MK meanderings; farewell to Barbara; new flat

Finding myself with a free day in MK a few weeks ago, finally ventured into Buddies Diner, next to the Old Stratford Travelodge, for a late second breakfast (as ranted about previously, they don’t actually open at breakfast time). Their coffee is of the jug on a hot plate variety and arrived in an over-large cup with a free refill. I ordered pancakes and bacon, which were perfectly nice but was coerced into ordering a seemingly obligatory potato product in addition, so ended up with a pile of entirely unwanted hash browns on the plate. Who can actually eat that much? I did see two women sitting near me being served with a vast breakfast each though, plus a plate of hash browns on the side, so perhaps some people can.

After leaving Buddies, took a head-clearing walk from the Travelodge through Stony Stratford Nature Reserve and past Wolverton Mill. Encountered the Iron Trunk Aqueduct, and bravely scurried through the narrow and claustrophobic tunnel under the canal (referred to in this blog post) to join the canal towpath, which I then followed into Wolverton and then back to Stony along Stratford Road. This last section was a bit of a slog, one of those where you realize you’ve actually had enough of walking, but have no other way of returning to the point you started from. Doubtless good exercise though. I saw a heron early on in the walk, and asked its opinion on my housing crisis, but it didn’t volunteer much.

Last Friday was Barbara’s funeral service at St Mark’s Crescent Methodist Church in Maidenhead. Barbara wasn’t a regular attender at church services but had apparently visited the church quite often as some of the groups she was involved in met there. Arrived early and met Barbara’s friend Doreen in the car park, whom I’d met briefly some years ago when Mum, Ray and I met up with her and Barbara at the Courtyard Theatre in Hereford while they were attending the Three Choirs Festival. The service was nice and Ray gave a lovely tribute to Barbara. The second hymn, For the Beauty of the Earth, was slightly embarrassing as hardly anyone seemed to know it – I have a vague memory of having heard it before but it isn’t a very memorable tune.

After the service, we had to make our way across town to the committal at Braywick Cemetery, where Barbara's parents, as well as both Ray's sets of grandparents, are buried. Thankfully, as it saved me the drive, Ray gave me and his cousin Michael a lift; lane closures in Maidenhead town centre resulted in us cutting in in front of the hearse, which led Ray to contemplate whether he’d shown sacrilegious disrespect. The committal was a mercifully brief ceremony as it was becoming dank and cold by that time. Afterwards we made our way back to the Clarks’ house in Lancaster Road for food and drink. Although I had been determined to attend the funeral to pay my respects to Barbara, I’d been somewhat apprehensive at meeting Ray’s family again as, apart from Barbara, I hadn’t seen any of them for around seven years, though I had sent Ray Sr and Carol a long-overdue New Year note following Barbara’s death. As it happened they were all lovely and I ended up staying at the house and chatting for around three hours.
Caroline's daughter Kirsty was playing Minecraft during the get-together at the house, which led to a bit of discussion. Have just watched a beginners' tutorial on YouTube, but can't say I'm really tempted. Seems to be quite a bit of work involved, what with having to gather wood to build yourself shelter, etc.

An inch or so of snow on Monday night - it had pretty much all melted by midday on Tuesday though.

Big news is that I have, for better or worse, taken out another tenancy in MK. After going backwards and forwards as to the pros and cons, and viewing various flats which for one reason and another I didn’t take, and missing out on several I phoned about because apparently there’s such a rush on rental properties at the moment, managed to get to be first in the queue on a two-bed with a balcony in the Wolverton Park development next to Wolverton railway station. I don’t need two bedrooms, but one-beds appeared to be at a premium and Ruth and I had agreed that we could just about cope with upping the amount we were willing to pay just a bit. I had seen and liked the look of the development when walking the canal path with Ray in March 2012. Wolverton is MK’s northernmost suburb and definitively out of walking distance of the OU, but that matters less now I’m more familiar with the town; am intending to continue with the bus/walk combo.

Checked into the flat yesterday so am now in possession of the keys, though don’t actually move in until Friday, when Ruth has efficiently sorted man with van to carry the stuff I’m bringing. Feels slightly farcical to be carting stuff back up here when I carted it all back home to Reading a year ago, but am determinedly not pondering that.

Speed; bulb tea; fresh air and exercise

The 'Most Popular' slot on the BBC News website continues to amuse, with this incongruous pairing in the top two spot yesterday.

