Contract news; visiting; wealth

Remarkably good news at the end of June that my fixed-term contract is to be replaced with a permanent (or, more correctly, ‘open-ended’) contract from 1 August. Although I knew this was possibly on the cards, I had been told not to get my hopes up given that there has been a moratorium on the creation of new permanent posts for the past few years. My colleagues Guy and Young Claire, two other fixed-termers who’ve been in the unit a few years, were also included in the good news. To celebrate, I bought this OU mug to accompany my Friday pain au chocolat from The Hub.

Travelodges continue. Had my first week at the Bedford Marston Moretaine hotel a few weeks ago, a traditionally-placed Travelodge next to a dual carriageway and surrounded by little else other than a garage forecourt and a Little Chef. I wasn’t sure if Little Chefs were still in business, but evidently some are. In fairness to them, they do open at 7am, which is useful; I had breakfast there one of the days I was there and was served with quite a passable cafetiere of coffee and French toast.

Have been vaguely worried that the staff at the various hotels I stay at might be recognizing me by now, but had been trying not to think about it. Illusions were dashed while staying at the Buckingham hotel the other week and hearing the receptionist call out “Emma!” as I passed the reception desk. One day I shall look back on all this and laugh. Or chronicle it in some surprise bestseller.

Had a long weekend the first weekend in July at Dave and Hazel’s Saturday afternoon and night, and then on to my parents’ house for Sunday through to Tuesday. Surprisingly fine weather in Newport on the Saturday; we were able to walk to their local park and watch Nia run about and have a bit of a go on the playground equipment. She appears to be developing into a gung-ho sort of little girl which is all to the good. Dave cooked a characteristically good dinner on the Saturday night.

We were diverted on the way there via the old Severn Bridge, carrying what used to be the M4 during my childhood but is now the M48. While crossing it, Ruth – who hadn’t been across it before – commented at the much better view compared to the new bridge, due to the protective barriers along each side of the new bridge, presumably erected to improve wind resistance and stop the bridge frequently having to close in blustery weather. I’d probably sacrifice a good view to reduce my chances of being blown clean off the bridge.

While browsing Wikipedia, have just found out about the Severn Railway Bridge, which I don’t think I ever knew about. How fascinating.

On the Sunday we drove up to Abergavenny and I presented Mum with my (finally) typed draft of the 48 letters written by her to my aunt and grandmother during our stay in Indonesia from 1978 to 1980. I left her with instructions to read it and choose appropriate photographs, while I am now browsing Blurb and other similar ‘make your own book’ sites. On the Monday we went out for a walk northwards along the Gavenny River and under the A465, past Tredilion Park and up New Court Lane to the Court Cupboard Craft Gallery cafe. Pleasant enough spot, though the café was staffed by a woman who didn’t seem prepared to actually receive any punters – I tried to order an iced water but was told they didn’t have any ice, despite its being a warm day; Ruth tried to order one of their advertised cold drinks only to be told they hadn’t put any Cokes in the fridge; she was reduced to asking what exactly they had in the fridge; the hostess rootled around and found a Tango, so she took that. I was a bit irritated, as well as extremely hot, by this point, so threw a KitKat into the mix and scoffed half of that.

Non-provision of ice, and indeed non-chilling of drinks, is one of the occasional things that really annoys me about my countrymen. It’s getting better – in any town bar you’ll get a lavish portion of ice with a drink, but in some more traditional pubs and cafes, not only ice but even chilling the drinks appears to be considered some sort of optional extra, or perhaps some foreign abomination. Indeed, my father, admirable in other ways, refuses to chill lager and comments on my ‘Australian’ tastes in beer whenever I have occasionally been known to shove a couple of his lagers into the freezer an hour before I want to drink them. Perhaps it’s an age thing – at my lunch last Sunday with Barbara – see below – B laid great emphasis to the waiter that her elderflower cordial was to come with No Ice. This despite the warmth of the day and the fact that we had been sitting outside the pub in somewhat uncomfortable heat for half an hour, as we’d arrived too early.

Returning to the walk: the rain set in on the way back, but Ruth took this picture of my parents and me to preserve the moment. In the evening we went for a nice dinner at Plas Derwen, the hotel further up the Monmouth Road that several of us have booked into for my parents' upcoming Golden Wedding party at the end of August.

My parents’ other cat Lydia appears to have blossomed somewhat since the passing of Emrys, and according to them she appears much friendlier and more relaxed. She remains, however, a tad rotund. Amused to hear from Mum that there is now a special clinic at their vets for overweight pets. Imagining Lydia being subjected to a motivational lecture before being weighed in front of a sympathetic gathering of other fat cats.

Dad has recently, with Dave’s help, filled in the pond that they inherited with the house, part of his master plan to make space for a small lawn. Being a sentimental type I was a bit worried about the fate of the wildlife that was probably making a home in the pond. Highly amused though to receive the following in an email from Mum the next day:

We sneaked out last evening with a frog and a newt from our ex-pond and rehomed them in a lovely pond down on the river meadows. I hope they settle in and make friends. There was another frog but he must have escaped overnight.

I was left with an image of my parents clad all in black with balaclavas, sneaking down the road in the dead of night carrying an assortment of small amphibians. Nice that the creatures have (hopefully) been re-homed though.

Went over to Maidenhead on Sunday for the first time in ages, to take Ray's 'Auntie' Barbara out for lunch. Barbara is in fact not Ray's aunt but his father's cousin, but has always lived near his parents' home so seems to reckon as a closer part of the family than the relationship perhaps implies. She and I always got along well and indeed I always looked on her as something of a role model; Barbara is a retired medical secretary who  has never married nor had children, but has kept up an impressively active life involved in any number of groups and committees, including the National Council of Women. I hadn't seen her in at least a year, but it struck me there was no reason I couldn't visit her sans Ray, and luckily she seemed to leap at the suggestion. B is now in her eighties and appeared frailer than when I last saw her, and I got the impression her confidence to get out and about has been dented by deteriorating eyesight coupled with a fall she had a few months back. Despite this, her voice is as strong as ever and her hearing seemed fine (nothing worse than having to bellow into elderly people's ears) and we had a good catch up. After lunch at The Golden Ball at Pinkneys Green (evidently a popular Sunday lunch spot) she showed me round her somewhat overgrown garden and made me tea in her apparently freshly-tidied living room. I was pleased to see she's relocated her living room to one of the rooms at the front of the house, as it was much lighter and sunnier than the somewhat dingy room at the back that we always used to sit in.

More local news: no idea this tunnel existed, but opening it to the public sounds like a good idea. Also, took this pic a month or so ago of this impressive new set of steps in front of Reading station, part of the amazingly comprehensive overhaul the station is having. The developers have evidently gone ahead with the 'sinking' of Station Hill that was attracting controversy a few years ago. In fact, technically, it's not really sinking but restoring it to its original level as the road was evidently balanced on stilts over a void - wonder how it was ever designed this way? Intriguing.

Amused after closing an Intelligent Finance savings jar recently to receive a cheque for some unpaid interest. I guess small amounts mount up.