disappointing, and certainly bore a very poor comparison to the divine roast beef lunch I had there a few years ago. I did email them afterwards finding fault with various specifics, and may leave a review in due course on TripAdvisor. However, Mrs Spence seemed to enjoy her lunch, and the glass of Chardonnay I had with it was very palatable.

Attended a one-day retreat last Saturday at the Global Retreat Centre at Nuneham Park. Have been on their mailing list for a while but not until now got around to attending any events. The Global Retreat Centre is run by the Brahma Kumaris World Spiritual University, a seemingly international organisation with centres in a number of countries. My reasons for going were a) I fancied a day of a bit of uplifting tranquillity with a bit of meditation thrown in; b) it was free; c) I was curious for a bit of a poke around the house and grounds. The house was built in the mid-eighteenth century as the home of the Harcourt family, who sold it to Oxford University in the 1950s. I gathered that the Global Retreat Centre was set up in about 1993.

The day was attended by around 60 of us and consisted of a morning session entitled ‘Knowing the Self’, led by a sixty-something chap called Matthew who apparently used to be a run-of-the-mill working man with wife, etc, before throwing it all in 20-odd years ago to become a volunteer at the Global Retreat Centre. Good in places, though too much talk and flipcharts for my taste and not enough meditation practice, even though the session was subtitled ‘Exploring and Developing the Art of Meditation’. Additionally, while there were some helpful ideas, there was a lot of stuff about the soul towards the end of the session, including some rather wacky stuff seeming to imply that your soul can potentially remember things from before you were born. Hmm. The afternoon session was titled ‘Spirituality in Daily Life’, but substantially consisted of getting the audience to recap the main points from the morning session. It was free, I suppose. Plus points: it was a lovely setting and a relaxing atmosphere; we got a free hour-long tour of the house after lunch and a chance to walk about the grounds. One woman I spoke to had apparently been for a residential retreat there, which I may consider at some point. I also met a Milton Keynes-based Mindfulness Teacher, who gave me her card.

Mildly curious as to how the Global Retreat Centre apparently manages to charge no fees for any of its courses. I’m not one to ponder such things at length, but Ruth did query how an organisation promoting a spiritual, unmaterialistic approach to life can afford the rent on an Oxfordshire country estate and an Oxford city centre shop unit. Something to do with karma perhaps. In fairness, although there was a box marked ‘Contributions’ in the reception area, with envelopes and gift aid forms, this was not referred to by any of the staff or speakers during the day, nor were we put under any pressure to contribute. I must confess I didn’t, though I did spend about £20 in the shop on a DVD and some incense.

A couple of notes on the route:

• The first section of the A4074 north of Caversham towards Oxford is a notorious accident blackspot, cheerily referred to in the local press as the ’13 Bends of Death’. Having said that I only saw a couple of people indulging in idiotic overtaking.  
• The village of Nuneham Courtenay presents a odd aspect, with rows of almost identical cottages ranked each side of the A4074. The explanation, apparently, is that in the 18th century the first Earl Harcourt had the village moved in its entirety from its original position closer to Nuneham House, and arranged either side of the main road to Oxford, apparently so that he could convert the site of the village to ornamental parkland. Seems a bit high-handed.

In an concerted attempt to take more exercise and get endorphins flowing, etc, I have been swimming at Bletchley Leisure Centre once a week for the last month, and for the last couple of weeks have been propelling myself out on the bike at weekends. Have done the same route each time so far, along the Henley Road to Playhatch, up (painfully up) to Dunsden, then wending back past All Saints Church to join Kiln Road back into Caversham. Have to say I do feel good afterwards, albeit slightly achey.

Sadly, the lovely Tash and her piano-playing partner have moved out of number 47, apparently to a smaller place on a quieter street. Very civilised to have the sound of a piano emanating from next door, even if it was the sound of someone having a lesson and struggling with a two-octave scale. They’re (I think) the third lot of tenants since Nicky returned to South Africa., I guess more will be moving in soon. Obviously we hope they’re quiet, childfree, fond of classical music and/or jazz, don’t have a car and are fond of looking after people’s pet rabbits. I live in hope.