Recently paid my third speeding fine (and collected accompanying penalty points) following being snapped last October. Highly irritating as always. Also, am mightily peeved at not being offered a speed awareness course in place of the penalty points, as a number of people I know seem to have been on these, including Dad who apparently enjoyed the one he went on recently. The initial form I was sent gave me the option to indicate if I’d like to go on a course if a place was available, which I did, but no joy. October’s snapping was near Watlington and would have been on one of my Monday morning cross country drives to join the M40. The previous occasion was near Ross-on-Wye in 2008, and the first in Henley in 2000, when as I recall I was cruising happily back to our flat for breakfast after dropping Ray off at work. All three in 30 mph zones. On the 2008 occasion I was driving a hire car so, embarrassingly, had the notice forwarded to me by the hire people.

Looking back at the notice from 2000: TVP seem now to state the speed you were doing, which they didn’t then. Also my fine on that occasion was a mere £40, whereas it had gone up to £100 this time. Am attempting to take great care to keep to the limit in the 30 mph zones on my Monday drive, even when that involves ignoring other cars backing up behind you and trying to overtake.

Relayed the tale of woe to my hairdresser Lisa on Saturday, who commented that she hadn't seen me as a speed demon. Assured her that I am merely a victimised innocent.

Went for a solo dinner at Wagamama after work last Thursday and ordered a jasmine flowering tea, thinking it would be served in a little pot as per when I’ve had it in other places. Was surprised to be served with a glass of hot water on a saucer, with what looked like a bulb next to it. Assuming I was supposed to put the bulb into the water, I did, and it did indeed burst forth into something resembling a flower. It was the first time I’d encountered flowering tea, but apparently it is a known concept. Not sure whether it's supposed to do something special for you, or whether it's just meant to look pretty. Actually it looks a bit weird, unless sipping from a cupful of leaves and twiggy bits is your thing.

Looking back towards Tanners Lane

Enticed Ruth out for a healthy walk on Saturday, up past Highdown School and along Highdown Hill Road, which peters out into a path leading uphill to Tanners Lane (although there was tarmac visible so quite possibly it was a through route for traffic at some point in the past). Crossed a field from Tanners Lane to join Dysons Wood Lane, where we noted this pair of pillars, which a bit of research suggests marked the driveway to Dysons Wood House. Another Geograph picture has a bit more blurb about the house, suggesting that it was earmarked for demolition in 2011. Couldn't find anything subsequent to confirm whether it actually was demolished, but I have to say I couldn't see it from standing by the pillars (though the hedge had grown up a good bit since the first of the pictures).

Walked through Tokers Green back down into Caversham, stopping off at the Griffin for a pint and packet of crisps. Exclaimed at the number of calories in a bag of Kettle Chips.

Prior to the walk, began Saturday with a reluctant visit to see Jill the hygienist at Prospect Street Dental Surgery. Apparently, as Jill mentioned more than once, it had been eight months since my last visit, which had evidently annoyed her since she's asked me to see her every four months. Not sure what my incentive is supposed to be for forking out around £40 to have my teeth scraped and be lectured about tartar buildup, and have taken to trying to stretch the gap between appointments, though Jill doesn't take cancellations lying down and is given to phoning you and forcing you to rebook. Ruth and I theorised that she'll probably start coming round to the house if I cancel another one.

Walks etc

Presumably coached by Willow, since he’s never done it before, Harley appears to have got the hang of jumping up onto furniture. Here he is on my bed in bedroom 3. My efforts to argue that this isn’t to be encouraged are being stymied by Ruth’s arguments that it’s incredibly cute.

Rosehill House

Walking with MapMyWalk is going well, with some morning walks into the OU from central MK. Beautiful frosty morning in Campbell Park yesterday (left). Also went for a nice c. five mile walk around Caversham on Sunday, solo as Ruth was working on a bid. Walked up Peppard Road as far as Rosehill Park, a housing estate built in the grounds of Rosehill House, according to Wikipedia one of five mansions originally present in what is now Emmer Green. Of the houses mentioned, Caversham Place is no longer standing but the other four are.  Also stopped to take this picture of Emmer Green pond. This quite interesting piece about Emmer Green suggests that the pond was once a lake.

Digressing, Get Reading's regular 'Pick of the Past' slot had an interesting feature last year on the late Caversham Place. It was demolished in the 1970s to make way for more housing on the Caversham Park Village estate.

