We spent a delightful Sunday this week. We had already planned for Mirinda to spend the night at the flat because of her first week at the new job, which included a conference which, while being the low point at the end, we decided to make as pleasant as possible.

After the usual trip into Farnham for lunch and other requirements as well as a Bob report on Claire’s latest progress, we set off for Hankley Common for a walk with the poodles.

It really is one of our favourite places. Apart from the beauty of the heathland, it is generally pretty much deserted and, on a fine day, glorious in the sunshine. And the day was beautifully blue. Hankley was as lovely as ever.

Hankley Common

The amazing thing is that, even though the heather is wearing its drab winter foliage, it’s still beautiful. It also helps mask the burnt bits by blending in perfectly.

True to form, there were only isolated pockets of dog walkers and walkers and a couple of girls on horses as we walked our usual route. It is so delightfully quiet – possibly one of the only places in Surrey where this happens with such regularity!

Back home, we had lunch and watched a few delightful episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm (we love Larry) before getting ready to head into town.

I was amazed that, for the first time in I don’t how long, the Jubilee Line was running a normal service on a Sunday. It would be a first for me. And then, it happened. A train or two broke down at London Bridge and the entire line was struck dumb. By the time we reached the barriers, it was suffering ‘severe delays’. We made a quick considered decision to donate a couple of fairs to Transport for London via our Oyster cards and headed back out and down to the ferry instead.

Of course, the sun was nearly down and the South Bank was as crowded as ever. The wheel looked lovely in the dying rays with a few contrails seeming to cut through it. I couldn’t resist taking a picture.

London Eye at sunset

The ferry ride was far more enjoyable than a sucky old tube train! Well, if you ignore the less than tepid coffee. According to Mirinda this is not generally the case so I can only blame the girl behind the bar. But, you can overlook such awful things when the view is so wonderful as the ferry chugs along the Thames. As we moved under Tower Bridge, all the tourists leapt forward to get photographs. It’s a lovely bridge, even with the scaffolding under it – I think they’re painting it.

We left the ferry at Canary Wharf and walked up to Waitrose so Mirinda could do her week’s shopping. On the way I stopped to get a photo of the tall illuminated buildings and their reflections in the water.

Canary Wharf on a Sunday night

Shopping at Waitrose in Farnham on a Sunday, means getting it all done by 4pm. I always thought it was a law that big shops had to close at 4pm. If this is the case, it clearly does not apply to Waitrose in Canary Wharf! Not only is it open till 6pm, it is also crowded with shoppers! In fact, the whole mall of shops below Canary Wharf was buzzing with activity. It could have been any day at any time. It felt alive. Like New York feels alive. Wonderful.

We dropped the shopping at the flat then, after settin’ a spell, we wandered down to Cafe Rouge for dinner. It was my choice and I fancied the duck. It was, as usual, delicious. Mirinda wondered what happened to the rest of the duck as Cafe Rouge only serve up a leg and thigh. I reckon they attach aluminium legs to the bodies and have Robot Duck Wars in the abattoir.

We also noticed they were offering a syllabub as a special dessert. Now, I make syllabub every now and then and it’s not normally available at restaurants (not that we’ve seen, anyway) so we thought we’d try it. We both wished we hadn’t. My tummy was still complaining by the time I made it home.

Anyway, we said our goodbyes outside the Tube station and, while Mirinda returned to her flat, I made my way back to Waterloo. Surprisingly, I made the train by about a minute. Talk about lucky.

After a long, lonely ride and chilly walk home, I managed to calm the poodles down before ringing Mirinda to say good night. What a lovely day…apart from leaving Mirinda in town, of course.

Susanne and Rafi came over for a visit on Saturday. In order to celebrate the possibility of seeing Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs again, I decided to serve Moroccan meatballs in a tomato based sauce. I also whipped up a batch of almond fingers which is, apparently, Mirinda’s favourite pastry treat from the kitchen of Chez Gaz.

They arrived all rugged up (it’s been an icy week of chilly winds and frigid temperatures) and sent the poodles into hysterics, closely followed by Rafi. They settled themselves in the lounge to warm up as I prepared lunch. Actually, Susanne and Mirinda settled down. Rafi came out to enquire about the progress of the meal every ten minutes.

