Willow; moths; inept photography; RIP Emrys

Willow, far from being less destructive than Lexie, is borderline worse, certainly as regards the furniture – she is so far less offended by shoes than Lexie was. Given access to the living room she will jump up onto the chairs at every opportunity and start munching. She is, though, also the friendliest rabbit we have yet encountered, pushing her head up into our hands to be stroked and jumping up onto the sofa and climbing all over our laps (albeit often while also trying to nibble clothing and the picnic blanket that currently covers Ruth’s mauled sofa). Feebly, we are so taken with her on this account that there is no question of returning her to the rescue centre, so we will just have to try to take whatever action possible to protect the furniture.

Ruth had a sort out and prune of her wardrobe the other week, which inspired me to have a sort through mine, though I lack her discipline and am still keeping a number of items of clothing that don’t currently fit me, in the optimistic hope that they might once I’ve shed that couple of stone that I’m going to lose any day now. I did though put a number of things on the charity/rag pile, including this pair of size 12 white jeans that I have owned for over 20 years, but which have only fitted me for probably about 3 of them altogether – they have always been my benchmark for whether I was at my (in my eyes) ideal weight, but I was persuaded that it was ridiculous to keep them.

Took a couple of more or less unworn skirts back to MK with me to advertise on the OU noticeboard, and have successfully sold both of them; one of them a frumpy Country Casuals just-below-the-knee number that I still didn’t feel quite old enough to wear (though actually the woman I sold it to was quite a bit younger), the other a short cream number from Zara, which was quite ludicrously marked XL but is a 12 at the largest – Zara is one of those shops best not shopped in if you’re over this size. I don’t think it quite fitted me in the shop so Christ knows why I bought it. Sold that one yesterday morning to a bubbly woman named Jenny who seemed delighted with it.

Managed to miss spotting Ed Miliband at the OU the other week, though Victoria did return to the office excitedly after getting her morning latte saying she’d seen him. I did though do my bit by pointing out that the intranet people had spelled his name wrong in the original piece. Well, it’s not hard to get these things right.

Moth-related emails from both of my parents over the last month, the one from Mum about the oak processionary moth, which has apparently been causing a kerfuffle in the Thames Valley area. Some aerial spraying of local woodland has been taking place, though this has apparently been condemned by wildlife groups – indeed, it’s hard to see how that sort of action wouldn’t kill other things besides the moth. A more recent BBC Berkshire article seems to claim that it has been responsible for a decline in blue tit numbers by depriving them of an important food source. B*stards. Received a photo from Dad a few days later of a pair of mating poplar hawk moths. They are indeed striking in appearance, but I have been vaguely squeamish about moths since the offputtingly large ones that we used to see in Indonesia years ago, though I don’t know what type those were. Perhaps these beauties?

Ruth and I went a few weeks ago to view the proposed redevelopment plans for Caversham’s precinct (officially known as St Martin’s Centre, according to the article, though I’ve never heard it referred to as such). The plans look very nice on the whole, though it seems to me a shame that it would apparently necessitate the removal of the mature trees that currently occupy the paved area between Costa and House of Cards (they are cunningly referred to in the Reading Post article linked above as ‘the existing non-native trees’ – aha, drum up support for their removal by making them sound like foreigners). Fully supportive of the proposed extension to Waitrose though – and relieved that there appear to be no plans to move the supermarket out of Caversham to a larger site, as is often the way these days – and the proposed revamp of the car park couldn’t hurt. After viewing the plans we went for dinner at Casa Roma, the latest in a line of restaurants to occupy the space on Caversham Road opposite TGI Fridays. Although it was a large brightly lit space and not very atmospheric – though the garishly kitsch artworks are endearing in a way – we were impressed with the food – we both ordered seafood dishes which came with a generous amount of actual seafood, not always the case – and with the staff.

Ray visited me during the last week in May while I was staying at the Buckingham Travelodge, and we went for dinner at Prego, an Italian restaurant on Buckingham’s High Street and rather the sort of place I wish we had in Caversham. Ray has managed to acquire a Land Rover Discovery from his friend Darren at the marina, which I was a bit stunned by although he appears mightily pleased with it.

Finally managed to overcome previous problems in trying to take out a new phone contract, and am now enjoying my new Galaxy S4. The whole ‘life companion’ bit is pretty corny, but its 13-megapixel camera does appear to take great pictures – better than those from my actual camera, a few-years-old Sony Cyber-shot with a piffling 8.1 megapixels. However, working out how to use it isn’t immediately straightforward, and the Dual Shot facility – which I couldn’t work out how to get out of at one point – seems irritatingly pointless. This is a facility which superimposes your own face in a postage-stamp-type frame over the main photo, as per this one, which I took accidentally in Mum's kitchen while trying to switch the wretched facility off. Am in agreement with this review, which describes it as “hilariously daft”.


The process of getting the new camera led to some more chat sessions with Vodafone, which are always fun.

While staying with Mum and Dad a few weeks ago Mum and I went to explore the lovely Gliffaes Tree Walk at the four-star Gliffaes Country House Hotel - the house is a bit of a monstrosity but the setting is beautiful. Could fancy the idea of a short break there, if the rooms weren't £200+ a night. Would have been a beautiful spot to take a few pictures, especially as the rhododendrons were just finishing, but I couldn’t get the phone’s camera to work – managed to unintentionally shoot a short video of Mum’s foot before getting it stuck again on the Dual Shot facility (evidence right).

Briefly cheered last Friday by thought of solution to housing crisis, but it was short-lived. My colleague Lizzie appeared at my office door asking if I’d seen the ad on the intranet for an apartment sublet in Woburn Sands, at a seemingly extremely reasonable £450 a month. I did duly express interest and drove over at lunchtime to meet the tenant, a swarthy German postdoc called Andy, and view the flat. Flat very nice, though my suspicions were slightly aroused by the sound of the parking arrangements, and the fact that both Andy and the owner of the flat would still want to sleep there for some of the time. I met the owner on campus that same afternoon, a young chap called Sam working on contract as a web developer. Very pleasant and laid-back, but I inferred quickly that Andy was in fact his lodger not his tenant (amazed at the number of people who don’t seem to know the difference) and that Sam, albeit claiming to spend most of his time with his girlfriend in France, evidently does spend a certain amount of time at the flat. Decided I wasn’t after a flat-share with a twenty-something, so bowed out, after having interrupted a fair portion of my Friday looking into it. TIRESOME.

Received news from Dad this morning that their now-elderly ginger cat Emrys has died. Mum got Emrys from the RSPCA sometime around 1999-2000, as I have this photo (left) in my collection labelled ‘Milly and Emrys 2000’. I believe he was thought to be possibly a couple of years old at the time of adoption, and had apparently been found wandering loose around Hereford. Emrys had, it has to be said, a somewhat spiky edge to his personality and was never a cat with whom one could let one’s guard down. Having said that, in later years he appeared to have become (slightly) more placid and enjoyed sitting on Mum’s or Dad’s laps – and indeed, often in their spot on the sofas while one or other of them sat on the floor. Also posting what must be one of the last photos of him, taken about a month ago lying on his mat.