RIP Willow

As of last Saturday, Willow, the friendly, smelly and exuberantly destructive female bunny we have homed for the past 18 months or so, is no more. She had always struggled to put on weight since we had her, but had become progressively thinner recently and had eaten less and less, and had started withdrawing under a chair in the living room that she hadn’t sat under before. We took her to the vet who advised that she couldn’t feel any tumours and agreed with Ruth that Willow’s symptoms didn’t seem to indicate GI stasis, but was of the view that there was undoubtedly something seriously wrong. The upshot, after some discussion, was that we ended up having her put to sleep (and have consequently now received the customary card from Oakley Road vets, containing the bill and a stirring verse condoling re the loss of your loved one). We brought Willow back from the surgery as Ruth wanted to bury her in the garden, which she duly did and is now pondering an appropriate plant for the space. Posting a small photographic tribute in memory of Willow.

Pondering her next move	With Ruth on the sofa	Pondering going out of doors
On the green waste bag	Her favourite spot by the fence	Down the drain: another of her favourite spots
Really getting stuck in	On the sofa again	An unreadable expression

Rundown of June

Ruth and I attempted to have a video call on Skype in early June as prep for an interview she had coming up which was to be held via this medium. In addition to checking that there was e.g. no controversial literature on display directly behind where she planned on sitting, she also wanted to get an idea of where to look in order to appear to be looking at the interviewers, etc. Since beginning this whole fun-filled dual living thing, I have only had mobile rather than fixed line broadband, which is quite adequate for web-surfing and emailing but not so hot for video calling. The last exchange we appeared to have had on Skype was the following over a year ago, during which we seem to have actually managed a 16-minute call. We did at least manage to check the angle she was facing, even if the video did indulge in endless buffering and eventually gave up altogether.

Wolverton Park has been in the (at least, regional) news recently due to this incident earlier in June in which a man’s body was discovered in one of the flats in Trevithick Court (the block across from mine). The initial incident was in fact a fire in the flat at around 11.30 one evening, apparently attended by more than 30 firefighters – proving again what a heavy sleeper I am, as I had the bedroom window open and my bedroom looks out onto the area where the fire engines would have pulled up, and yet I heard nothing. The body was discovered by firefighters inside the flat but I believe I’ve read subsequently that it’s thought that the poor chap died prior to the fire. The first I knew of the incident was the following morning when I looked out towards the canal and saw a ‘Police – do not cross’ line guarded by an actual policeman. A section of the towpath was closed off for a day or so and it sounds as though the flat was completely gutted. Someone has evidently appeared in court – or rather via video link from prison – charged with arson with attempt to endanger life. Not heard anything about what’s happened subsequently, but the idea of the killer abseiling to safety, mentioned here, does seem rather far-fetched.

As far as I got by myself

I did get a knock on the door from the police a few evenings later, as part of their doing the rounds of both blocks, but was able to say conclusively that I Know Nothing. Very happy to have no further involvement with police or the justice system for a while. It’s already become something of a joke at work that I was burgled at my last flat and now there appears to have been a murder near current flat. Matt has cautioned me not to move to live near him any time soon lest I bring bad karma.

Finished product

Recently bought a Poäng chair and footstool from IKEA, which I am very pleased with. Actually made some headway with putting it together myself, though required Ruth’s assistance to finish the job. V. pleasant for evening reclining.

We had our first ever weekend visit from Ruth’s mother on Friday 12th. Mrs M had driven from Norfolk to her sister’s house in Lambourn earlier in the day, and had got the train to Reading from Hungerford, arriving full of the news that the last time she’d made that train journey was around 1970. Gosh. She and Ruth went off to London on the Saturday as Ruth had got them tickets for Trooping the Colour; they arrived back late afternoon seeming to have enjoyed it, plus a browse around King’s Road. And apparently they sat only a few rows back from Phil Spencer, the back of whose head did feature in some of Ruth’s video footage of the occasion.