Finally, lunch was served and, to my taste buds anyway, was delicious. We then adjourned to the lounge where Rafi triumphantly waved our favourite movie in the air and asked if it could be put on. How could I possibly say no? I’d been looking forward to it for days. Another chance to perhaps garner a little more of the plot and dialogue.

We settled down on the short lounge and watched it right through. Sadly, not a lot of dialogue was heard as the grown-ups were talking and we had to have the volume right down. Still, I did get some more out of it. And, having just had meatballs, it gave extra emphasis when they started falling from the clouds.

Eventually it was time for them to go. We decided to walk via the Bush Hotel (Susanne’s favourite coffee place in Farnham, apparently) and, of course, Rafi had to play on the swings as we walked right passed them. I thought he looked rather fetching in his stripy hoodie – Susanne proudly stated he’d had it since he was one and had grown into it.

Rafi, ready for the winter chills

You couldn’t lose him in a crowd wearing that! I was told to be quiet about it because I was saying teasing things and Susanne wants him to keep wearing it until he leaves for uni.

After the swings, Rafi’s legs insisted they couldn’t walk any further so he was hoisted up onto my shoulders for the rest of the trip. At least as far as the Lion and Lamb, anyway. Here he spotted the three bears which are always hanging around outside Orbis. He remembered the last time he cuddled them when he was as big as the baby bear. He wanted to get down and re-quaint himself with their soft fluffiness.

The pins and needles attacking his legs didn’t inconvenience him for too long and he soon raced over to see how he’d grown. He is now up to mummy bear!

Rafi pretending to be Goldilocks

It was then on to the Bush Hotel where the lounge was as full as full can be. We’ve never seen it so full. So we went into the bar, where it wasn’t, and had a lovely (if rushed) cup of tea. Rushed because we had to quickly leave for the station so they could get their train home.

Here’s a photo Rafi took of me while we were at the swings. He almost managed to get me in the frame.

Rafi's portrait of me

On Friday after work, I met Mirinda and we went and saw The Rivals at the Theatre Royal, Haymarket. It’s a famous comedy, written by Richard Brinsley Sheridan and first produced in 1775. It’s first performance was at the Theatre Royal, Convent Garden, so not so very far away from it’s present run.

We’ve seen the play performed before but wanted to see this production because firstly, it was directed by legendary Peter Hall, and, secondly, Penelope Keith is playing the delightful Mrs Malaprop and Peter Bowles, a marvellous Sir Anthony Absolute. It was all very, very good. And a delight from start to finish.

But before we arrived at the theatre, Mirinda had a coffee with a Tasmanian who works for the agency responsible for her new placement. While waiting, I wandered around Oxford Circus as the sun slowly set and the crowds grew thicker. Honestly, some of them had no IQ at all!

Given I’m not in this part of town except when forced, I popped down to Carnaby Street for a bit of a squizz. I then had a pint in the packed Argyle Arms (a lovely Victorian pub in all respects apart from the crowds) and a wander around HMV before settling down for a coffee at Costa’s, where I received a text from Mirinda to say she was outside Liberty’s, which she wasn’t.

Entrance to Carnaby Street, London

From Liberty’s we wandered down to Haymarket, passing through the horrendous Piccadilly Circus, heavingly full of the Friday night crowd. We decided to take tea at the Italian place right next door to the theatre, followed by a taking of the air wander down King Charles Street – which ties in nicely with the book I’m reading at the moment concerning Charles II and the Restoration of the monarchy – the first ten years.

The theatre is lovely, as most Theatre Royals tend to be. Our tickets were dead centre, about eight rows back. We arrived with two minutes to spare and forced everyone to stand up so we could get to our seats. Rather nice to be the annoying ones for a change.

The play was great. Lots of laughs and some fine acting. Penelope was wonderful though a tad bit likeable for Mrs Malaprop which meant the final bit of slagging off didn’t quite go down as it ought. Peter was wonderful. The last time we saw him was in a production of Deathtrap and he forgot his lines a few times through it. I was worried because of this but need not have bothered for he was excellent.

