Tuesday 21st September 2021

I like Cambridge.

I do.

But I feel I need to say this too.

There are two Cambridges, one for the scholars and one for the rest. Towns and Gowns, as I heard one local put it.

The city centre is useless as an actual city centre, it is full of shops and emporiums either for tourist sor ones that cater for the colleges.

I found no pub in the centre at all, the nearest I found was on King Street, a good five minute walk from KIng's Parade. There is one on the river, by the lock, called The Mill, but few others.

Most streets have a college wall on one side or the other. I mean, it looks fabulous, but in a Harry Potter fantasy kind of way. I can't remember seeing a place like it. Oxford I suppose, but I remember a main shopping street near to the colleges.

Set back from King's Parage, through some lanes and across the market there is a shopping centre, so I guess that and the market caters for non-college types.

I say all this as on Tuesday, my plan had been to visit three churches, one should be open, the website said it would be open from twelve to two, the other two would be more of a gamble. St Edward seemed locked and only suggestion seemed to be that it would be open on Sunday for services. It is an important church in England, a building with that history should be open, sometimes. St Bene't's is open every day from nine, so if that can do it, maybe the others?

And then there is the colleges; oonly Corpus Christi was open, you could pay a fiver to go round, and they probably have a chapel, but I thought I could fill my day.

And as there was no lens to buy this morning, I could laze abed, have a later breakfast and write a blog before I went out.

At least outside the sun was out, and casting warm light on the early autumn colours of the park, Jesus Green, opposite. I looked so inviting.

I left my room at nine, walking over the road, across the bridge and along the river, where the guys drumming up business for punts were already at work. One, Ashly, remembered my from yesterday, and I promised I would go back later in the day. Remembering a casual conversation from 15 hours previously was pretty good customer interaction.

I walked down to King's Parade, and the place was already busy, with an oriental lady with a gold or brass headscarf and some kind of traditional dress on, walking up and down while a guy took her picture. I thought she was a tourist, but I think she was just wanting people to pay to have their picture taken with her. Not very Cambridge I have to say, but it must give her a living.

I got a coffee and sat on the low wall, people watching. Folks on cycles with places to guy, ringing bells to alert tourists this is a living place, not an educational Disneyland. But then it might be.

I walked through the market to St Andrew the Great, a large Victorian church, which seemed to be welcoming, open at ten the signs said, so I go for a coffee and a slice of Victoria spnge to wait the half hour out before ten.

I went back at then ast ten, and saw the sign said, in small text, the ten openeing was on Sundays. There were signs saying the entrance was to the left. These I followed on each door until I arrived back at the first one.

I went to check on St Edward, the antiquarian bookshops on the two alleys approaching the church were open, full of ancient tomes, I could have spent hours looking through them, but then I might have bought something.

The church was locked, of course.

St Botolph was to open at midday, so I walk down King's Parade to the church, and wait for half an hour for the clocks over the city to strike noon. Noon lasted some five minutes.

I checked the two doors to the church and neither was unlocked. I waited until half twelve and no one came to open the church.

I gave up.

I went down to snap the Mathamatical Bridge, and was approached by two guys selling punt trips. I told them I was promised to Ashley, they were dimissive.

It was a glorious day, so it seemed a shame that so few people were taking trips, but then there are fewer overseas visitors, I guess. I tell them I would think about it.

I remember seeing a smokehouse somewhere in the back lanes, so went off in search of lunch.

I found it behind St Bene't's, took a table on the narrow lane and ordered a full rack of ribs.

Ribs are never bad, and there were good. Not brilliant. But good enough, and with the two beers I had with them, as well as lots of water, I suffered no ill effects.

Yay. I was a bit angry about the churches being closed, and on top of that, poor Jools had been called into work on MOnday as her boss has gone sick, so instead of relaxing, she is doing more hours than ever, and so I decided then to cut the trip short by a day and return home on Wednesday. And to make up for it, I would hire a punt all to myself, so walked back to the bridge and Ashley.

Ashley was pleased to see me, and I asked about the private tour, that would be expensive her said. Two hundred quid he said. Then thought about it, business was slow, he would do it for eighty. I gave him a hundred and shook on it, the guy has to make a living.

So, ten minutes later I was climbing into a punt, with a punter, Adam, to look after me and point to me the best things to snap.

It was one of the best decisions I made, really. We arrived at the Bridge of Sighs and there was no other boats around, which never happens, one did inch ahead of us, to make a most pleasing scene.

We cruised along, finally passing King's and coming to the Mathamatical Bridge before turning round.


By then the river was packed, and other looked at me in a punt of my very own with green eyes.

Light was better this way, with the sun behind and i made good with the shots.

The landing stage was right near to the hotel, s once on dry land, I could walk back across the bridge to the hotel, up to my room and be having a brew in ten minutes.

It was a golden afternoon, and really too nice to sit in it all all evening, so decided to go out for some evening snaps, and my friend Simon told me a good pub to go to.

King's Parade was packed too, as people picnicked and took in the sights and fine light. I mostly people watched.

Once the sun set, dusk came quickly, and I walked along some of the most picturesque lanes to King Street, then along to the pub, which looked very welcoming in the dark.

There was a group of four having a laugh with their beers, one quit guy at the bar, and the barman. And me. I had thought long and hard about whether I should be doing this, but I was going home in the morning, so why not?

I ordered a pint of Black Sheep and had a Scotch Egg to go with it, which I smothered with lots of Piccalilly, all very nice.

I was checking on the League Cup scores, and after just five minutes Liverpool had taken the lead.

Sigh.

I had a pint of Citra and chatted with the barman, who came from Croatia, and I told him about my first wife, from Serbia, but he knew with her surname she wasn't really Serbian, but Hungarian.

All water under the bridge, really. A long, long time ago. I'm no longer bitter.

I drink up and walk back along the quite streets, deciding not to take the riverside walk, as it looked a little to ill-lit for me, instead taking an extra five minutes to walk along the street the other side of Magdalene College and back to the hotel, via an offy from where I bought some Orange pop to wash some of them darn crystals out.

I hoped.

Back in my hotel room, Norwich had lost 3-0, could have been ten, apparently.

Sigh.

I went to bed.