Received this communication the other day on LinkedIn. However competitive the salary, there’d be no salary high enough to induce me to take a job in, or indeed set foot in, Saudi Arabia. I remember my former colleague Tony at CfBT, who had evidently lived for a while in Saudi with his wife, expressing regret that she hadn't enjoyed living there. Funny that. I remember him telling me that she used to insist on turfing Tony out of the driving seat of the car the second they had driven past the border post out of Saudi, and getting into it in full view of the Saudi border control.

Day in London today for the annual HESA post-collection seminar for the Student return. Well run and informative day as ever led by the excellent Dan Kidd. Took a blisteringly early train into Euston and breakfasted at the branch of Carluccio’s in the Brunswick Centre, before walking down to the venue near St James’ Park. The walk didn’t take me as long as I expected so to kill time and increase the distance, did a quick figure of eight around the lake, on the way reading the interesting story of the Chinese pagoda that briefly adorned the bridge in the early nineteenth century before catching fire and falling into the lake, and a bit about Duck Island Cottage, apparently now used as offices.

Noticed this message in the week on the side of my office box of tea. How lovely that there's a tea information service.

Mop up of 2014

To close 2014, some potted snippets, chiefly from the blog-free period from August to the end of November. And a brief update on burglary closure.

Resolution of burglary case

Receiving the news of Barbara’s death on 4 January reminded me that this date was also an unhappy one in 2014, when I discovered the burglary at my flat at Old Groveway. To close the loop on that story, now that I am not in danger of prejudicing a trial:

I received the news some months back that Fraser, my former neighbour at 10 Old Groveway, had pleaded guilty to involvement in the burglary in December 2013, rendering a trial unnecessary. Within five minutes of discovering the break-in, I suspected some involvement on Fraser’s part, because as the window and door locks were all intact, the steep drop over the back of the patio rendered the low-ish wall over to Fraser’s patio the only viable escape route. At the time of the incident, the police would only tell me that my possessions had been found “at an address in Milton Keynes”, but I later learned that this “address” was in fact the house next door to mine.

Fraser apparently admitted to police later the same evening, while being cautioned for some sort of affray in the town centre – nothing like keeping a low profile after committing crime 1 – that there was a wad of stolen property at his home. An acquaintance of his was also questioned re the offence, and I gathered that police thought said acquaintance was the ‘brains’ behind it, while Fraser’s role was chiefly to allow access to my property via his. However, acquaintance had evidently taken legal advice and said “no comment” to everything he was asked, and unfortunately no fingerprints other than mine were found inside (obviously not his first burglary), so there was insufficient evidence to charge him. I got the impression the CID chaps were annoyed about not being able to nail first chap, and felt that Fraser was something of a victim himself and hadn’t the wit not to allow all manner of lowlifes access to his home (probably true - certainly, the whole time I lived there there appeared a constant stream of visitors, such that I was never sure who other than Fraser might actually live there).

As regards my other neighbours at Old Groveway: Christina, from number 12, evidently never any fan of Fraser, was visibly spitting feathers in the direction of no 10; Tony and Susannah, from number 11, had evidently befriended him and alternated feeding each others’ pets, and were visibly shocked at what they regarded as something of a betrayal – indeed, I almost had to prise a weeping and hugging Susannah off me in the car park shortly before I moved out and assure her that it actually wasn’t her fault and that I didn’t hold it against her.

I had to return to the police station several weeks after the incident to provide an “emotional impact statement”, which is apparently given to the judge to provide more supporting ballast. These statements are evidently the police’s opportunity to balance sticking to the facts with a bit of artistic licence – my volunteering that after the burglary I didn’t feel safe staying at the flat provoked the following:

POLICE: “So, would you say you can never trust anyone again?”
ME: “Erm, well no, I don’t quite mean that exactly ...”
POLICE: “Well, we’ll put that anyway.”

TVP sent me a form to fill in to submit a claim for compensation, which I did, but haven’t received anything. Don’t feel I can complain too much as the police did warn me it wasn’t guaranteed; also, given that I did get the majority of my stuff back and had a reasonable payout from my contents insurer, I consider myself pretty lucky.

'Acting up'

Shortly after my contract was made permanent back in June, received the news that my line manager Judith would be stepping into Nick’s shoes as Director of Information Office following his retirement at the end of August. Judith’s stepping up was intended to be on an ‘acting’ basis until a replacement was found, as a recruitment round earlier in 2014 had failed to find a suitable candidate.  As a result of this, found myself being asked if I would head up the Returns team, similarly on an acting basis, to cover for Judith. Partly flattered at being thought capable of managing the team and leading on the October HESA return; partly wary at having to take on the management of four other analysts, two of whom were at the time still in probation. The latter has been a bit of a trial, though the colleagues concerned are all perfectly nice, and I can’t say that staff management is something I’m particularly enamoured of, though I suppose many others also end up doing it because it’s inflicted on them. Judith has, in fairness, been very supportive, though am still plagued by a feeling of lurching from one responsibility to another without actually having sufficient time to engage in depth with any individual piece of work. If this is management I’m not fully convinced as yet.

