A journal entry in the truest sense

Good morning, everybody. I shall wish you all a happy new week, for it is Monday and we must remain positive in the face of all contrary evidence.

Friday evening I am afraid to say that I got a little drunker than is my wont. Not falling down drunk or anything, but certainly wobbly. Wobbly enough for Furtle to remark upon it on the way home and take charge of the proceedings. We popped into the Angel in St Giles’ High Street for a pint with mezzogiornouno and romney. I think the burst of hiccups toward the end of the evening pushed some of the alcohol into my bloodstream faster than it would normally have got there (no, I’ve never heard that excuse before, either). Anyway, we got home late-ish, but not so late that we couldn’t buy in a chinee takeaway before bed.

Saturday was – for me at least – a late start, followed by an afternoon nap. Alcohol fuelled sleeps are not as refreshing as once they were – before we trailed off to Carshalton for caffeine_fairy and chomper99’s house warming. That was a fine evening, meeting up with a number of people we don’t see too often, though with the usual tube and other line closures, the trip down was something of a fag, taking over two hours from door to door and seeing at one point, poor Furtle’s glasses being sent flying out of the train door, but luckily not getting lost or suffering any significant damage. A repeat performance on the way home was avoided by the splendid offer of a lift home by fractalgeek, which got us home around midnight in considerable more comfort than we had done the original journey and with much less stress.

It also meant that we could natter about obscure music and stuff, which I don’t get to do very often these days. And as it happens, Radio 2 played an interesting track called Sea Talk by an alternative artiste recording under the name of Zola Jesus. Interesting enough to initiate a purchase from iTunes. The track has something of Siouxie about it, though in a rather more ambient direction.

Sunday was much more laid back, though we did manage to create a very tasty vegetable lasagne.

A journal entry in the truest sense

Good morning, everybody. I shall wish you all a happy new week, for it is Monday and we must remain positive in the face of all contrary evidence.

Friday evening I am afraid to say that I got a little drunker than is my wont. Not falling down drunk or anything, but certainly wobbly. Wobbly enough for Furtle to remark upon it on the way home and take charge of the proceedings. We popped into the Angel in St Giles’ High Street for a pint with mezzogiornouno and romney. I think the burst of hiccups toward the end of the evening pushed some of the alcohol into my bloodstream faster than it would normally have got there (no, I’ve never heard that excuse before, either). Anyway, we got home late-ish, but not so late that we couldn’t buy in a chinee takeaway before bed.

Saturday was – for me at least – a late start, followed by an afternoon nap. Alcohol fuelled sleeps are not as refreshing as once they were – before we trailed off to Carshalton for caffeine_fairy and chomper99’s house warming. That was a fine evening, meeting up with a number of people we don’t see too often, though with the usual tube and other line closures, the trip down was something of a fag, taking over two hours from door to door and seeing at one point, poor Furtle’s glasses being sent flying out of the train door, but luckily not getting lost or suffering any significant damage. A repeat performance on the way home was avoided by the splendid offer of a lift home by fractalgeek, which got us home around midnight in considerable more comfort than we had done the original journey and with much less stress.

It also meant that we could natter about obscure music and stuff, which I don’t get to do very often these days. And as it happens, Radio 2 played an interesting track called Sea Talk by an alternative artiste recording under the name of Zola Jesus. Interesting enough to initiate a purchase from iTunes. The track has something of Siouxie about it, though in a rather more ambient direction.

Sunday was much more laid back, though we did manage to create a very tasty vegetable lasagne.

Flagged up

A couple of weeks ago it was announced, for reasons passing obscure, that in addition to the Union Flag, the Department would, over successive forthcoming months fly flags of “the historic counties of England”. Fair enough, we have a spare flag pole and the place needs brightening up a little.

Since the gaffer’s constituency is in Essex, the first county flag chosen was, again fairly enough, Essex. The idea was that thereafter the remainder would follow in alphabetical order. The exceptions would be those few counties such as Cornwall, which have for ever more obscure historical reasons, their own county days and as such would jump the queue as it were so that their flags would be flying during their county festivals.

Anyway, with Avon, an artificial county created in 1974 and disbanded within 20 years or so, the first historic county alphabetically is apparently Berkshire (arguments continue concerning its place alphabetically since the full title is “The Royal County of Berkshire” and in my own personal use of the alphabet, I would have Bedfordshire ahead of it in either case), but I digress.