The rest of the cast was very good, particularly Lydia Lanquish (played by Robyn Addison) in her first professional role. There were two other well known faces from television as well. Keiron Self, the other dentist in My Family played Bob Acres very well and Tony Gardner, the guy who owns the cafe in Lead Balloon was an appropriately dour Faulkland.

All in all, a wonderful production and great fun.

Afterwards we had a lovely stroll back to Waterloo and caught a late train back home to the delight of a couple of manic poodles.

Last night I went with some weasels to see Hadestown. It was written by the wonderful singer/song writer Anais Mitchell. She has a webpage here, if you’re interested.

Hadestown is a new version of the story of Orpheus in the underworld as he tries to bring back his love, Euridice. Anais has set it in a post-apocalyptic world of depression, where Hades entices people to join his town (Hadestown) and build walls to keep the ‘enemy’ out while keeping them in under his rule. Once you enter Hadestown, you can never leave.

Euridice is tempted in and joins the community but Orpheus decides to try and save her. He enlists the help of Hermes who tells him how to enter the town via the back door. Once in, Orpheus tries to find Euridice. His beautiful songs come to the attention of Hades and his wife, Persephone who convinces her husband to allow Euridice to leave with Orpheus.

Hades agrees but only on one condition. Orpheus is to walk out of Hadestown and Euridice will follow as long as Orpheus does not look back. Orpheus is doing really well but then, just before he leaves, doubt takes over and he turns around. Euridice is lost to him forever. Oh, he of little faith!

The performance last night was at the Union Chapel in Islington. Quite an amazing venue, very well suited to the performance. The trouble was, there was also an Arsenal home game on at the same time. This meant that the Tube was full of people in red and white scarves. We were all to meet at The Swan Inn but this was heaving with gooners, so, after texting each other, we met at the venue.

It was oddly ironic that we were going to a performance about and based in hades while we had to walk through, what some would describe as, hell. It was quite marked when it came time to go home. The tube train we were in had a combination of folk music lovers chatting enthusiastically (or not in one case I overheard) about Anais and Hadestown while others stood around in their team colours, grunting and swearing. I’m not just saying that for effect! It WAS the case.

Anyway, the performance started off with Wallis Bird, a fabulous Irish folk singer who is a dab hand at the guitar. She writes and performs everything herself. Very self effacing and very talented. She has a website here. I liked her so much I bought her album Spoons. Mirinda listened to it tonight and loves it too. We are Wallis fans. Seriously!

Having warmed us up, Wallis was replaced with Anais and her group of folk celebs none of whom I’ve ever heard of. The band played behind and the singers sat in front. They would stand up as their turn to sing approached. There was a storyteller who made a few contributions in order to keep the audience on track. It was a very good idea.

Apart from one little thing, it was a fantastic night of very talented people. Another was Thea Gilmore who played Persephone. You can read about her here as well as listen to a track of hers. I am very tempted to list the entire cast…except I don’t know who they were…but I’ll just mention one other. The guy who played Orpheus was wonderful. His name is Jim Moray, and, naturally, he has a website too. It’s here.

I could type on and on and on…however, I’m going to leave it there. It was a great night all round with a long trip home at the end. A big thank you to Dawn for parking at Farnham so I’d have someone to talk to on the train.

There wasn’t really a lot of opportunity for weasel photography given the rush before and after but I did manage a shot of the venue.

Union Chapel, Islington

Arsenal won by the way. And the one thing not so good about the show? We had to sit on pews. Super, typical, bloody uncomfortable pews! Had I known, I’d have bought a big fat cushion. Actually I could have done with a big fat cushion to get over the big fat head sat in front of me all night!

Tonight I’m off on my first Weasel outing since the Weasels Afloat in Brittany last year. On the ‘cruise’ John played us a new CD he’d found called Hadestown by Anais Mitchell. There’s a youtube video of it here. It’s described as a folk opera. Anyway, I’ll blog about it tomorrow.

The weather promised to be quite nice this morning when I walked Mirinda to the train but the clouds soon made their low grey presence felt. it even rained a bit at lunch time. It sprinkled on us while we walked in the park, the poodles and I.