Shortly before Christmas we were told that the Information Office is scheduled to be shifted from its current position as a standalone unit reporting in to the University Secretary, to be merged with the Strategy Office and report in to the Director of Strategy. More on that in due course. As at time of writing, both Judith and I are still doing our ‘acting’ roles, and are scheduled to continue with them until the end of February (extended from the original November deadline stated in the letter). After that, who knows. The amount of extra money I'm getting is fairly minimal, though I was awarded a 'discretionary increment' at the end of October - for general good behaviour, I think - which takes me another point up the OU's salary scale.

Occasions 

My birthday

Decided to indulge myself with an overnight stay in London for my birthday back in August, so booked a room at the Premier Inn London Southwark (Tate Modern) for the evening of Sunday 17 August (prudently, booked for the Sunday as it’s cheaper). We began by going over to Old Street where I had a slightly strange toasted tortilla at Crazy Salads, then paid a brief visit to nearby SCP, to look at nice expensive things for the home (Ruth subsequently bought a Bitossi bull, and lugged it home on the tube, where it now occupies a slot in my Expedit unit), before heading over to the Barbican. Since the tour of the Barbican I went on with Ray in 2009 I’d been wanting to visit the conservatory, but because of its very restrictive opening hours – it’s only open to the public on Sunday afternoons – I’d never managed to get there. We went in and spent some time wandering about, though I was disappointed that the famed quail have been rehomed and are no longer there.

We caught a late-afternoon film at what I think of as the National Film Theatre but is now called ‘BFI Southbank’. The film we saw was the 1998 Swedish movie Show Me Love, originally released under the ‘catchy’ title of Fucking Åmål (as the original title appeared in brackets after the English title, I initially thought that it was the name of the director and thought, fancy having that for a first name). However. It was apparently the first feature from director Lukas Moodysson. The film was very good, especially the startlingly beautiful Rebecka Liljeberg as Agnes (even more sexily, according to Wikipedia Liljeberg has now retired from acting and works as a paediatrician). This review from Sight and Sound is a good one. After the film we had a pizza dinner at Gourmet Pizza.

The following morning we breakfasted on delicious bacon, eggs and sourdough bread at the lovely, albeit pricey, Albion behind Tate Modern, part of the NEO Bankside development. We then made our way to the National Portrait Gallery and Ruth went to the Virginia Woolf exhibition, while I bowed out in the interests of walking to Chinatown instead and buying some kimchi. Afterwards we had outrageously expensive tea and cake at Sapore Italiano on Irving Street, only bought because we couldn’t get in to the NPG’s ridiculously too small basement café.

Parents' Golden Wedding

The August Bank Holiday weekend was spent at Mum and Dad’s as they had organized a party on the Sunday to celebrate 50 years of marriage. Luckily the weather held and we were able to spend most of the time in the garden. Hazel and Hannah took a number of lovely photos of the day, though I also like this shot I took myself the previous day of Steve, Dave and Dad attempting to erect a gazebo, observed by Nia, who was keen to be involved. Embarrassingly, greeted my godfather Brian Williams’ partner Liz with “I don’t think we’ve met before”, to have her assure me that we had, at Mum and Dad’s ruby wedding party ten years earlier. And quite possibly, on other occasions too. More embarrassingly, Dave later told me that he’d greeted her with much the same words. It’s enough to give the poor woman a complex.

Helen’s wedding

Judith kindly allowed me a day off in HESA week to go to my university friend Helen’s wedding in Tunbridge Wells on 19 September. Eschewed booking into the Tunbridge Wells Travelodge on account of its shocking reviews on TripAdvisor, so decided to go self-catering, and ended up booking Pippin’s Cottage at Albans Barnyard near Pembury. Booking somewhere outside the town presented us with the challenge of needing to get to and from the wedding, so we attempted to organize all this in advance by looking up a local taxi company (Walkers Cars) and booking journeys each way. In the event, this went completely t*ts up – the cab to collect us never arrived, though the driver did phone us to say he’d arrived at what his satnav had told him was the destination, though it clearly wasn’t. Very kindly, the owner of Albans Barnyard took pity on us and drove us into Tunbridge Wells to the church, where we arrived barely 5 minutes before Helen did.

