In which I actually get out of the house and go somewhere for a change.
Yesterday, I had a lovely time in Cambridge, with the god-daughter, who had to look at something in the university archive there. I think I may have visited Cambridge once before when I was about 16, and vaguely considering applying to the university. Things were rather awful for me at the time, and although I was down to take some sort of initial entrance exam, it never went any further, and I ended up going to Reading. So I might as well never have been there before.
As usual, I got in a huge tizzy about stpping out of my rut, and spent most ot the morning before I left turning the flat upside down trying to find my camera. The last time I went out (before Christmas) I brought the camera, but found that the battery had died, so this time I was careful to recharge it. The battery is here, but the bloody camera has now disappeared. I suspect it may be somewhere in my bedroom, along with the mates to three seperate pairs of shoes, two hot-water bottles, my silver heart pendant and my passport. A job for tomorrow, perhaps.
Anyway, Cambridge is lovely, albeit infested with bicycles, and also pleasantly small and flat for someone who hasn't walked much in a while. There are almost as many bikes as in Amsterdam (although no-one chained one to me when I stood still for five minutes, which my niece assures me is how you tell you are in Amsterdam), and every shop seems to have a little notice pleading with people not to lean their bikes on the windows. There was also a nostalgic smell of coal-fires from one of the colleges. It was a lovely day, and I headed for the botanic gardens first to look at snowdrops, but found that the route passed the Fitzwilliam Museum, so I ended up spending most of the day there instead. The Fitzwilliam has recently been refurbished, and is lovely, like a baby British Museum, with a gorgeous classical gallery. No photography allowed inside the building, even if I had had my camera with me, so ended up writing a little poem instead, but will not burden you with it. There is a gorgeous ceramic collection, currently hosting a series of installations by Edmund de Waal, to make it more lovely, and also a beautiful tiny show of botanical watercolours.
After all that culture, I met up with the g-d again, and we had a drink and something to eat before heading home. On the train back, we played Book Titles That Sound Completely Different If You Remove The Last Letter, an interesting game I pinched from Cabin Pressure. The best ones we came up with were; The Spy Who Loved M (a sad tale of forbidden love in the secret service of the 1950s), The Velveteen Rabbi (the hilarious adventures of a trendy rabbi in 60s New York) and Twelve Years A Slav (the childhood memoirs of Vladimir Putin). Almost up to the standard of Cabin Pressure's own Three Men in a Boa (an Amazon boat trip goes horribly wrong). We also annoyed the hell out of the man sitting in front of us, but that can';t be helped.
Today is another lovely sunny day, so I'm off out to get some compost to plant the forgotten bag of bulbs I've just found.
As usual, I got in a huge tizzy about stpping out of my rut, and spent most ot the morning before I left turning the flat upside down trying to find my camera. The last time I went out (before Christmas) I brought the camera, but found that the battery had died, so this time I was careful to recharge it. The battery is here, but the bloody camera has now disappeared. I suspect it may be somewhere in my bedroom, along with the mates to three seperate pairs of shoes, two hot-water bottles, my silver heart pendant and my passport. A job for tomorrow, perhaps.
Anyway, Cambridge is lovely, albeit infested with bicycles, and also pleasantly small and flat for someone who hasn't walked much in a while. There are almost as many bikes as in Amsterdam (although no-one chained one to me when I stood still for five minutes, which my niece assures me is how you tell you are in Amsterdam), and every shop seems to have a little notice pleading with people not to lean their bikes on the windows. There was also a nostalgic smell of coal-fires from one of the colleges. It was a lovely day, and I headed for the botanic gardens first to look at snowdrops, but found that the route passed the Fitzwilliam Museum, so I ended up spending most of the day there instead. The Fitzwilliam has recently been refurbished, and is lovely, like a baby British Museum, with a gorgeous classical gallery. No photography allowed inside the building, even if I had had my camera with me, so ended up writing a little poem instead, but will not burden you with it. There is a gorgeous ceramic collection, currently hosting a series of installations by Edmund de Waal, to make it more lovely, and also a beautiful tiny show of botanical watercolours.
After all that culture, I met up with the g-d again, and we had a drink and something to eat before heading home. On the train back, we played Book Titles That Sound Completely Different If You Remove The Last Letter, an interesting game I pinched from Cabin Pressure. The best ones we came up with were; The Spy Who Loved M (a sad tale of forbidden love in the secret service of the 1950s), The Velveteen Rabbi (the hilarious adventures of a trendy rabbi in 60s New York) and Twelve Years A Slav (the childhood memoirs of Vladimir Putin). Almost up to the standard of Cabin Pressure's own Three Men in a Boa (an Amazon boat trip goes horribly wrong). We also annoyed the hell out of the man sitting in front of us, but that can';t be helped.
Today is another lovely sunny day, so I'm off out to get some compost to plant the forgotten bag of bulbs I've just found.