Afroblighty; junkyarding; sofa movements Part 1

On Thursday, took the ‘flagship’ 17 bus from the Three Tuns all the way through to Tilehurst for Book Group at Ali’s. We admired Ali’s newly redecorated living room and sympathised over Claire M’s story of that morning’s contretemps between a Tesco delivery lorry and her Smart car. The wee car is currently, not surprisingly, in for repairs. Although Helen seemed disappointed with her choice of book, Ali Shaw’s The Girl with Glass Feet, I had rather enjoyed it, although perhaps a little more resolution of things at the end, or at least some explanation of why Ida was turning into glass, might have been more satisfying.

Ruth and I went to South Street Arts on Friday to see Andi Osho’s show Afroblighty. Osho took up the whole first half of the show – about 45 minutes – with interaction with the audience, which struck me as risky but her handling of it was perfect, managing to make gentle comedy out of certain members of the audience while at the same time keeping the whole thing good-humoured. The second half of the show moved on more to what we had come to see, which was her reflections on growing up in the East End as a member of Britain’s Nigerian community. I would have preferred it if this slot had taken up a bigger proportion of the show, but she certainly knows how to manage an audience. Here's an Independent review of Afroblighty from the 2010 Edinburgh Fringe (the accusation of posturing is a bit harsh, but I thought similarly about the spoken-word piece at the end - keeping to comedy would have been better) and another rather more complimentary one of the same show.

Ruth and I had intended to go to an auction on Saturday, but got up too late to make the early-morning browsing slot, which had been our chief interest in going, so went for a leisurely breakfast at the Alto Lounge instead. We then hit the reclamation yard on Pell Street for a bit of a browse among the discarded Victorian fireplaces for an ash tray for ours, as it’s lost its original. We did sift through a big pile of rusting trays on a table, but none were the right size and shape. According to the chap there, they can be a bit hard to come by but he did suggest we could have one specially made. Unsure whether I want to go that far at the moment. On the way back to Caversham we called in to Fanny’s Antiques on Lynmouth Road, though this is definitely more of an antiques arcade than a junk yard. Had a pleasant browse – slightly alarmed at the parlous state of their building – roof leaking all over the place and visibly propped up on supports in several areas.

Had originally planned to visit Kew Gardens with Ray on Sunday but he had unfortunately sustained a knee injury the previous Monday falling down the steps into his boat, so wasn’t up to the walking involved. We met for a late breakfast and instead watched some of a DVD about the Grand Union Canal that I had given him for his birthday. Rock on. Also admired the new glossy paintwork around his windows.

Met the lovely Sue B on Tuesday for a post-work drink in O’Neills. My afternoon spent discussing Annual Report with boss paled into inadequacy beside hers spent playing football with disadvantaged youth. Sue now works for include and seems to have been plunged straight off into dealing with excluded teenagers, in addition to working for Reading Borough Council as a youth worker on Thursday evenings. Good on her.

Met Ray for an after-work supper on Wednesday at the Green Olive in Henley; he had managed to acquire a voucher which entitled diners to four free meze dishes (of the restaurant’s choosing; apparently they are trying out a new menu) on the proviso that you gave them written feedback afterwards. We duly scoffed our way through lamb koftas, some rather odd fishcakes, garlic bread and a potato and onion dish, and I gave a written thumbs-up to three out of the four.

This week Ruth finally had the sofa that she bought on our Christmas weekend in Winchester three years ago, and that has been in storage at her parents’ home ever since, shipped (or rather, driven in the back of a van) to the house. After an initial quote of £220 for the transport, she managed to find a site online where you say what you want ferried from where, and someone with a van who’s going that way will bid for the work. Nifty system, although it did mean that the sofa ended up being delivered at 7am by a chap who apparently spoke little English but did manage to say “Your mother is very strong”. Visions of him reclining against his van with a fag at the collection point, while Ruth’s approaching-70-year-old mother tossed the sofa lightly into the van with one arm.

Have made the reluctant decision to get rid of my orange sofa. It's about 11 years old, which certainly isn't antique for a sofa, but the covers are now refusing to come up clean after a wash and, more damningly, the rabbits have between them done a good deal of damage to it, with the result that they are now actually able to get inside it and run around. Intend to purchase nice new sofa at some point in future, which will be kept at least a mile away from the nearest bunny.