The taxi we had booked to pick us up from the reception venue did make it to the venue but was unable to find the cottage and we drove for quite a while around country lanes, with the driver’s satnav telling him we’d arrived as we pulled up alongside a gate into a field. Eventually, to my considerable annoyance as it was quite late, he phoned the owners of the property to ask for directions, which as he couldn’t explain where he was, must have been quite challenging to give. More by luck than judgement, we eventually did pass the driveway to the property and luckily I recognized it from earlier in the day. Ironically, Walkers Cars’ homepage opens with “we pride ourselves on being able to accommodate the needs of all our customers”. Employ drivers who actually know where they’re going? I should have written to them to complain, but had rather lost the will once we returned to Reading.

Helen and Greg

Us

Taxi firm aside, everything else about the weekend was lovely. For a wedding, Helen’s was really rather nice, with a few quirky features that gave it interest. She had laudably done an enormous amount of the work herself, getting friends’ help to make table decorations and departing from the white theme by wearing a lovely blue dress she’d apparently picked up for £30. Greg, the groom, had selected a female friend to act as his ‘best person’, and she looked great in a mini-dress and top hat. The guests were transported to the reception venue via The Spa Valley Railway and a specially-arranged class 33 diesel train. The Spa Valley Railway operates between Tunbridge Wells and Eridge, with a stop at High Rocks, the reception venue.

The reception was the usual dinner-speeches-dancing format; Helen and Greg had generously funded an open bar, though I didn’t make much use of it as there was ample wine provided at the table during dinner.

For the second day of our Kentish stay we visited the gardens at Sissinghurst, which are lovely if twee, and there’s a very interesting exhibition of Vita and Harold’s married life. Returned to Pippin’s Cottage via a brief stop off in Cranbrook to go to a supermarket. Pippin’s Cottage itself is probably the most luxurious holiday accommodation I’ve stayed in: done up to a very high spec and with a Sonos sound system in every room, which we enjoyed playing with. I particularly enjoyed the feature which enables you to turn the volume up in the bedroom from a vantage point downstairs, in order to share news and music with your sleeping partner.

Mind-improving activities

Mindfulness taster session

Went to a Mindfulness taster session in September in Stony Stratford, run by Mat Schencks of Milton Keynes Mindfulness. Mat seemed a pleasant chap and it was a moderately useful couple of hours, though not quite sure that it justified the £20 attendance charge. There were the usual couple of attendees who didn’t know when to stop talking about themselves, and two women with evident mobility difficulties who arrived a trifle peeved at having to stagger their way to the top floor. There is a 4-week Mindfulness course available run on consecutive Saturday mornings, but not sure I want to commit to that. The session was held in a room on the top floor of York House, a large Victorian building evidently used by a variety of groups and clubs: the MK Humanists were having a lively time on the floor below us, judging by the noise, and the large room on the ground floor was completely taken over by gamers, sitting around four or so large tables each with war games going on. I’m guessing they were probably these people. I’m sure the group is open to both sexes but they were, without exception, men. Had to interrupt the gaming to find the simpleton who had blocked my car in; luckily managed to locate him at the first table of chaps though he seemed oblivious to the inconvenience caused. Probably has Asperger's, I thought, uncharitably.

Brock Keep as part of Heritage Open Weekend

As part of Reading’s Heritage Open Weekend in mid-September, Ruth and I visited Brock Keep on Oxford Road, next to the former TA barracks (not sure what they are currently). There was an exhibition on the ground floor about the Keep’s history; the upper floors are rented as artists’ studios. A chap was offering tours of the studios, which we didn’t like to turn down though we were both more interested in the building than in the art. The Keep is Grade II listed and sited next to its original army depot, though since the 1980s it’s been owned by Reading Borough Council and is currently rented by arts charity ‘OpenHand OpenSpace’. As buildings often do, it had scaffolding around it on the day we visited, as can be seen in the photo.

Jazz at Progress

In October, Ruth and I went to see the Tony Kofi Quartet at the tiny Progress Theatre up near the university, part of the ‘Jazz at Progress’ season. I don’t really know much about jazz, though I have CDs by Stéphane Grappelli and Dave Brubeck that I enjoy as background music over dinner, but actually sitting and listening to it is something a bit different. Tony Kofi and his band specialize in the works of Thelonious Monk, and the set – titled ‘Monk and More’ – was largely devoted to these, though with a few other bits thrown in. Seeing jazz live is quite an experience as you really get to appreciate the interactions of the musicians much more than when listening to it.

