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May. 15th, 2005 09:21 pmMostly a good weekend, after a rather shaky start (see previous entry).
Since I spent most of my life these days feeling as though I've just been clubbed over the head with a crowbar (blame work...), trying to go into central Cambridge at 4pm on a Saturday was always something of a no-brainer. Arriving on the same train as a hen party, complete with bunny ears and fuck-me shoes, didn't help much either. I got about as far as the Grafton Centre via Mill Road (I would never have survived Hills Road) before my habitual misanthropy hit the occasional hypersensitive phase it does when I'm knackered. Suddenly the whole of humanity looked utterly contemptible - yes, I know how horrid that sounds, but sometimes I feel that way. I did the only thing any true-born Englishman would do in the circumstance, and went to the pub. Fortunately (after a pause waiting for opening time - I believe this was the first time I've ever gone into a pub as the bolts were drawn back), the pub in question was the Cambridge Blue, one of the finest watering-holes in the known universe, and after moving to escape the two toddlers (we've already been through all that), and being joined by the two not-toddlers (well, in physical years anyway ;-) ) Colin and Jon, a most pleasant evening ensued. Say what you like about the evils it's wrought, alcohol got me from feeling absolutely wretched to quite splendid last night (though that was at least as likely to have been the company), so it can't be all bad.
About 8 o'clock this morning I feklt briefly that it could, when the hangover attacked me. Thankfully I was equal to it, and have survived the day without collapsing. This was helped by the day outside, which was absolutely perfect - warm, cloudless and sunny, but with enough breeze to make it pleasant to be in. Ely is at its best in such circumstances, and is the perfect place to enjoy such days. Although one can take this too far - I went out for a walk earlier, and the planned 3-4 miles turned into about 7, because I got lost on the off-road bit. Such walking was relatively simple in London, because armed with the A-Zyou could always have a decent stab at where you were, but out here, you are following the edges of farmer's fields, and if they turn out not to go where you expected them, then you're a bit buggered.
I have also spent quite alot of today rearranging my book collection, in a probably vain attempt to force myself to read some of the backlog rather than rereading the same old favourites. For the moment, however, I'm still lost in the world of Sandman - read Brief Lives today, which is possibly the best of the six "novels" (although I still have a soft spot for Season of Mists). If nothing else, its central character is Delirium, who is always delicious - the natural successor to the Fool in King Lear, but funny, and capable of making frogs (and green mouse flavoured ice-cream, which apprently isn't very nice). [I once met one of the real-life models for Delirium, a girl called Tanaqui - however, it was about 2am at a long-ago party in Oxford, and neither of us were at our best]
We shall draw a discreet veil over the football. Except to say that my ex-boss (who is a Norwich season ticket holder) had a box at Craven Cottage today, and will have sat through his team going down 6-0 and a division. It will hard to esist breezily asking him if he had a nice time. Then running away, terrible fast.
Since I spent most of my life these days feeling as though I've just been clubbed over the head with a crowbar (blame work...), trying to go into central Cambridge at 4pm on a Saturday was always something of a no-brainer. Arriving on the same train as a hen party, complete with bunny ears and fuck-me shoes, didn't help much either. I got about as far as the Grafton Centre via Mill Road (I would never have survived Hills Road) before my habitual misanthropy hit the occasional hypersensitive phase it does when I'm knackered. Suddenly the whole of humanity looked utterly contemptible - yes, I know how horrid that sounds, but sometimes I feel that way. I did the only thing any true-born Englishman would do in the circumstance, and went to the pub. Fortunately (after a pause waiting for opening time - I believe this was the first time I've ever gone into a pub as the bolts were drawn back), the pub in question was the Cambridge Blue, one of the finest watering-holes in the known universe, and after moving to escape the two toddlers (we've already been through all that), and being joined by the two not-toddlers (well, in physical years anyway ;-) ) Colin and Jon, a most pleasant evening ensued. Say what you like about the evils it's wrought, alcohol got me from feeling absolutely wretched to quite splendid last night (though that was at least as likely to have been the company), so it can't be all bad.
About 8 o'clock this morning I feklt briefly that it could, when the hangover attacked me. Thankfully I was equal to it, and have survived the day without collapsing. This was helped by the day outside, which was absolutely perfect - warm, cloudless and sunny, but with enough breeze to make it pleasant to be in. Ely is at its best in such circumstances, and is the perfect place to enjoy such days. Although one can take this too far - I went out for a walk earlier, and the planned 3-4 miles turned into about 7, because I got lost on the off-road bit. Such walking was relatively simple in London, because armed with the A-Zyou could always have a decent stab at where you were, but out here, you are following the edges of farmer's fields, and if they turn out not to go where you expected them, then you're a bit buggered.
I have also spent quite alot of today rearranging my book collection, in a probably vain attempt to force myself to read some of the backlog rather than rereading the same old favourites. For the moment, however, I'm still lost in the world of Sandman - read Brief Lives today, which is possibly the best of the six "novels" (although I still have a soft spot for Season of Mists). If nothing else, its central character is Delirium, who is always delicious - the natural successor to the Fool in King Lear, but funny, and capable of making frogs (and green mouse flavoured ice-cream, which apprently isn't very nice). [I once met one of the real-life models for Delirium, a girl called Tanaqui - however, it was about 2am at a long-ago party in Oxford, and neither of us were at our best]
We shall draw a discreet veil over the football. Except to say that my ex-boss (who is a Norwich season ticket holder) had a box at Craven Cottage today, and will have sat through his team going down 6-0 and a division. It will hard to esist breezily asking him if he had a nice time. Then running away, terrible fast.