One bright spot is our snowdrops. When I planted them last year they all looked cute and lovely but Mirinda had her doubts they’d reappear this year. She wrote about them here. I have to admit that I agreed with her but hoped all the same. However, they have proved us happily wrong and their little heads are popping up at the base of the hedge. Here’s a picture of a couple of them.

Our first snowdrops of the year

I was all alone in the basement this afternoon. Kevin was at Blythe House, Nick may or may not have been at Blythe House, Ailsa was on annual leave and Barbara had gone to a training session. The lights down here operate by movement (to save electricity) and the office I work in is all dark when I’m sitting on my own. Mainly because the movement sensors are on the other side of the office. Normally one of the others trigger it. But not this afternoon. So every ten minutes or so, the lights go off.

Fortunately I have the skylight above me which gives a lot of natural light. And then, every now and then one of the guys in the office next door walk by the doorway and trigger the lights. Which is disconcerting!

Kevin actually rang this morning to make sure all was well and to let me know he’s nominated me for the Volunteer of the Year award – I guess because Nick wasn’t around to do it. The ceremony is being held on Thursday but I’ll not be able to make it as I have a Talking Newspaper session. Pity. It’s being held in a part of the museum not normally opened to the public and I’d have liked a bit of a gander.

Kevin also asked if I could change my Monday to some other day because there’s a new volunteer they need to slot in somewhere. As much as I’d like to be helpful, I’m really only happy doing Monday and Friday. As it is, Tuesday is my only guaranteed day at home! Well, once I restart lunch with Mirinda when she returns to work.

And so I spent the day repairing records for models of war stretchers, made during WWI, and pewter hot water bottle records (no breast relievers today), hopefully improving them for general consumption. The records, not the stretchers or hot water bottles.

Here’s a picture I took of the office before the lights went out. This is the view from my Monday desk. Nick is right in front of me, Ailsa is in the far corner, to the right of the photocopier and Barbara sits just to the left, almost behind the pillar.

Down in the basement

At lunchtime I was wandering around the museum, looking for something to blip (I ended up finding something outside) when I came upon this. It’s the boiler from an old (1796 old) early steam engine. I have no idea how it works or what it does but it has an oddly alien look about it. Sort of Jules Verne-ish. It’s as if something from the pages of The First Men on the Moon suddenly leapt from the pages and onto the museum floor.

Steam header thingy

Frensham Little Pond

Last August, there was a huge fire at Frensham Ponds. I briefly mentioned it in a blog entry. We haven’t really been back many times since to see what has been happening. Today we decided to give it a try. We were not alone!

Where we normally park was full up as was the bigger car park just along the road. We were forced to park up the top, on the side of the road. I have never seen it so busy. And it wasn’t like it was a nice day, either. The sun generally brings the townies out in droves. It was grey and grim and definitely more locals-with-dogs weather.

It was also not early or around lunchtime, the usually bad times. It was 2:30, generally time for the townies to go home.

Of course, January 23 is the feast day of Saint Maimbod so maybe they were all out celebrating him. Though not all of them had gloves that I could tell and none were blind. Mind you, the old ways of saint feasting are slowly dying out so it could just as easily been Saint Maimbod festivities.

Whatever the reason, Frensham Little Pond was quite the hustle and bustle today. A fair sprinkling of ‘greeters’ and just as many ‘miseries’ and many vigorous dogs to freak out the poodles.

There are signs everywhere explaining how the land is being managed in order to repair the damage created by the fire last year. There is also a warning about heavy machinery. I spotted this as we walked around and thought it would make a great blip (I decided on some fungus instead):

Heavy machinery at Frensham Little Pond

I think Bob would be hard pressed recognising it, even though he walked around it every day last time they stayed at the cottage. Speaking of Bob and, naturally, Claire, I thought I’d better let everyone (by which I mean the two people who read my blog) know how Claire is doing.

VERY WELL! This past week she managed to stand up from a chair unaided and the trachie was removed (she started talking instantly). Yesterday she had a whole flood of visitors because it was her birthday, which tired her out a bit, but she enjoyed them all, particularly the three nurses who sang Happy Birthday “…like angels“.

