I suppose it’s a couple or three weeks since Mum and Dad came to stay for the weekend. They chose their time specifically so as to intersect with Nonna and Assunta’s stay and, by a sort of arranged coincidence, Singe and Christine were around, too; specifically, in a campsite in the Shelfords. I took the Friday off and Mum and Dad arrived for lunch, parking the van in front of Ali’s house. We spent the afternoon hanging out at home. I was hobbled by an infection in my heel which was pretty darn painful. I think we all had a nice game of Performance which Mum and Dad had given Lola for her birthday. We had lamb casserole for dinner. Gosh, isn’t this all just too exciting. You can tell the muse is really with me as I type this…
A densly-packed weekend ensued, starting with a trip out to Upware for a picnic by the river. The lock there is quite impressive with its big motorised sluices and we watched one narrow-boating couple go through onto the lode, on their way to Wicken Fen. A lot of effort (albeit largely mental effort spent working out which buttons to push to get the sluices to operate) to rise the inch or so required. Much boaty chatter, unsurprisingly, from Singe and Christine who have only recently sold their own narrowboat.
It’s lovely up at Upware with the junctions of the Cam and various lodes and lots of boats moored up along the banks, many stopping at the “Miles From Anywhere” pub which backs onto the river. I’m now inspired to hire a boat for a week’s holiday around our local waterways.
So, we walked, ate, chatted and played. I saw a woodpecker. Green: I’ve not seen many of those. Then back in convoy (two motor homes across the narrowly-roaded fens) in time to cook the ham for the evening’s ham, egg and (bought) chips.
The next day, we arranged to meet St John and Christine in town for a wander around the colleges. Isa, Lola and Neve stayed at home so they could go to Rosie’s birthday party.
We parked up by the botanic gardens and walked up to the Fitzwilliam to meet S&C. From there we fought our way through hoards of Asian tourists to the queue for entry to Kings. We quickly decided that wasn’t a clever idea and wandered off to find another college to invade. Appositely enough, we ended up touring St Johns which was impressive, not least in the herbacious borders department.
I then exhausted everyone with a walk back to the van through the backs. (I later salved my guilt by working out that the route was barely longer than returning through town.)
I’d started a shoulder of pork earlier and left it in a low oven so just had the taties to roast and veg to do. I forget what, bur probably spinach from the garden.
The next day it was all aboard the branch-line train to Newmarket. We had Neve very much in mind for this trip as she had spent the last couple of months going on about our Minehead trip: “HAN-pah, sit down, woo-woo! Nonna, sit down, woo-woo! Etc”. It was somewhat stressful getting everyone in the camper and to the station on time but we made it with minutes to spare. Unfortunately, it turns out that that line is not part of Network Sourh-East and so not covered by my gold card. Luckily, tickets were cheap anyway.
It was fun going down that line: behind the beehive centre, across the common, past the allotments, over the level-crossing at Cherry Hinton. Funny how fast we went past it all – it was hard to spot everything – yet the train seems so slow when we watch it from the common. Within 20 minutes, we were stepping out onto the platform at Newmarket.
I have a tip for anyone going to Newmarket: don’t. At least, not until you’ve exhausted all the other options on your list. I mean some of the buildings were interesting enough and the horse market (and the ostentatious houses around it) and the Jockey Club HQ added colour, as did the “modern art” statues of horse dotted around the place. But there was a grim air of abandonment about the place; much of the high street was woefully dilapidated and populated with outlets (definitely not shops) that spoke of approaching doom. A seedy (is there any other kind) table-dancing joint dominated one end of the street.
We stopped for tea at the Museum of Horseracing, which appeared to double as a rest-home for the elderly. They did have a pleasant garden to sit in, though — I doubt we’d have found anywhere better. A quick tramp around the town and we were back on the train, heading home.