Fat Lava; Richmond skinless sausages; clematis

Ruth and I went for a stroll on Saturday morning up the Oxford Road, a major West Reading thoroughfare that’s known for its ‘local colour’ (prostitution and frequent drug busts). It’s an intriguing mix of halal supermarkets, Caribbean grocers, charity outlets and licensed sex shops. We walked up as far as Mid20C, an interesting little shop that claims, no doubt correctly, that it’s “Reading's first and only retro shop selling furniture, homewares and collectables from the 50's 60's 70's and 80's”. On this occasion we found that the whole shop had been temporarily given over to the ‘Fat Lava II’ exhibition, an exhibition of West German studio pottery of the ‘50s, ‘60s and ‘70s. See here to know more about the pottery. The shop was packed, though I discovered later that we had inadvertently turned up on the launch day – evidently it runs until 21 June.

None of the stuff really grabbed me though Ruth bought a small vase from among the pieces for sale. I’m sure it’s not a comment on pottery enthusiasts in general, but the clique gathered around the central counter had a vague look of a Star Trek convention about them: they were mainly male, several heavily overweight, and one with long unwashed hair and wearing a flannel shirt and a fleece, even though it was a baking hot day. One of the aforesaid gaggle waylaid Ruth after her purchase trying to explain who had painted her vase and how it was done etc and offering her a detailed tour of the rest of the exhibits, which she declined.

On Sunday we wandered up to the Oakley Road allotments to have tea and biscuits with Ray and commiserate over the white rot that has afflicted the onions and garlic he planted last winter. The RHS has this to say, not very encouragingly, about onion white rot.

As it’s been an uneventful week I’ll report that I got away with serving Richmond skinless sausages for dinner last night. I get occasional cravings for these little beauties, which are perfectly even, straight, stiff, pink little sticks of sausagey goodness. Here’s a sculpture I made out of some a while ago. Waitrose, perhaps unsurprisingly, don’t stock them, so I had to go to the Friar Street branch of Sainsburys, which I don’t normally venture into, to obtain them. (Sainsburys is a perfectly fine supermarket; it’s just that Reading’s Friar Street branch is full of mad people. On this occasion, I was held up at the checkout by the customer in front of me, a 60-something woman with a long grey ponytail who was swaying violently from side to side as she searched fruitlessly through her handbag for God knows what – she’d already paid.)

Finally: the clematis has produced three flowers so far! A record! Evidently it quite likes its new spot.