Aldbrickham Clog Dancers

I amused myself by popping into town to do some shopping, and on the way back meandering along the Holy Brook and through Forbury Gardens to check out Reading Water Fest. Lots of boats and stalls selling tea towels etc. The crowds in Forbury Gardens were entertained by the Aldbrickham Clog and Step Dancers, who are apparently celebrating 50 Years of Clogging in Reading this year. Their sole male dancer was a chap of reasonably advanced years, so hopefully they’ve got some younger men coming up through the ranks. Here’s some actual footage of them (and their piper) filmed on the day. Gail and Rob joined us for lunch on the Sunday and I blitzed them with yet more quiche, and Ruth baked a crumble.

I managed to persuade Ruth up for a visit to MK for the weekend of 20/21 (the recent murder – see above – having only added fuel to her argument that it’s no fit place to live). On the Friday evening we went into Stony Stratford (as a far more enticing option for drinks and dinner than Wolverton) and had a drink at the Vaults before trying out the restaurant of The Bull next door (pleasant enough pub but food a bit disappointing). Not sure whether I believe Stony’s story about the two former coaching inns on its high street having been the origin of the phrase ‘cock and bull story’. On the Sunday we took a walk along the disused railway line as far as the canal at Great Linford, where we turned off for a drink at The Black Horse before walking along the towpath back to Wolverton.

Mum gamely came up for a visit the following weekend – I say ‘gamely’ as it seemed to involve a circa 4-hour train journey; for travelling east-west Milton Keynes might as well be in bloody Lincolnshire. After giving her lunch I drove us out north of Milton Keynes via Haversham and Hanslope to Salcey Forest, as I’d seen something a while ago to suggest there was a sculpture trail there. In the event we didn’t come across the trail or indeed any reference to it on the signage, though we did have a pleasant walk in the woods once we were away from the central car park/playground/ice cream area. We did indulge in an ice cream ourselves at the end of our walk.

Mum on forest seat

Have since tried to find out more about Salcey Forest but without much success. Mum was interested in the bit in the centre of the map labeled ‘Salcey Lawn’ and marked as private. I’ve gathered that Salcey Lawn is a house, as I found this entry on British Listed Buildings, but no picture – indeed have drawn a blank on trying to Google any images of it. It must be a shy, elusive type of house. I did find this picture labelled “House at the start of the drive to Salcey Lawn’, but that was as close as I got.

The British Listed Buildings text notes that Salcey Lawn was “formerly the seat of a younger branch of the Fitzroy family”. I gather FitzRoy is the family name of the Dukes of Grafton, so assume it’s the same family, though could find nothing about which bit of them lived at Salcey Lawn or when/if they left. (Relevant to nothing, but how young is the current Duke of Grafton? It’s obscene. I realize dukedoms are inherited, not striven for, but really.)

Apparently Salcey Forest once had its own railway station, though it sounds as though it was one of the shortest-lived stations ever; I quote: “The station was not situated near any settlement and only saw passenger services for four months, it being most likely an error of judgement by the railway company”.

In the evening we dined at the Calcutta Brasserie, the most upmarket-looking of Stony Stratford’s circa half a dozen Indian restaurants. The Calcutta is housed in a converted chapel, so I had been curious to go there partly on that account; also I did have a takeaway chicken dish from there while staying at the Old Stratford Travelodge last year and thought it pretty nice. In the event Mum and I both thought the food was very good and it’s certainly an interesting setting for a restaurant. Mum did a bit of cunning Googling and discovered that the building (of which the restaurant occupies only part, the bit that looks like a chapel) appears to have been originally built as a school and later occupied by the Fegan's Home for Boys.

Mum on platform

Stylish white fence. And mat.

On the Sunday we went out for a walk – despite the rain – along the same route that Ruth and I had walked the previous weekend, this time going a little further as far as the platform of the former Great Linford station. The last train ran through in 1967 and it evidently then fell into general disarray - there are some interesting photographs here. Today, the platform area is amazingly well kept with a neat flowerbed and everything. We went for lunch at The Black Horse and then did the canal walk back to Wolverton Park.