Though she can’t see it, I’ve taken my hat off. She is showing an amazing resilience and determination to get herself up and out of bed. Obviously she wants to get out of the hospital and she wants it YESTERDAY! Go Claire!

As I was at Waterloo today, I stopped off at the Cuneo statue to get a photograph of the mouse. It is peeking out from under a book called Sketches by Cuneo. There’s an awful lot of dust around it, I must say! Clearly the cleaning staff at Waterloo do not think it worth their trouble.

Cuneo's mouse

To answer mum’s question: The original painting of Waterloo is 10ft x 9ft and the image I used yesterday had been reduced so much, I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t be able to spot a tiny mouse. If I ever make it to the Railway Museum, I shall try and remember to look for it.

To answer Mirinda’s question: I haven’t been able to find out why he chose a mouse. He started including mice (sometimes cartoon-ish, sometimes realistic) from 1956 and people scour his works, looking for them. There was a cartoonist in Sydney (I think) who always included something in his drawings and people would spend ages trying to find it. It wasn’t a mouse.

The reason I was at Waterloo was because I’d offered to take a load of clothes up to the flat for Mirinda. She’d packed a load for Australia from the flat and they’d wound up at Farnham – I was merely re-adjusting things a bit.

This meant a few train journeys. In fact, I was amazed when I returned home that it had taken me almost six hours! It was all very straightforward – for a change the Jubilee Line was running (at least the part I wanted was) – and my connections were pretty good. I do need to include hoovering time in there as well and statue photography but even so…it seems a bit excessive.

Not that I was missed at home. Mirinda had her first guitar lesson for ages this morning and then went down the gym for a wrestle with some weight machines.

One of the main things wrong with catching trains on the weekends is the weirdos who travel with you. Today, on the way back, in front of me was a strange Spanish looking chap in a cape and very pointy shoes. His hair had a strange brown streak through it, the majority being black. I doubt that I’d have noticed him except that he spent the entire trip on his phone, talking to five different people.

Sometimes this can be really annoying because you hear the same conversation each time but he didn’t do that. He was bored so I think he just rang the first five people in his phone. He spent a lot of time making small talk, to wile away the hour to Farnham. And not just local, either. He spoke to one person who was clearly in a different time zone because he went on and on and on and on about them already being drunk and it was only 8am.

Another caller was roundly berated for eating nothing but chocolate: “Oh, but you are very naughty, baby. Chocolate? That is bad, baby. But let’s stop talking of chocolate, baby.”

The third person he called was his sister to wish her happy birthday. I know this because the second caller reminded him it was his sister’s birthday.

All of this is perhaps just annoying however, what really got up my goat was his insistence in mispronouncing baby! He said it in a very odd way. Think the two words ‘bear’ and ‘bee’ and run them together. That’s what it sounded like. And he used it at least once every sentence, sometimes oftener. It really, really grated on my nerves after a while (5 minutes) and I was forced to play with my new phone rather than read.

I guess the worst thing was that it was a quiet carriage.

But, rather than end this post in a negative way…here’s the statue of Cuneo from beneath:

Terence Tenison Cuneo at Waterloo Station, London

There’s a statue at Waterloo station, of an artist. His name is Cuneo and he sits above what used to be the Eurostar platforms and is now the stage for The Railway Children. He looks very eccentric with his cravat and paint palette. I’ve seen him thousands of times because he’s near Nero’s, where I get my coffee in the afternoon. Apart from this statue I knew nothing about him. That is until today.

He was an artist…clearly…whose full name was Terence Tenison Cuneo. He was born in 1907 and loved painting railway subjects. Trains, stations, goods yards, engineering works, bridges, everything to do with trains. One of his big paintings I researched today. It is of Waterloo Station in the mid 1960s. I’ve included a small image of it although the actual painting is very big!

Waterloo Station in 1967 by Cuneo

Waterloo is certainly a bit different today! If you tried to drive under the clock, you’d topple many people over before you. Then you’d wind up on platform 13 or 14. You can see where the cars went because the entrance/exit to the taxi rank is still there and has a big arched opening that could easily be two lanes.