Coming to work this morning, I saw the flag fluttering in the breeze, but couldn’t quite make out the design. It turns out that it is white, with a rather stylized castle outline and the name, in a font worthy of The Village, “The Royal County of Berkshire”. I assumed that there had been some sort of mistake and that we hadn’t got a proper flag and this was marking the spot until someone drove over from Windsor with something more appropriate. After all, much reduced in area it may be, but it is an ancient English county.

Not a bit of it. A quick look on Google (and it must therefore be true) reveals:

Berkshire has never had a flag, although the county council occasionally used a stylised monochrome version of the two lions under a crown. Organisations in the county, on the other hand, have always used the white hart beneath its oak, as supposedly used at Agincourt, and this may be seen in logos and flags of various designs and colours, such as those of:
• The Berkshire and Buckinghamshire Football Association
• The Berkshire Cricket Board
• The Berkshire Federation of Women's Institutes
• The Berkshire Lawn Tennis Association
• The Reading Rugby Football Club
• The Royal Berkshire Regiment
• The Royal County of Berkshire Bowling Association

Well clearly we are having none of that. As far as I can see, the notional flag we are using encompasses none of those and certainly contains none of Berkshire’s heraldic elements.

For myself, I would have thought this rather fetching design would have worked for Berkshire (it looks rather crickety to me, maybe it is the Berkshire Cricket Board. In any case, it’s better than what we have outside the building!



I look forward to seeing what strange variations of local history we get over the next few weeks and months. Not that I know what most county symbols look like, you understand. Once I get past the Red and White Roses of Lancashire and Yorkshire respectively, Staffordshire’s lion and knot and Shropshire’s three loggerheads, I start casting around. I think Warwick may have a White Bear…

Flagged up

A couple of weeks ago it was announced, for reasons passing obscure, that in addition to the Union Flag, the Department would, over successive forthcoming months fly flags of “the historic counties of England”. Fair enough, we have a spare flag pole and the place needs brightening up a little.

Since the gaffer’s constituency is in Essex, the first county flag chosen was, again fairly enough, Essex. The idea was that thereafter the remainder would follow in alphabetical order. The exceptions would be those few counties such as Cornwall, which have for ever more obscure historical reasons, their own county days and as such would jump the queue as it were so that their flags would be flying during their county festivals.

Anyway, with Avon, an artificial county created in 1974 and disbanded within 20 years or so, the first historic county alphabetically is apparently Berkshire (arguments continue concerning its place alphabetically since the full title is “The Royal County of Berkshire” and in my own personal use of the alphabet, I would have Bedfordshire ahead of it in either case), but I digress.

Coming to work this morning, I saw the flag fluttering in the breeze, but couldn’t quite make out the design. It turns out that it is white, with a rather stylized castle outline and the name, in a font worthy of The Village, “The Royal County of Berkshire”. I assumed that there had been some sort of mistake and that we hadn’t got a proper flag and this was marking the spot until someone drove over from Windsor with something more appropriate. After all, much reduced in area it may be, but it is an ancient English county.

Not a bit of it. A quick look on Google (and it must therefore be true) reveals:

Berkshire has never had a flag, although the county council occasionally used a stylised monochrome version of the two lions under a crown. Organisations in the county, on the other hand, have always used the white hart beneath its oak, as supposedly used at Agincourt, and this may be seen in logos and flags of various designs and colours, such as those of:
• The Berkshire and Buckinghamshire Football Association
• The Berkshire Cricket Board
• The Berkshire Federation of Women's Institutes
• The Berkshire Lawn Tennis Association
• The Reading Rugby Football Club
• The Royal Berkshire Regiment
• The Royal County of Berkshire Bowling Association

Well clearly we are having none of that. As far as I can see, the notional flag we are using encompasses none of those and certainly contains none of Berkshire’s heraldic elements.

For myself, I would have thought this rather fetching design would have worked for Berkshire (it looks rather crickety to me, maybe it is the Berkshire Cricket Board. In any case, it’s better than what we have outside the building!



I look forward to seeing what strange variations of local history we get over the next few weeks and months. Not that I know what most county symbols look like, you understand. Once I get past the Red and White Roses of Lancashire and Yorkshire respectively, Staffordshire’s lion and knot and Shropshire’s three loggerheads, I start casting around. I think Warwick may have a White Bear…