Martha Wainwright at the Stables

In November, took Guy up on his offer of a spare ticket to see Martha Wainwright at The Stables in MK, after one of his group cancelled. Had heard of Wainwright but knew little about her beyond that; went mainly to have a break from hotel rooms and because I’d heard work colleagues speak well of The Stables as a venue. Met up with Guy and his three friends for a nice pre-show dinner in the Stables’ restaurant. Enjoyed the gig, including the supporting set by Addie Brownlee. Both singers appeared in the lobby afterwards, affably chatting with audience members and selling copies of their CDs. Wainwright has a powerful stage presence and delivered lively chat between songs, including some background to each song; my only complaint would be that her delivery made the lyrics less than distinct, and given the background we'd been given, it would have been good to hear them. A minor complaint though.

Memorable outdoor activities

Went up to London at the beginning of September to attend a HESES seminar and had a particularly gorgeous morning walk around Regent’s Park and environs. Took this shot of the lovely Cambridge Terrace Mews, followed by a wander around the park and past the Grade I listed Royal College of Physicians. After the seminar, met Ruth for an early evening dinner at Pizza Express. We decided to pretend we were on our first date, before discovering that neither of us had any interesting hobbies. Spent remainder of meal pondering our date-worthiness.

Rather annoyingly, this year’s NSS conference turned out to be at the Royal College of Physicians, but I felt obliged to suggest to Judith that Jill should go instead of me, partly through grudging appreciation that I should let her have a turn, and partly through genuine inability to take a day out of the office in early November. Will just have to hope I can visit it on some other occasion. Determined to actually go to the 2015 London Open House weekend – or Open City, as it now seems to be called – the 2014 weekend clashed with Helen’s wedding.

Wyfold Court

Went for a Saturday morning walk in October with Ray near Wyfold Court, north of Reading and apparently near a country cycle route that Ray has done a few times. The building itself is an extravagant mishmash of turrety bits with, according to Wikipedia, crocketed heraldic beasts adorning the garden front.

Wyfold Court housed Borocourt Hospital from 1930 to 1993, after which it was converted to apartments. The hospital apparently featured, along with others, in an early 1980s documentary about conditions for mental patients. From available online photos – such as this before and after – it looks as though there were formerly a lot of ancillary hospital buildings that have since been cleared for new housing.

We did a round trip returning to the car via some nearby woods.  I don't remember what Ray was doing in this photo.

Another autumn walk with Ruth via Caversham Heath golf course and Chazey Wood, before an early evening meal at The Griffin. The peace in Chazey Wood is a bit shattered at weekends by the whooping and hollering coming from the Delta Force paintballing centre. As per the previous time, we found ourselves scurrying back down The Warren to make our booked dinner time. Can't remember what we had but I'm sure it was nice.

And so to 2015 ...

More on B; walk mapping; dreamscape

Met Ray at the Alto Lounge on Saturday morning for a Barbara update. Shocked at what an expensive business dying is. Apparently coffins come in a range of possible materials including cardboard, though even cardboard apparently costs a few bob.

The WEA Southern region published a nice piece about B on their website last week. B had been a stalwart of the WEA - which sounds like an excellent organisation; Ray and I once did a modern art day school with them - for years.

Windy weather last Friday caused damage to the roofs of a couple of houses on Gosbrook Road. Luckily the worst that happened to us was the bins blowing over, together with next doors' bins. Neighbour at number 47 reckoned it was quite exciting.

Very excited to have discovered the MapMyWalk website and app (even though it's probably been around for a while). Switch on GPS, start walking and it tracks your route and how many miles you're doing. Or you can plot the route retrospectively when you get back. Fantastic. Has rekindled my enthusiasm for daily walking - which is frankly as well given that I am rapidly reaching a point where I'll no longer fit into 'fat day' clothing.

With the app in mind, took a walk with Ruth to our local branch of Decathlon on Saturday, where I looked at some walking shoes (as the trusty boots I've had for the last 10 years or so sprung a leak during the tramp down the Blorenge on New Year's Day). Tried on a couple of pairs in lurid colours, but then decided to make use of my trainers for the next month or so. Ruth bought a sports bra in case it makes her re-join the gym.

