Yesterday I went to a reception for a show of anatomical drawings and they proved deliciously creepy – not least because they were accompanied by audio recordings from a surgical suite.
I was able to use one illustration to point out the various bits of my face and neck ruined by injuries and surgeries, much to the dismay of my young companion. He is very sensitive.
After the show we went on a long countryside ramble to admire the fields full of bunnies, then retired to eat chocolate fudge cake from Fitzbillies and make summer rolls with peanut sauce (in that order). Mmm!
I was ready for bed and yawning when Rachel started to text and call from the Castle, tempting me out for the night, but I declined until after midnight when the gang transferred to a late opening pub I call Our Secret Clubhouse. I was still resisting but she said Jean had just arrived.
Walking across Castle Hill I happened upon Josh, and dragged his bewildered yet obliging self along for the debauchery. Including sitting outside and making way too much noise until two in the morning. Rachel brought along a special new friend who was extremely friendly: she talked to everyone inside the pub and quite a few passerby. She even decided to massage my neck – nobody ever touches me! She observed I am very tense and really ought to see a professional, but hey, that has been true since 1983. I seem to get by somehow.
Jean got semi-swept up in a hen do and was sporting a glitter crown for awhile, there was more scurrilous gossip and chatter, the wealth of William (we’re down to one now) delivered secret spy data, Pedro said he will marry Rosie once her parents provide a dowry of an orchard or cattle, and, you know, it was another night out in Cambridge.
Right now I have this sneaking suspicion that I am supposed to be somewhere, but can’t decide if that is true or just how the first weekend of the summer holiday always feels?
Either way, I think that I am going to pack up some flotation devices and head out on the river in an attempt to survive the eighty degree heat. England is not built for this kind of weather. Me neither.
Locals or visitors please note: there is at least theoretically a Busker Festival all week in the city centre. Remember to carry coins of the realm!