A day in Reading

The only half decent day this bank holiday weekend and I decided to drop down to Reading. After my 30 minute train journey during which a German father annoyed everybody on the coach by reading a story to his child (I am guessing that the child was asleep otherwise it surely would have been annoyed, too), I met Mark outside the station. Unfortunately, Sweeney Todd's pie place was closed so we had asian food at the place that apparently once had terrible service but good food. My impression was that they were back on their way to decrease the amount of effort going into hospitality, but maybe that was only the smell. Were they hiding a homeless under our table? Were we sitting too close to the toilets or did the group behind us experiment with pushing the boundaries of personal hygiene? We will never know, because we didn't ask.

Mark, sporting headgear that apparently is vital to make the vehicle move at all, then took me home for a bl**din' cuppa tea in the garden before we enjoyed a pint at the Clubbed Man... the ... err... Canned Mistress ... no. What was it called? The Cultivated Mascarpone, the Cramped Muscle, the Cardiganwearing Maneater, the Custard Mullet... hang on.... I go it: The Cumulative Mathematician. No, that wasn't it either. Anyway.