The Teak House, Wokingham

A while back I wrote about the St George and Dragon in Wargrave, and wasn’t overly impressed with the place. Last weekend we went to The Teak House in Wokingham, which was a far better experience.

It’s a Thai restaurant, and came well recommended – and it deserved the recommendation. I know we’ll be going back more often. The service is attentive, although it’s obviously quite a small business. The food’s ace, and it’s just a pleasant place to spend an evening. And the prices weren’t bad either. Definitely recommended.

Yawn 2

Now here’s an idea I could live with – particularly after a lousy night’s sleep. Beds in the office – that way I could snooze and get paid for it, instead of sleepwalking like I do at the moment.

Of course, I’d have to sort out something about the snoring…

Yawn

I have to say, following making two purchases there, that the Filofax website is one of the slowest sites I’ve dealt with in years. It’s taken me about fifteen minutes to buy two sets of refill pages – it really is that slow.

Of course, the irony is that Filofax always tries to make out that it’s essential for organisational stuff, and saves time. Perhaps a site upgrade is needed. Wonder if I can persuade them…

Bankers

Do you ever have one of those days where you wonder if it’s you, or everyone else? That’s today for me. The bank account I have is with the Royal Bank of Scotland, and as part of the service I pay for on the account, it includes travel insurance (as mentioned the other day) but also no charges for foreign currency. So, as I’m off this weekend to foreign climes, I thought “Oooh, best order some currency, as they won’t have Icelandic kroner just in the bank on demand”. So far, so good.

Having checked the booklet about the member services for the account, it says “call us to sort out your currency requirements” (Slight paraphrasing there, but not by much) along with a number. When called, you go into the Automated Voice Response (AVR) system, and it says “for all travel requirements except Travel Insurance, press 1″. Off we go, pressing number 1.

“Oh no, we don’t deal with currency. You’ll need to go through the system again.”
“But this is the option for everything to do with travel”
“Yes, but we don’t deal with foreign currency.”
“…” (the sound of an utterly speechless Lyle)

Another call, this time going through multiple options in order to speak to a human being (well, bank worker, anyway)

“Oh no, you need the travel section for that. We don’t do anything financial”
“But the travel section don’t do currency, I’ve just spoken to them.”
“Well, we don’t do anything financial. You need to speak to the travel section.”
“…”

I’ve ended up talking to the business manager at the branch I’ll be collecting the currency from, and sorting it out at branch level instead of the “priority” customer services line dedicated to the people with my breed of account. I despair.

New Term

It looks like today was the start of term for the local FE college. Loads of sixteen-year-olds squealing and giggling on their way to the grown-up world of Oldham College. If I’d looked out the back of the bus, there would probably have been a whole parade of dogs following, so high-pitched was it all. My head is belting again. Joy.

Still, it’s only a three-day week for me this week, which is nice.

Fluttery

According to the BBC today, the British moth population is in decline. And I can’t deny it, while I know that any creature being in decline isn’t a good thing (well, except ants and wasps, but we’re shit out of luck on that one) I can’t help but have “Good.” as my first response on learning that there’s less of the little fluttery furry-bodied bastards than usual.

Oliver Stone

I have a theory – I’ve developed it while sat on the train tonight. I think Virgin Trains don’t want me seeing people too much. They’re jealous, they’re used to the shape my arse makes on their train-seats. Bear with me on this.

Every time I’m travelling TO see someone, the train runs at least three-quarters of an hour late. And to be honest, 45 minutes delay is a good journey. However, every time I’m travelling back AFTER seeing someone, the fucker runs on time. And in some cases, as today, it even runs slightly early.

It’s a plot, I tell you, a fucking plot.