Outdoor cinema; kamikaze bunny episode 2; artistry

The torrential rain over the last couple of weeks, ironically following swiftly on from the announcement of drought and hosepipe bans, has raised the little River Ouzel to quite impressive levels. My normal walk to work via Woughton and Ouzel Valley Park has proved too boggy this last week or so, so have been forced to find an alternative 'dry' route, through Walnut Tree and Kents Hill. Rather less scenic but also less risk of arriving at work covered in mud.

Went to an evening showing of The Exorcist in Caversham Court Gardens on Friday night, courtesy of new venture Summer Screens. Seems like a great idea in principle and a lovely setting by the river, but the evening suffered from a few technical hitches. Firstly, the people running the advertised BBQ had apparently pulled out at the last minute, with the result that a number of people who presumably, like us, had not eaten dinner beforehand had to rush out before the film to the nearest fish and chip shop. Ruth went down on our behalf while I bagged front row deckchairs, though as I’m not fond of chip shop-type chips I only had a few – had a large breakfast the following morning to compensate. The more major hitch was that shortly into the film strains of Fleetwood Mac started being clearly audible via our headsets over the film’s soundtrack. My initial thoughts were mild surprise that The Exorcist would have been remastered with a Fleetwood Mac soundtrack, before it became obvious that the music had nothing to do with the film but was evidently a radio station. Later in the film the music was replaced by bursts of the news, including the day’s update on the Leveson enquiry. All a bit of a shame, as it’s not a bad film and is wearing its (nearly) 40 years reasonably well. The poor owner has since sent round a long grovelling apology to everyone who attended. Ruth feels sorry for him, so we'll probably go to another one.

Saturday started well when we became vaguely aware, while still in bed, of Harley making noise at the entrance to bedroom 3, as he has been on an intense quest to gain access to the room ever since his way was barred, including, evidently, shredding the bottom of the curtain that's currently hanging in the doorway. Something prompted me to get up and see what he was doing, and after a moment or so I registered that he had a cord from the curtain tightly around his neck. After yelling to Ruth to fetch a pair of scissors, I released him. Her immediate response was "Oh Harley, are you all right?", whereas I think mine was along the lines of "YOU STUPID STUPID RABBIT". That's the second time he's cheated death. Given that rabbits are renowned for dying all over the place at the slightest provocation, he can't have many lives left.

Our living room is now graced, since Sunday, by a genuine Liam Smalley. Last weekend was Caversham Arts Trail and we took the opportunity to combine a walk with a bit of culture. We started with visiting the home of sculptor Roger Smalley, who certainly seems prolific - the living room, garden and garage of his unassuming semi in Caversham Park Village were crammed with pieces, and he told us that he sculpts during the day and works in a local off-licence by night. I liked a number of his pieces, but he struck us as being somewhat lacking in business acumen - not that I'm an expert, but he apparently doesn't have a website as he doesn't really do computers, and when Ruth asked if he often showed his work he replied "No, not really". Unsure how he's going to sell many pieces at that rate. The wall of his living room also featured some paintings by his son Liam, colourful Lowry-esque street scenes of Reading and Henley, one of which Ruth fell for - a scene of Queen Victoria Street in Reading, where our favourite Bella Italia is located. Still not 100% sure how I feel about the painting, but as it's now ensconced on our living room wall, I daresay it'll grow on me.

From the Smalleys, we proceeded to Mays Barn on Peppard Road, where a number of artists were showing, including a ghastly découpage business called Kitsch-en-Sync. From there we trekked across Caversham to the civilised pastures of Caversham Heights, to a house on St Peter's Avenue, also showing work by several artists. The lovely owner, painter Mary Phelan, offered us tea when we told her how far we'd walked, which was kind as otherwise there seemed to be only squash on offer. Nothing there that desperately struck us, but we had a bit of a snoop around her beautiful garden.

Ended the day by driving Ruth back to the Smalleys to pay for and collect the painting. Liam himself was there this time - I stayed in the car but apparently the youth looked overwhelmed at having a crisp £200 put into his hand. I wait to see whether he will one day become famous.