Awhile ago Iain asked how much longer I will live in Cambridge. The answer is simple – if my kid wishes to continue his education, five to seven years.
Iain marveled People serve less time for armed robbery!
Indeed.
Today he took the train from London to hang out with me in what he refers to as your prison city. He has written two whole books defining the parameters of British life… yet he has never attended the Bumps. Clearly this had to be addressed.
We wandered through the market in the sunshine, had a yummy lunch at Rice Boat, loitered on the Backs, talked about scandal and miscellany under the RAF graffiti at the Eagle.
Eventually we made it to the river where we stared at the end of a race, athletic and anonymous girls either frowning or literally wreathed with success.
It didn’t seem that important to walk all the way to the head to catch the start of a set.
Instead we retired to the Green Dragon for more talking over a couple of pints, then a festive dinner to round out the day. This meant he was able to witness the …. shall we say enthusiastic attentions I receive at a certain local restaurant. Iain suggested the waiter in question probably has a secret livejournal documenting our encounters. I hope not!
Iain is excessively hilarious; eight hours in his company was a pure delight. Also, to reiterate earlier observations, we winter babies are sneaky bastards prone to making enormous life changes without, you know, talking. We just issue memorandum.
Living in Cambridge does feel like a state of confinement but in the spring the place is a sheer marvel – the daffodils are blooming, the baby animals arrive soon, and there are good friends nearby. It has really been far too long since we had a chance to spend so much time together – it was simply lovely to catch up.