The garden at the house has been looking jolly pretty lately. Ruth’s painting of our side of the fence along the side return has helped with the trendy urban air we’re going for. Also, the grasses behind the water feature have become amazingly swishy.

Day in court (almost)

Following the incident back in March, I subsequently received – to my surprise – a letter from the Criminal Justice System, asking me to go to court to give evidence. Had not expected this given that the police officer who took my statement had advised me that she didn’t think the case would go any further. They do ask you as part of taking a statement whether you’d be willing to go to court if necessary, and I had admittedly said Yes, purely to show willing and not imagining that I’d actually have to do it. However. 

Subsequently had various contacts with the Thames Valley Witness Care Unit - WCUs apparently having been set up as part of the No Witness, No Justice project, a joint police and CPS initiative to try to ensure witnesses get a better deal.

As part of this being called to give evidence business, I encountered the poisoned concept of a ‘reserve list’. Seemingly Crown Courts don’t set actual dates for most trials (though I read somewhere that magistrates courts apparently do) but instead put them on ‘reserve lists’ for specified two week periods, during which time they’ll be put on the list of trials for the following day if there’s sufficient court space. If the trial doesn’t get heard during that two-week period, the court apparently just gets to set another two-week period, during which witnesses have to put their lives on hold again and be ready to drop everything to go to court the following day. No idea how long this could potentially go on. In the event, I got the call last Thursday afternoon to attend court on Friday, the last day of the two-week window, so I dutifully turned up at Aylesbury Crown Court for 10am on Friday morning. Was met by a pleasant volunteer from the Witness Service – a charity, not the same as the Witness Care Unit – who showed me and two other women downstairs into the basement and into a tiny little room which is apparently all Aylesbury has by way of witness facilities. There isn’t even anywhere to get a drink – you have to ask permission to go out of the building and buy a takeaway coffee and bring it back. The Witness Service man did express sympathy for us re the facilities and told us that if only our cases were being heard at Amersham, that has a lovely witness suite. Great; thanks for that.

The two other women who arrived at the same time as me – one in her 50s, one in (I’d guess) her 80s and evidently her mother – were connected with the other case being heard at Aylesbury that day, but it wasn’t long before the victim in my case turned up with his mum and stepdad, completely filling the tiny witness room. In fairness to the lad he did thank me for helping him, and his (bright orange spray-tanned) mother thanked me and shook my hand. However, both the lad (I’m calling him a lad; he was apparently 25, but I am getting quite old) and his mother were seemingly unaware that they should not be talking in any detail about the case in my hearing, or else were unwilling to pay any attention to this rule, as they related the details of it to the other woman and her mother (in exchange, 50-something was v. keen to share the details of her assault by her schizophrenic neighbour armed with a screwdriver). Eventually I got up and said I’d have to leave the room as they were talking about the case, and wandered the corridor for a bit until Witness Service Man (henceforth WSM) returned and allowed me to sit in the office along with another witness in the other case, who’d arrived too late to fit into the witness sitting room (the latter a somewhat overblown term for the actual facilities).

By 1pm neither of the cases had been called – this despite the fact that we’d all been told to turn up for 10am – and WSM came to tell us that the lawyers were breaking for lunch. Great. Bought an M&S sandwich and mooched about Aylesbury, imagining lawyers in a banqueting hall somewhere laughing and throwing bones over their shoulders. Returned to the court at 2pm to be told apologetically by WSM that it had been decided that my evidence was not required and I was being released. While undoubtedly relieved not to have to be cross-examined, which I can’t say I’d been looking forward to, was peeved that this couldn’t have been decided earlier in the proceedings – ideally, before I’d used up a morning of my life driving to Aylesbury and then sitting in a cellar for three hours. Bade goodbye to WSM and returned to my car and thence to Reading.