Tried out a takeaway from the Calcutta Brasserie in Stony Stratford last week, an upmarket Indian restaurant in a converted chapel. Had originally picked it for our team meal back in November, but Hoa had struck a cautionary note saying that he reckoned it was 'style over substance' (though in the event he didn't bleedin' turn up anyway). Anyway, the South Indian Garlic Chicken I ordered was absolutely delicious. Also ordered a stuffed paratha – which was enormous and would have comfortably served two. And there was a 30% discount on takeaways before 7pm.

Weird dream last night involving the late Lola. In the dream, we had lost her, but not via her death as in reality - just through actually losing her. At one point I think we were searching for her in an antique shop, and later along the side of a valley. What can this mean?

New Year; REM's birthday; RIP Barbara Talmage

What about those Nazi supercows then?


The absurd rubber caterpillar-type thing I received as a stocking filler is now installed on my desk. When you smack its head against something, it glows as per the picture. Judith seemed quite taken with it and observed that she will be able to tell when I'm feeling stressed because of the smacking sounds from the next room.

Ruth and I accompanied Mum and Dad for their by-now-traditional New Year’s Eve dinner out at Food for Thought in Peterchurch, though it’s now a considerably longer drive than it was from the old house. Very pleasant meal; I attempted to mark the occasion with a couple of photos but neither of them turned out very well. These two are about the best; in the other version of the first, I am wearing a diabolical expression which doesn’t look as though it bodes well for my parents; in the other version of the second, Ruth is staring with an expression of intense delight at her wine glass rather than at the camera.

We were cheered briefly by a claim in the NYE copy of The Times that Reading has come out second only to St Albans among towns experiencing the biggest rises in house prices during the final quarter of 2014. Apparently the average price of a house in Reading is now £318,333. Gosh.

Marked New Year’s Day with a nice though strenuous walk. I had suggested to my parents that I might fancy a walk, and had put in a variety of requests for (moderate) hill-climbing, trees and preferably a small lake in an enchanted glade where one might see elves, pixies etc. Mum did her best to comply with this and planned a walk taking in a fair bit of the height of the Blorenge and really bringing home to all of us the benefits of the regular moderate exercise we’re not currently doing. Dad parked at the Llanfoist Crossing car park and we walked up to Llanfoist Wharf, where we turned left along the canal as far as Canal Cottage, where we joined a road that works its way up steeply past Hendre Cwrt and Lower, Middle and Upper Ninfa farms, before turning off onto a path leading to the Punchbowl, a lovely hollow containing a lake. That makes it sound quite simple, but the road up was actually quite a slog. The lake’s apparently man made, but it’s a lovely spot anyway.

The last part of the walk descended via an old transport route along the Llanfoist Incline, the steep wooded slope that (apparently) descends Cwm Craf. Llanfoist Wharf was the terminus for a tram-road which transported stuff up the Blorenge. Dad pointed out the old stone sleepers with holes in them to secure the rails that the trams ran on.

The Punchbowl apparently used to be a secret meeting place for illegal prize-fighting. Not sure how long ago. You’d never think it now. Middle Ninfa Farm is apparently one of the UK's leading small campsites. You can go on a three-day workshop there to learn how to build a coracle.

To mark Ruth’s birthday on Saturday we went to Vue to see The Theory of Everything, as Ruth had fancied a cinema outing and we were obliged to pick from the available listings. It was very good, and presented a sympathetic portrait of Hawking’s first wife Jane, though that’s perhaps unsurprising as it’s adapted from Jane’s memoir Travelling to Infinity: My Life with Stephen. Afterwards we had a very pleasant dinner at Strada.

Extended Ruth’s birthday celebrations into Sunday, as we’d put off her requested trip to the London Aquarium due to the wet weather on Saturday. Got up to London and, inevitably, eased ourselves into the trip with a second breakfast at the branch of Carluccio’s opposite South Kensington tube. We made our way over to County Hall and joined the queue for ‘priority’ ticket holders, which was ironically longer and slower than the regular queue and it took some time to be processed through the congested entrance and into the exhibits. Viewed some beautiful and fascinating creatures, including sharks. It was, inevitably for a weekend, quite crowded, but we did on the whole manage to find sufficient space to look at the critters on display. Although the central tank is certainly impressive, the whole seems crammed into quite a small area with narrow corridors, that made the congestion seem probably worse than it was, but I guess they are restricted by the space available – hardly any potential to expand as there might be in other aquaria.

