We had a full day at Cambridge on our last trip there to pick up the remainder of Sandro's belongings and furniture from his abandoned rented house in Cambridge. Albina and I took our friends Stefan and Ewa to assist us. Initially we had packed a heavy air conditioning unit onto Stefan's car, and then collected some stools, pot plants, lamps and clothings, as well an office chair for my office. Then we gave Stef and Ewa, who had never been to Cambridge, a quick visit to the city and a promise of a meal. We parked just to the east of the centre overlooking a weir on the Cam. We crossed over the weir and walked along the south side of the river, past the punt station and Magdalen Bridge to Trinity Street. Ewa in particular was enchanted by the city, understandably so. She chortled with glee at the narrow streets and elegant shops. We passed St Johns College and Trinity College with their sumptuous chapels heavy with statues and tabernacles, but we had no access to the courtyards. However, Ewa and Albina were diving in and out of the clothes shops, while Stefan and I plodded on along Trinity Street towards Kings College, amused by our wives' priorities in their tour of a historic city, The bells of St Marys were peeling and the deadening echo reverberated over the narrow streets cutting short their window shopping and our conversation. The ladies caught up with us and joined us outside what purported to be the most beautiful building in Cambridge, Kings College Chapel. I say "purported" because the majestic perspective of the building was marred by heavy scaffolding, Apparently the leaden rood was being repaired to be replaced by a new structure that would include solar panels. Ecologically sound, perhaps, but architecturally, a travesty. I hope that the new structure would still involve a clear view of the extraordinary medieval fan vaulting which surmounted this inspired structure.
We repaired to a quaint nearby restaurant called the copper kettle and I battled the outside chill with a reassuring warm red lentil soup, while my co-passengers settled for lunchtime brunches. Ewa was delighted with the whole outing and took Albina back to the shops on the way back, whilw Stefan and I continued solving the world's problems, from the imminent sacking of Zahawi, the possible return of Boris to power which Stefan sympathized with, regrdless of the moral cesspit and politival and economic havoc that would cause. At least we agree on the despatch of Leopard and Challenger thanks to Ukraine. But talk of politics in a land riven by strijes with rising interest rates, falling house prices, and a health service "fallen on its face" in Starmer's words was just too depressing. We rejoined the ladies, crossed over the river to enjoy the twee overhanging houses on Magdalen Street, the inner courtyard of Magdalen College, the site of a Polish ceramics shop which dispayed faences from her local city of Lodz, and the made our way to our cars to head home.
It was that journey back that was such a strain to me. Following that good meal I began to feel sleepy, which fact O tried to keep from Albina for as long as I could, before eventually succumbing and parking up at the next road services. It was begin to get dark as we resumed our journey and we continued in a sort of twilight as we dashed down the M11 to hit the street lights of north London and journeyed in halting traffic home. Stefan and Ewa had expected us to go by their house, but we drive straight home, and I unloaded all the remaining paraphenalia from Sandro's house. We sent Sandro a picture of what furniture was still left to be collected by the Emmaus Charity. The rest is down to you, my son.
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