Spirits rose slightly on sunny pleasant drive on country roads via Chinnor and then my usual route south via Watlington. Went for dinner that evening with Ruth at the Suwanna where I shared my views on The Justice System In This Country.

Postscript 
Received an email update today from Kirsty, my Witness Care Officer, as follows:

I have now been able to speak to the Crown Prosecution Service at Court who confirmed the reason you did not need to give evidence on Friday was that the defence agreed that your statement was OK to use without them needing to cross examine you. I’m sorry that defence only made this decision last minute.

Perhaps my statement was so watertight that the defence couldn't possibly see how they'd pick any holes in it?

Kirsty later sent a further follow up to say that there had been a verdict, and that the defendant had been found not guilty to one of the two counts, and that the jury had been unable to reach a verdict on the second count. Apparently the latter means that the CPS has to decide whether to proceed to a retrial on the second count at some point. Currently unsure as to whether the 'no verdict' count is one that my evidence would relate to. Kirsty added optimistically "Hopefully if they do proceed to a re trial you will not need to attend", but we'll see.

Rundown of May

Top of Primrose Hill

Kicked off May with a day’s leave and an afternoon and evening in London. Arrived in town around midday, grabbed a takeaway lunch from itsu and set off to do one of my three-miles-four-times-a-week scheduled walks. Walked up through Regent’s Park and out the entrance near the zoo, crossed the road and walked up Primrose Hill, where there were a number of people sunning themselves. Meandered back down the other side of the park and ended my walk at the Wellcome Collection, where I had a cup of tea and then a wander around the ‘Institute of Sexology’ exhibition. The exhibition, which runs until September, is an eclectic mix of interesting stuff - as well as the stuff you’d expect on Alfred Kinsey and on Masters and Johnson, and on Marie Stopes’ work on birth control, there’s a section on Wilhelm Reich’s absurdly wacky Orgone Energy Accumulators, with some charming film footage of use of one such device. There’s also some interesting old film showing various species’ mating practices, including a bit on the unusual mating habits of the porcupine (the male anoints the female with a urinary shower – quelle romance).

Alfred Kinsey abandoned his earlier career as an expert on gall wasps to found the Institute for Sex Research. The current Wikipedia entry on Kinsey under ‘Personal life’ is so absurd – and the last sentence seemingly such a non sequitur, unless I’m missing something – that I feel compelled to reproduce it here.

Digressing a bit but sticking with sexual topics: the OU hosted this event back in April. I’m sure it was actually full of serious academic discourse, but it’s difficult to shake off a picture of dodgy-looking men shuffling in in macs.

After leaving Wellcome I wandered down to Soho and walked around for a while before meeting Ruth for dinner, which we had at the lovely Jamon Jamon, tucked away over the other side of Charing Cross Road and a little oasis of peace after the crowds of drinkers spilling out onto pavements. After dinner we went to see Jen Brister at the Soho Theatre – we had seen and enjoyed Brister’s supporting act at South Street Arts a year or so ago, though we didn’t enjoy her set quite as much on this occasion as – perhaps inevitably given the then-impending election – it contained a bit too much political stuff for either of our tastes.

Tanners Lane

Walking targets continue and still enjoying tracking with MapMyWalk. Three highlights from May:

Walk 1, a tramp up Peppard Road through Emmer Green, pausing to look at some cute baby moorhens on Emmer Green Pond, before turning down Kidmore End Road and heading out past Reading Golf Course, turning left down Tanners Lane (all this quite adventurously out-in-the-country for me) and then down the track connecting Tanners Lane with Highdown Hill Road, and then back into Caversham.

Oakgrove

Walk 2 has become a pre-work staple: up north from the OU's campus through Ouzel Valley Park, skirting Monkston Park, thence past Waitrose into the new Oakgrove development, then across to Woolstone and down through Woughton on the Green back to the OU. The houses and flats on the new development are by and large nice-looking and more interesting than the dull faux-classic dross that gets built these days. There was unfortunately a fire in one of the new buildings recently; I saw the smoke from campus and did wonder what was going on.