Perhaps wrongly, I emerged from the aquarium with a yen for a fishy snack, so we stopped at the branch of Eat under the Oxo tower where I had a crayfish sandwich (the only fishy option available, though crayfish are pretty tasteless) and Ruth had something hammy and cheesy. Briefly considered suggesting that the aquarium should have a fish and other seafood-themed café where visitors can take refreshment (seahorse baps?).

After leaving the aquarium, we walked along the South Bank to Gabriel’s Wharf, as Ruth wanted to visit Vendula to try to buy the handbag she had seen while window shopping back in August. The exact one had sold out but she found one with the same colour scheme that she appeared equally pleased with. It’s for Gail for her birthday, apparently. I bought a pretty little pink purse that is going to be my Weekend Purse.

Although we mainly took tubes on Sunday, I made brief use of the fab Citymapper app just to find the walking route from the restaurant to Sloane Square tube (albeit that we didn't walk in the end). The app is brilliant for finding bus routes, as it finds your current location (once you have GPS enabled), you find your desired destination on the map and it plots you a route between the two points, via various transport options, including walking. If you choose to walk, it tells you how many calories you will burn off by walking the route, plus a slightly bizarre translation into foodstuffs – the walk from Carluccio’s to Sloane Square would, apparently, have enabled me to burn off 0.4 jellied eels. There’s a review of the app here, though I’ve not yet figured out how to get the app to illustrate the route with a flying Boris Johnson, which this review claims is an option.

The weekend ended on a downbeat note when Ray called me on Sunday evening to tell me that Barbara has died. I had arranged to call at her house for tea on 28 December, but she had telephoned that morning to postpone, saying that she hadn’t been feeling well all through the Christmas period and that the house was in a state, etc, though she had at least managed to go to Ray and Carol Clark’s for Christmas lunch as per usual. During the call she apologized for not having written Christmas cards, saying that she felt all in a tizz, or words to that effect – she appeared to be blaming it on having been persuaded to go along to a get-together for those with reduced vision, which she referred to disparagingly as ‘Blind Club’ though I doubt that was actually its name. One of her neighbours, apparently, had spotted that a light in her house had been on all Saturday night and alerted Ray’s mother, who went round to the house on Sunday morning and found B lying in the kitchen. Ray and his mother have apparently spent much of Sunday and Monday going through Barbara’s stuff – she was evidently more of a hoarder than they realized.She was an excellent if somewhat blunt woman, and always seemed to like me. I have few pictures of her, but here she is with me at Ray's and my flat in Henley after our wedding in 1999, and there’s this one taken in May 2005 on a windy day at Portchester Castle.

Mildly irritating Monday. Returned to work to a no doubt entirely justified prod from Hoa to check the data he’d passed to me before Christmas; did my best though realized I didn’t have nearly enough time to check in detail. Booked the afternoon off partly through sheer non-engagement and partly because I had two more flat viewings booked from 4pm onwards, both in Broughton, a newish eastern suburb of MK. Spent some time beforehand walking around Broughton and decided it seemed quite nice, and was fully expecting to take one of the flats; however the first turned out to be a maisonette, and following burglary shenanigans I fancy another door between me and the street; the second was OK but had a surprisingly grotty bathroom with black mould around the bath. Left with deflated spirits and made my way over to the Old Stratford Travelodge, where I took refuge in a bubble bath, and later that evening in a Channel 5 programme about obese people living on benefits.

Rallied myself on Tuesday to set up another flat viewing, but received a call from the agent late morning cancelling the viewing as someone else had already taken it. Grrr. Sulked briefly when Victoria asked if I wanted to go and get soup from The Hub, but then relented.

Call from Ray on Tuesday night after the poor chap had evidently spent much of the preceding few days attempting to clear Barbara’s house, helped by various family members. Apparently the keys to the house have to be handed over to her solicitors, who are the executors, on Thursday. Hardly gives anyone much time – technically, I suppose none of her stuff belongs to the family, as B is known to have left her entire estate to charitable causes, but there’s going to be sentimental stuff, for Christ’s sake. They have apparently unearthed a wad of old photographs in a suitcase in the bathroom and Ray has found B’s journals going back to the 1960s. Of course, there’s an argument to say she ought to have given away this sort of stuff beforehand or at least bequeathed it in her will – it’s not as though her actual possessions are going to have monetary value – but perhaps people don’t think to do that, or perhaps she just wasn’t sentimental.

This getreading article this week lists things left in Travelodges. A rowing machine does seem a large thing to leave behind - or indeed, take in the first place.