Auntie Barb and Father

As it's Sunday today I visited Father and Auntie Barb for a roast lunch.  Since Mother's demise, Auntie Barb has taken over the cooking and seems to favour meat bought from The British Meat Market (BMM) - a shop in the quieter (i.e. rougher) end of the High Street.  Although cheap, the joints purchased from the BMM tend to be either fatty, gristly or full of bone - often though, it's a combination of all of them.  To counteract this, Auntie Barb tends to get up at 6am and put the oven on ready for lunch to be served at 1pm, as you can imagine, this tends to dry the meat out somewhat. She also has a penchant for putting bicarbonate of soda in the green vegetables - a practice I truly believe had died out in 1959.

I visited the Co-op and purchased two bottles of wine - one white, one rose.  Coping with Father and Auntie Barb when one is stone cold sober is indeed a frightening thought.  At precisely 1pm dinner was served - a lump of indeterminate flesh surrounded by potatoes roasted for so long that they'd make good ammo at a shooting range.  Aunt Bessie's frozen roast puddings were also a feature, unfortunately Aunie Barb (no relation to Bessie as far as I'm aware, although they are both, by their very nature, Aunts.) has a rather disturbing habit of picking up each individual pudding to eat instead of cutting it on her plate like any other normal person.  Dessert was a Bird's Strawberry Trifle, which is always a treat.

After dinner we spent some time watching Father's slide show of bees which lasted for, approximately, sixty-two minutes.  I managed to leave by 4:30pm.

Penge

Yesterday I went over to Penge to visit Reginald, informing Father and Emma of my whereabouts just in case Reginald had plans to abduct me and use me as a sex slave.  I don't know whether you've ever been to Penge, but it's located in south-east London and it's one of those areas which has risen and fallen, depending on the economy.  Penge boasts a mixture of housing stock from Victorian Villas to 1960s housing through to modern apartments.  Reginald had previously informed me that he lived in a garden flat.

I met Reginald at Penge East Station (as opposed to Penge West Station which is on a completely different train company's line..)  He was wearing a t-shirt with The Grateful Dead pictured on the front, faun jumbo cords which showed at least two inches of white sock and finally, large white Hi Tec trainers.  He looked relaxed, but comfortable.  We walked toward his flat, but after about five minutes of strolling along the pavement, we turned into a very scruffy looking road indeed with wheelie bins strewn all over the place and rubbish piled up in front gardens.  We stopped about halfway along the road and descended into a basement flat with skeletal frames of two wheel-less bicycles affixed to the railings, as we descended, I could see that the stone steps were uneven and uncared for.  Reginald took out a bunch of  keys and unlocked the door.

The smell inside was the intoxicating scent of vegetables, decay and cat food.  The furry inhabitants who caused such a rich, meaty smell, made themselves known to me and were introduced as Mr Ginger and Mr Tabby respectively.  They rubbed themselves delightedly against Reginald's trousers until he fed them with some suitably stinky food.  The flat itself was surprisingly roomy, but Victorian properties such as this usually were.  Being a basement flat, it was pretty dark and a solitary pendant light provided a small glow in the gloom of the high ceilinged hallway.  There were a series of doors leading to: a front parlour, a back room, a galley kitchen and two bedrooms - the bathroom was located right at the back of the property where the outside toilet would have been when the property was first built.  To be honest, it really reminded me of the set for the film 10 Rillington Place, but I didn't say so to Reginald's face.

We enjoyed a cup of tea and biscuits in the front parlour which was slightly marred by a deep moaning sound coming from elsewhere in the building.  Reginald stated that his upstairs neighbour was 'a harlot' so such utterances were commonplace.  After about an hour we went out to a local pub, The Jolly Pengeman to share a meal.  Reginald walked me back to Penge East Station at about 4pm after we'd had a turn around a nearby park.

The Prince Charles Cinema

Reginald wanted to take me out in London last night, so he insisted on meeting me from work to make an early trip to the pictures as he's a member of The Prince Charles Cinema.  I was a little concerned that he wanted us to see the 15:40 showing of Amy the documentary about the late Ms Winehouse.  It was a well-shot piece of cinema, but ultimately depressing as perhaps you'd expect.  Thankfully Reginald didn't try any 'funny business' because I'm not a fan of such things in a theatre setting - I once accompanied a man to a showing of The Shawshank Redemption in 1995 and he tried to kiss me throughout.  Now, by now you know that I'm no prude, but I don't pay good money for tickets to be molested in the dark. 

I took Reginald to The Civil Service Club afterwards for a drink and something to eat.  I think that he was impressed at the cost savings in such as establishment - for example, a pint of Director's Bitter is £3.90 in 'Da Club' (tee hee - a nice 'hip hop' joke for those in the know), but can be anything up to £5.03 anywhere else in Central London.  We dined on mince and slices of quince - not really - but on chicken fajitas and salad. It was lovely and Reginald footed the bill, covering my hand when I reached for my purse. 

Reginald was very cagey when I enquired about his family and career.  He alluded to the fact that he'd once served in the SAS, but couldn't elaborate because of and I quote, 'what they'd done to Andy McNab's pet donkey, Bryan.'  He did say, however, that he had a garden flat in Penge, which is apparently an up and coming area. 

Linkedin

Guess what?  Until this afternoon I didn't have an account on the corporate networking behemoth which is LinkedIn - I do now though.  You may be thinking - "Margaret, you work in a very safe environment, why on earth would you want to leave?"  Well, it isn't as secure as you may think, believe me - huge cuts are looming and I've got bills to pay.

So, onwards and upwards I go.  I seemingly cannot get a lateral move at work, so it's to the outside I must look.  Selling one's self (in a business sense!) is always a difficult task for a veritable mouse such as I.

My Second Date With Reginald

Last night we went for an invigorating stroll around The Green Chain Walk.  Well, some of it anyway.  Reginald brought along a picnic which he carried in a specially-designed rucksack.  It consisted of: two bottles of Lambrini bianco, two scotch eggs (replete with a 'reduced' sticker), two jumbo sausage rolls, maize onion rings, Cadbury's Mini Rolls and some cherry tomatoes.  It was delicious and we ate it in a woodland clearing.  Reginald is very knowledgeable about all things horticultural and was soon regaling me of all things flora and fauna.

Reginald took my arm to steady me whilst I was traversing across difficult terrain.  He placed his right hand on my bottom at one point.  It didn't feel odd at all, the opposite in fact.

At 9pm he walked me back to the bus stop, waited to the vehicle arrived and then disappeared back into the woodland.  I don't believe that there's anything sinister in that - he did mention that he had to gather some samples to create some new slides for his powerful microscope.