A brief visit to Reading

Standing empty and sagging in Reading's Market Place, this Jacobean survival seems to be shouldering its way between the later buildings on either side. It immediately put me in mind of The Leaky Cauldron in the world of Harry Potter; invisible to ordinary people who filter it out of their perception, the portal to another world hiding alongside our own.

Despite another sub-optimal night I managed to get up this morning before the day was completely lost and took Catie in to Reading to look for a "cabin" bag for her forthcoming flight. Reading used to be my daily workplace up until my enforced retirement so I used to know it well. The shop I had in mind sits in what used to be Reading's main market place but is now a little side enclave off the main shopping drag through the city centre. I started to worry if it would still be there as we passed empty shop after empty shop (including the one in the picture) visible scars of this economic depression. It was there though, a tiny little family shop stacked high with every conceivable form of luggage the human imagination can conjure up. In all this choice The Bag was found, clearly the only bag that could be Catie's Bag, meant for her.

As we made our way up past Forbury Gardens I paused as I always do at the gate, looking up the main path to the Maiwand Lion commemorating the dead of another Afghan war - our second. The huge bronze lion roars out across the peaceful manicured gardens, a symbol of martial courage and Imperial glory. It always jars with me as a war memorial, having lived my life surrounded by the more somber, reflective memorials that sprang up in every city, town and village after the Great War - symbols not of glorification but of unbearable loss and debt. The contrast is made explicit as one rounds the corner and comes to the other park gate where the 1920's memorial stands, a simple cenotaph like obelisk behind which one can still glimpse the back of the lion, roaring on and choosing not to look. Around the base of this memorial are stacked the fresh wreaths of poppies laid last weekend at the memorial ceremony for the anniversary of D Day, amongst them are the smaller, personal tributes from the mourning families of the dead of more recent wars including the still bleeding wound of this latest Afghan mess.