Walk 3: a meander one Sunday recently when up in MK. Walked into New Bradwell and then down Bradwell Road to locate the redway that goes along the route of the former Wolverton to Newport Pagnell railway line, a victim of the Beeching axe in 1962. I assume the platform in the picture was part of the former Bradwell railway station. Some old pictures of the station here, including things in a bit of a state in 1976, presumably before the redway was set up along that stretch. I only walked along a short stretch, westwards back towards the V6 - partly because I'm always a bit spooked out by disused railway lines. I maintain that it's not at all irrational to worry about phantom trains hurtling towards you. I may go for a bit of a cycle along it at some point, if I can ever heave myself back onto a bicycle.

Took a scan of my last-ever tax disc, to keep as a future record of How Things Used to Be. Seems weird to have a blank space in the windscreen. Must search for any companies doing cute smiley faces or similar. Various suggestions here about what the empty holder could be used for (actually I think I chucked my holder – maybe that was premature). Or why not replace it with an artwork.

Willow continues in seemingly robust health, despite our having been warned by Sandra of RRR over a year ago that her slowness to gain weight probably indicated a tumour and we should prepare for her not to last that long. While Harley, when released into the garden, skips about prettily among the plants, Willow shows a marked interest in the seamier side of things, usually to be found eating moss or bits of unidentifiable mulch or, as here, burrowing into the drain. As Ruth had blocked the entrance to the drain off with a brick, we weren't too alarmed by this until we saw her appearing to be turning and starting work on a tunnel under the path. Visions of her being lost under our neighbours' house have now led to further blocking off action. In revenge, she has been eating the hostas, which upset her stomach.

Wine tasting à quatre at Helen’s house on 15 May. As part of the seemingly numerous perks Helen receives with her job at the Prudential, she gets a free Gourmet Society card – I was unfamiliar with these, but apparently they can get you quite good discounts off restaurant bills, as well as other things including, in this case, a free Wine Tasting Experience.  As Helen is not a great consumer of wine, she kindly invited Ali, Ruth and me, who are reasonably great consumers of wine, to participate with her. We had been instructed not to drink anything in advance of the tasting – presumably to avoid contaminating our palates with supermarket plonk – and Ruth and I had dutifully abided by this, though Ali confessed to having tipped back a sneaky glass of white after getting in from work. In the event the chap doing it was delayed on another wine tasting and didn’t arrive until after 9pm, by which time we were almost ready to snatch his case of wine out of his hand. I think we were given 12 wines to taste in total, evenly split between white and red. We were told how to approach the wine, warming it in your hand and inhaling, then taking a sip and letting it rest in your mouth before letting it fill your whole mouth – i.e. including down sides of teeth – to get the full flavour. The last bit we didn’t care for as it felt too much like gargling – you certainly get an intense taste sensation from doing it, but I don’t think it’s something I’ll be doing regularly with wine. Interesting experience though. Left full of good intentions to buy fewer more expensive bottles of wine, and sip them in sophisticated ladylike fashion.

A Moon Jar

Ruth and I went for our usual mooch around Caversham Arts Trail on Saturday 17th. Started, at Ruth’s request, by trekking up to Caversham Park Village to call on Roger Smalley. Mr Smalley is a talented sculptor and his pieces do appeal, but he seems to have little idea how to market and sell his work – despite hinting that he wasn’t selling as many pieces as he’d like, he appeared somewhat confused when I enquired about the price of a small piece and gave the impression of not being too sure whether he wanted to sell it. He also regaled us with how few visitors he’d had during the Arts Trail and how it really wasn’t worth his participating and how he doesn’t attend the annual Contemporary Art Fair any more as it’s far too commercial – i.e., presumably, filled with people who actually want to sell their work. We moved on as soon as we could over to Kidmore Road and lunch at The Grosvenor, before visiting 224 Kidmore Road where I, finally, bought one of Debbie Page’s Moon Jars. Don't have a handy photo of it, but it's very similar to the one in this picture.

