Polyfilla; weekend stuff; local news

Managed to miss Book Group on 29^th through ending up being late with my checks on the Scottish Funding Council Final Figures and not leaving work until 7pm, by which time I was no longer in the mood to drive to Reading. Most annoying, as I had finished and quite enjoyed Barbara Kingsolver’s The Lacuna. Instead went back to the flat and ate pasta with some leftover French beans, which definitely don’t go with pasta.

Had a welcome day off on Friday 30^th, though my planned spa day with Ruth’s birthday vouchers didn’t come off – evidently I’d left it too late to book the package I wanted at Nirvana Spa near Wokingham. Instead stayed at the house and met with Albert Klossi of A-S Building Services, a cheery young chap who had replied registering interest in our bathroom job when I had (apparently) logged it on MyBuilder.com last year and then promptly forgotten about it. Am hoping his cheerful ‘can do’ attitude is matched by extremely reasonable rates. Encouragingly, he invited us to go along on Saturday to visit his team’s current job on Highmoor Road, where they are fitting three new bathrooms and doing a whole shedload of plastering. All looked great, but we’re trying not to get too excited until we see the quote.


Decided to have a go at applying Polyfilla to some of the many chasms in the attic wall, prior to doing more wall painting. After quickly using up an entire tube of the convenient ready made comes-in-a-tube stuff, we decided it would be more economical to buy a box. Indeed true, provided that you don’t waste half the box in one of those disastrous whoops-added-too-much-water-let’s-add-more-powder-oh-shit episodes. Here’s a picture of my failed attempt to mix some. Ruth eventually took this away from me and mixed me a small amount, which I was duly given and told to apply carefully. I may be more suited to baking.

Am now sharing my office with fellow newbie Claire, who has joined the Information Office as a fixed-term maternity cover to help cope with the outbreak of pregnancies. Claire has just finished her PhD at the University of Hertfordshire, in something to do with cognitive science which apparently involved programming little robots. Have the strong impression the interview panel found her PhD more interesting than mine. Voiced this concern to Bart, a member of both our interview panels, who replied "Funny, that". Am insulted.

A record four-hour drive back to Reading last Friday, thanks to a coach fire on the M40 which led to its being closed between junctions 4 and 5. Kicked myself for deciding against leaving at junction 6 and taking the cross-country route, as I sailed past the junction just before 7pm and straight into the jam, where I remained until finally leaving the motorway at 8.45pm, after travelling about two miles in total. Got to listen to the whole of BBC Radio Oxford’s 70s request phone-in, which surely has to be considered a blessing.

Ruth and I whiled away a couple of hours on Saturday afternoon watching Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, her latest LoveFilm offering. It was about as entertaining as a two-hour long marital row sounds, but no doubt good to have seen it.

In an effort to get a little fresh air and exercise on Sunday, we drove over to Twyford (picked fairly at random) intending to have a bit of a stroll around Loddon Nature Reserve. Ruth decided she was hungry for lunch as soon as we arrived, and as her metabolism admits of no delay we had to find a pub. Perversely, the first one we ended up trying was The Golden Cross on Waltham Road, an unappealing place that stank of dog and had an air of rusting screen doors hanging off, etc - surprised at Twyford, a reasonably affluent little commuter town, having such a place but there you go. This piece from the Maidenhead Advertiser in July probably says it all. Drained our glasses quickly and retraced steps to the town centre, past this funeral directors, which Ruth mistook for a pub. Called in at The Duke of Wellington; a lot nicer, but they weren't serving food. Ended up at The Waggon & Horses, a civilised enough place on the road back out to Charvil, with OK food. We had a brief stroll around the nature reserve after lunch, but didn't linger as it was quite muddy.

After some internal wrangling, have decided to stay at Old Groveway for a further six months. The wee house itself is lovely; less entranced by the area. Not so much rough, as in fairness I’ve encountered no trouble since moving here; more that I’m not sure I’ll get used to the feeling of living on an island surrounded by dual carriageways in a town with no centre in a conventional sense. Should probably give it a year though, to say I’ve done the Milton Keynes experience. Intend fleeing next May to one of the older towns on the edge of MK, probably Stony Stratford or Newport Pagnell.

Amused by a short piece in the ‘Courtwatch’ section of last week’s Milton Keynes Citizen, reporting that a 26-year-old man had appeared at MK magistrates’ court charged with stealing a flapjack to the value of £1.10 from BhS. In addition to a fine, he was apparently ordered to pay a victim surcharge of £15. To compensate BhS for their distress over the loss of the flapjack?

Sticking with desperate local news, Zorba’s Mr Cheezzy Chips (note two 'z's) on Station Road in Reading, opposite what is now the Malmaison Hotel, has been forced to shut for two months by the council, as punishment for acting as a magnet for drunks looking for late-night food and a bit of a scrap. In a previous incarnation as Butty’s Coffee House, the joint achieved local notoriety for being the scene of a murder when the then-proprietor bludgeoned his business partner to death in the kitchen and then carried on serving meals, presumably just stepping over the bloodied corpse on his way to the fridge. In my young day, the shop used to be a standard greasy spoon café, where I remember Mum taking us occasionally for a lemonade or similar, probably when on the way back to the station. Can’t remember what it was called then.