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The Bull, Streatley

Two pubs in the space of a week! My social calender is a veritable whirlwind. I met my ex-colleagues for lunch today at The Bull in Streatley, which was very pleasant, the sort of place that feels cosy just to look at, although the fire burning in the inglenook did help with the whole ‘country pub’ atmosphere. But the best part was the drive out of Reading, and the beautiful views of the beech and sycamore trees growing on the hills of the North Downs, full of autumn colours. (Note to self: camera. That thing you moan about not using enough? That thing you could have taken with you to capture pictures of said beautiful views to share with the reader(s)? Need I say more?)

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Monday fun

Blimey, a whole week has passed already. This week, I have:
a) applied for three jobs and Been Seen by the JobCentre
b) made nice cake
c) been to Asda a few times
d) been a bit slacky on the domesticity front, truth be told, and
e) bought a lovely new jacket.

I’ve also discovered that there’s nowhere in the house where it’s comfortable to sit for longer than, say, five hours at a stretch without developing crippling back pain, but that’s not really something to admit to.

The JobCentre was quite painless this week, and fairly quiet without a repeat of the epic argument between the staff and a particularly irrritated ‘client’ which happened last time I was there. And no, the ‘client’ in question wasn’t me, although I was quite aggrieved at having been made to wait for half an hour beyond my appointment time. It may sound a bit sniffy, but I’m sure that if I’d been that late I would have had all sorts of official trouble, and the lady who I eventually saw would have been really cross.

I went into London after signing on to meet up with Pab and the others after their Greenbelt meeting; I had a bit of time before going to the office, so I walked up Oxford Street to the big John Lewis to get the jacket that I couldn’t really justify buying. On the way, I was struck (almost literally, in one case) by people thrusting free papers, flyers and adverts at me, often at face-level, as if a firm smack on the nose with a rolled up London Paper is going to improve my shopping experience. I don’t mind the determination of these people, it’s the sheer number which turns an already crowded and bustling street into a nightmare assault course. On the other hand, London at night does feel like a foreign capital; I love it.

Time to find some more jobs then! Or clean the sink. Sink first.

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Goodbye, old friend

It was a sad day today. The time had finally come to say goodbye to my old, trusty but rather rusty Rover 214.

Not high on the glamour stakes, the old thing cost me 800 quid three years ago and bar a couple of minor mechanical issues (new clutch, new bits of exhaust, new battery on the day I picked it up) it's been cheap to run and safe to drive. Two years of living in a coastal town, however, were enough to turn the once sound, shiny paintwork into a mass of acne-scarred rust bubbles, and sure enough time took its toll. The crunch point came just a few months ago when Pab discovered that turning the steering onto lock once parked, a safe and indeed commendable move in 99.9% of all other vehicles on the road, caused the steering column to seize. We discussed scrapping it on the journey home, sitting in the breakdown truck.

So it's come to this. Two careful owners, 101 000 miles on the clock, a long way from its original home in York, rusty, with moss growing in the windows and suffering from a flat battery and worn brake drums. Uneconomical to fix, it's worth practically nothing, but it's full of good memories: driving to Woodbridge for the first time, pootling around Dorset in the sunshine, driving in snow in Wales. My companion on countless stressful or fun journeys, and known fondly as Robert, I'm sorry to see it go.

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Weariness of the short-distance runner

Once upon a time, in what's fast becoming the dim and distant past, I used to be quite fit and active. I rowed three times a week, went to the gym, did circuit training, and went running. Over time, as different bits of me broke or generally packed up, I started doing yoga, pilates and more walking....and then gradually, nothing. This year has been one of the least active years of my adult life (largely due to the massive cost of the leisure centres nearby) and I'm starting to pay for it.

I went for a 'run' just now, and, even allowing for a brief stop when I tripped over a dog on the pavement, couldn't have been out for more than fifteen minutes.
One woeful mile...shame on me.