Ruth and Alys

Spent four nights staying at Mum and Dad’s place in Abergavenny while they were away on their recent Italian rail tour, Mum’s 70th birthday present from Dad. Spent a morning in Hay-on-Wye, where I hadn’t been for a while. We realized on entering the town that the morning we’d chosen was actually the first day of the Hay Festival; in the event, although there were obvious signs of the festival being set up, the town wasn’t overly crowded. Perhaps Day 1 only features the lesser-known literary type. We had a pleasant browse around including a trip to Booth’s and a browse in the Cinema Bookshop (prize for most obscure tome spotted so far has to go to A History of the National Union of Boot and Shoe Operatives, 1874-1957). We would have had lunch in Booth's café, which Mum has recommended, but in the event weren't hungry enough so instead we bought a pie in the butcher's to take back to the house.

The Enlarger

Dave and Hazel and the little girlies visited on the Saturday and Nia briefly went in the paddling pool, before I think realizing quite quickly that it wasn’t really that warm. Alys slept obligingly in one or other of our laps for pretty much the whole day. I've gathered since then that she does now regularly have her eyes open, so am looking forward to meeting her in a wakeful state. Hannah and Henry came up from Bristol to spend Saturday evening and then stay a day or so with plans to take back with them sundry pieces of photographic equipment that Hannah had recently purchased from eBay, including this scary enlarger which was occupying the front room looking like a giant praying mantis. It was apparently bound for the bathroom of Hannah's quite small flat, which she seems to have plans to adapt to function as a darkroom.

British summer spirit

Finished off May (more or less) by going for breakfast with Ray on his boat - currently still moored at the Thames & Kennet Marina, though Ray claims to have plans to go travelling the waterways any day now. It was arguably not quite warm enough to sit outside on his deck, but we were keen to do so having not done it for a while, so mufflered up. He elaborated to us his plans for a re-configuration of the boat's interior, though he later phoned me to say he'd decided to put this off until the winter.

My First Quiche Lorraine

As a final comment on May, I have branched out into quiche cookery. Following Delia closely, obviously, I have now produced several, all of which have miraculously avoided soggy bottom issues. Am quite inspired.

How Old Do I Look?

What’s happened over the last month? Well, there’s the election. Can’t come up at the moment with any suitable trenchant commentary, but Dave’s probably said it all here and here.

Turning to more trivial amusements to divert myself, had a go with the ‘How old do I look?’ tool at http://how-old.net after becoming aware of it popping up several times on my Facebook newsfeed. Unfortunately, became so incensed by its first couple of assessments of my age, that I decided to conduct a scientific study of its accuracy, by plumbing into it a dozen photos of me taken over the course of the last 30-odd years.

Here they are, arranged in the order that How-Old.net had me, with my actual age (approximate, in the case of the non-digitally-dated photos) below them. The first and last photos are indeed the earliest and latest taken, though the first has me six years older than I actually was at the time, and the last I don’t want to talk about.

Actual age: 13	Actual age: 22	Actual age: about 27
Actual age: 18 or 19	Actual age: about 35	Actual age: 40
Actual age: 40	Actual age: 40	Actual age: 45
Actual age: 40	Actual age: 40	Actual age: 45

Further fascinating observations testifying to the crudeness of the tool:

• The two photos that have me as 27 were actually taken sixteen years apart, the first (the one in which I look like a hostile Sue Lawley on steroids) was taken in 1987, the second in 2003. In the first, the preceding few years hadn’t gone that well, whereas in the second I’d obviously re-discovered some youthful joie de vivre. 
• Photos 6 and 10 were taken within a few seconds of each other on the same day. One may conclude that a smile takes years off you? Though that’s then contradicted by photos 7 and 8. 

Obviously, am not going to take any of the above seriously. Though perhaps it's time to start going to bed with blobs of night cream over face. Did/do women actually do this?