April 29th 2011 and 1993

It was the Royal Wedding, and we had a street party. It was also Ario's 18th birthday. The Wedding was fun to watch, the street party a good show of neighbourly solidarity, but the birthday was the highlight.

18 years ago we were living in Dalston (Hackney), and when the contractions started my friend Kim came in her car to pick Youssef and I up and drive us to the Royal London Hospital in Whitechapel. Ario was born at 4pm-ish, in a labour room seemingly crowded with people, including my sister Anne Louise, 2 or 3 midwives, a pediatrician, a doctor and a few others - all there to watch (and possibly help with) Ario's arrival feet first. Because he was breech and he was being born 'naturally', the doctor suggested that I should give birth standing up, to give gravity a chance to help out. 'Standing up' is a loose term for being supported on either side by Anne Louise and a midwife like an boxer coming out of the ring after a knock out. My legs had little to do with it.

 Anyway, 18 years on, Mariam and I watched Ario unwrap his presents with one eye on the royal wedding and another eye on the tomato tart in the oven for the street party.

Who would have thought such an ugly little thing would turn into a lovely tall, polite, handsome, gifted, and quiet spoken young man? I wish Youssef could see him now.

Then we went out to the street party, armed with the piping hot tomato tart.

A Cambridge bike story

The bike parking facilities at Cambridge station are scandalous - thousands of bikes, never enough places to fix your bike to, and hundreds that look abandoned and never move. If you're in a rush, you can easily miss your train trying to find a space to put your bike. They are so crowded together that it's had to see where one bike begins and another ends. Nevertheless it is convenient and free, so lots of people cycle to the station to take the train to London every day.

Mick is one of these people - and he's very hard-working and often comes home late in the evening. One night he arrived back, tired after a long day, ready to cycle home. When he went to unlock his bike some complete idiot had managed to padlock their bike to his.

It was dark and rainy and he was furious. He wrote a note and left it in the other bike's basket. The note read: "You've locked your bike to mine. It's dark. I'm going to have to get a taxi home. Pease be more careful."

The next day when he got home from work he went to look for his bike. On it he found a note that said: "So sorry about your bike. Was in a rush to get the train for the premiere of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight at Covent Garden (absolutely fantastic!). Please accept my apologies."  And enclosed was a £5 note.



Sign in Latin and Greek on the railings of a house in Portugal Street. Did the Romans have 'duae rotae' then?

Valentine's Day Photos

It was a lovely day. The photos are enough - Cambridge was looking at it's best. 

The Wren Library, Trinity

The fountain at the Botanic Garden

The ancient tradition of barrell racing

A good day out on Boxing Day, this ancient tradition goes back to 2005 when the four Granchester pubs decided it would be a good way to bring in some extra customers. The best part was the brisk walk across the Meadows - gloriously covered in crisp snow sparkling in the sunshine. We had to hurry as we were late - past pushchairs, tourists admiring the view, people throwing snowballs, and others rushing to get to the start of the races.









The first (men's) race was already over when we arrived, but there were plenty more to go. Women, all comers, regional and county championships were still to come. The latter consisted of representatives from nearby villages: Barton, Newnham, Madingly (no-one showed up), and the shops of Burwash Manor.



The spectators are as much the entertainment as the contestants - an excellent selection of fashion knits, bobble hats and designer wellies.

 

The fun is in seeing the different techniques - bent over from behind, sharp slaps from the side, brute force, random violent pushes zigzagging across the course... 

Carol Singing

We've been carol singing twice this year: once at a candlelight service at Trumpington church, and then a few days later, the Newnham carol singing in the streets round our neighbourhood.

The snow around the church was still quite fresh and undistrubed. It was dark but the moonlight reflected off the snow gave plenty of light to see by as we walked up the icy path to the church door. I wondered why there was already singing in the church even though we were 20 minutes early - was the choir practicing?