It looks a bit busy but it’s nothing on how Waterloo Station is at peak hour these days. Wild and manic is how I’d describe it. Actually, not so much wild and manic as heaving and jam packed. In fact, it’s horrid. I much prefer Cuneo’s version to todays.

Something that Cuneo always did, and which I think is kind of cute, was put a mouse somewhere in his pictures. He is known for it. There’s even one on the statue of him at Waterloo. It’s peeking out from under the book. Very cute.

The painting was in storage for quite a while but was then hung at the Railway Museum in York. I’ll have to check it out next time I’m up there.

I also read about Sir William Henry Preece today. He was an electrical engineer who, among other things didn’t think the telephone was much good. After working on them, he told a parliamentary inquiry in 1879 that he foresaw little demand for them in Britain, saying the telegraph and a ‘superabundance of messengers, errand boys and things of that kind’ already met the need. What a clever chap he was.

Today we went to Trowbridge. It’s in Wiltshire, beyond Stonehenge. We went to look at sheds. In order to see what type of sheds, I took a photo of one.

An expensive garden office

This is the expensive one that Mirinda was instantly attracted to.

We spent a lovely hour or so chatting to Jude about our requirements for a garden room. This is the alternative to the mega-expensive extension to the house. We are going to purchase a garden room and turn it into a library/Mirinda’s study. Well, that’s the current thinking. I measured the width of the garden (in the dark) when we returned home so Jude could do us some initial thoughts and ideas.

The buildings are amazing. Very sturdy, completely weather proof, just like an extra room in the house but just outside the house. The plan is to get rid of the overbearing hornbeam and put the room across the garden, creating a sort of courtyard area in between and the rest of the garden beyond.

Afterwards we popped across the road to the Black Horse for a gourmet burger (I’ve noticed a lot of pubs now selling gourmet burgers which, as far as I can make out, are normal burgers with things added, like cheese or bacon…not sure how that makes it particularly gourmet) and a pint of Old Trip, which the barmaid called Old Tripe the other day causing great mirth and general hilarity. Regardless of what she said the other day, the burger was delicious, the beer was great and Mirinda’s cider very pink, very sweet and very odd. it was multi-fruit cider. I couldn’t drink it. The smell was sweet enough. Actually I did have a brave sip but it was way too sweet.

We decided not to turn round and go all the way home at once as it would be a bit rude to go all that way and not visit Trowbridge itself. It’s a bit sad, I’m afraid. I see little reason to live there. The place is clone central and surmounted by shopping centres. The park is all square and dull. The war memorial is fenced off and padlocked. The traffic is terrible, though to be fair, the traffic is terrible in every town in this country.

If you get the impression that I wasn’t that impressed with Trowbridge…you’re right. I did read that it had some lovely architecture, which it does, but it’s hard to find among the sameness of modern shopping. It upsets me that people seem to love this dullness everywhere.

I counted two independent shops in the pedestrianised centre of Trowbridge: one was empty, the other closed. I guess the people get what the people want most. Everywhere the same, staffed by bored kids or OAPs supplementing their pensions, wearing uniforms that generally make them look ridiculous. Where is the beauty in that? No wonder people shop online. The experience is now so soul destroying it’s best avoided in case your heart freezes from the experience.

So we had a very brief wander through Trowbridge and then back to Sidney. The one highlight was this sign which I was very drawn too.

Trowbridge club sign

Oh, and some guy asked me to sell him a cigarette for 20p. Mirinda wanted to know why he asked me and took this photograph asking if I look like a smoker. To be fair, I have been mistaken for a drug dealer before.

Gary in Trowbridge, looking like a smoker

Something I’ve noticed about Linda is that she loves round-about routes. Getting home from Trowbridge was no exception. (I really must learn how to make her work properly.) Though, perhaps she just adapts to our moods. Trowbridge left us feeling a bit dull and mindless so she decided we needed some uplifting. She took us via Westbury so we could see the white horse carved in the hill.

The white horse, Westbury, Wiltshire

She took us on a lovely tour of most of Wiltshire, finally lifting up our hearts as we cruised by Stonehenge. Then the sun went down. It was a long, dark journey the rest of the way home and the poodles went manic when we reached it.

Quite a successful day really, if you ignore Trowbridge.