Unfortunately we'd got the time wrong by an hour and the service was in full swing. Three car-fulls of us came, about 10 minutes apart, so we kept disturbing the service as each time the lady ushers had to find carol sheets and candles for the next lot of us to arrive. I got the giggles every time the door opened again for another load of Squires to trail in... But we were made welcome, and we sang heartily. I got there in time for 'In the bleak midwinter' which is one of my favourites, and the reading about the shepherds coming to the stable - so there was plenty more to go. At the end we had mince pies and mulled wine and were very glad we'd come.  There were a few people there that I knew - I'm always surprised at that even though I've been here nearly 8 years so it's not really extraordinary.

The Newnham carols were fun too - numbers swelled by various visiting in-laws (or in my case, Emma). We met at the Co-op at 5pm and sang around our three violins. No money collection - just pure pleasure. It was very cold and dark with snow and ice still making the road treacherous. Lois had put up the sheet music at our 'stations': starting at the Co-op, then the butcher's, down to the bend on Grantchester Meadows and then the tree at the end of Marlowe Road. Two or three carols at each stop - just enough for the fiddlers' finger not to get too cold. We got carried away at the end and sang 'We wish you a Merry Christmas' a few extra time just for fun.  Idefix the dog was there too and paid me the compliment of not attacking my ankles. The brazier, mince pies, flapjacks, and mulled wine were waiting for us at the other end of Marlowe Road - but even that wasn't enough to keep Emma warm in her London coat and thin shoes so we had to make an early escape back to the fire side at 11A.

There was one more carol singing - a short story I read by Laurie Lee about his childhood. He tells  the story of the boys in his village traipsing through miles of snow to the houses of the neighbouring gentry: it's true and unsentimental. 

OAP Swimming

I've started swimming regularly. It's great - a nearby school pool, twice a week, very genteel people, no racing and splashing, just good steady exercise.

It's the University of the Third Age swimming club. I qualify now that I'm over 50. Yes there are some advantages to advancing age. It's possible I'm mistaken but I've got a feeling that Sue and I bring down the average age by a few years. The pool is lovely and warm, and we just swim up and down. Being one of the youngest, I'm also one of the fastest, so it's tempting to feel smug and I have to keep reminding myself that everyone else is mostly over 70. It takes us almost as long to get changed as it does to swim, but that's part of the fun. There's quite a lot of chatting in the changing rooms as most people seem to be neighbours or have been coming for years. It feels like I'm getting an insight into what I'll be doing in 20 years time.

Grandchildren, waiting times for minor ops, and interesting events around Cambridge feature frequently. Someone was recently organising  a collection and a Christmas card to thank the club organisers - you can never plan too far ahead, just a pound or two is fine, for a gift voucher from Scotsdales. This drew a comment from a venerable lady that it's hard work organising the club - week in week out, keeping track of members, money and attendance. Yes said another, it's a lot easier to prepare and give a lecture - I'd rather do that any day than all the work of the club she said. A point of view that wouldn't have ocurred to me!

Seeing Differently

A couple of days ago I went to see the Assembling Bodies exhibition - rather reluctantly as I didn't really think it would tell me much I didn't already know. It turned out that wasn't the point. It was a lot of fun. Mixing anthropology, art, technology and science to look at our bodies from all different angles. Here's just a couple of things that made me laugh.

It's the eyes that caught my attention. The Papuan funerary statue has incredibly realistic snail shell eyes - his gaze is unsettling. The Head of the Blue Chip has two different eyes: one a small camera, the other a large blue eye under which is a video of a real eye, moving and blinking. The camera eye really works: you can see youself on a little screen on the right side of the 'brain'. The blue eye is realistic because it moves, blinks and seems to look at you. But the statue's eyes have a blurred quality that feels to me like the way we look into people's eyes every day - we don't usually stare fixedly at someone's eyes, we just get an impression of them. They are different versions of reality. 

Mariam's holding the cast of a hug! It is the empty space inside of a hug. Such a brilliant idea. We both played around with it, holding it in different positions, trying to find the right 'fit'. It feels cold initially, and rough, and quite heavy. Then it warms up with you, and once you relax and stop feeling idiotic hugging this thing, you can get it into a good position. It feels like it's comforting you.

It made me think of the way that in traditional Iranian towns, the Friday mosque is a space inside the bazaar - it's  not a building with an outside wall and an ornate portal, it's the inside empty courtyard that is important. Where there is silence and stillness and room for prayer.