We are having some time called a Writing Break, and so I thought I might use it to write to you.
I can tell you that I think the Queen and I might have more in common than just membership of the same PTA, because right now I feel as though I have died and gone to heaven.
I could not be happier if God had given me a questionnaire to fill in, like the sort that they give to rock bands when they go on tour and they tell people that they don’t like blue M&Ms so please take all of those out of the bowl first.
There are no M&Ms of any colour but I don’t much like any of them, so it doesn’t matter.
The place is utterly beautiful, and almost completely silent. I feel as though I ought to whisper even when I am outside. Madingley Hall is an elegant red brick building, ancient and lovely, with domes and chimneys and beautiful iron gates. There is a Physic Garden, and a Scented Garden, and a Vegetable Garden, and all of the lawns are edged with trees and flowers and beautifully topiarised bushes.
The whispering makes it difficult to shout for the dog. He is deaf anyway, and so if he wanders away I am having to rely on frantic hand signals to attract his attention. Not that he is doing much wandering. He has been asleep under the bed practically ever since he arrived. He has become very doddery indeed, he might be following the Queen before we get home at this rate. He is tottering gently around the lawns when we have our little excursions, but it has become an unsteady sort of affair.
I cannot believe how much we are being nurtured, I feel as though I have fallen into a bathtub of bliss. We are being fed, and provided with cakes and coffee in between, in case we might feel peckish. We have got to go offsite to our colleges for Matriculation tomorrow night and our taxis are booked for us. We will be fed again when we get back. I wish I had brought some bigger trousers.
The food is ace. I mean, beyond ace. I have stuffed myself with pesto chicken and saffron rice, served with half a dozen different kinds of salad, with the addition of chips for the portly, followed by a choice of cheesecakes. I had raspberry and white chocolate. It was all eaten at long tables covered with white cloths, in a beautiful panelled dining room with pictures of people’s ancestors.
There is dinner as well later.
If anybody is fancying an academic career I can jolly well recommend it, I can tell you.
As for the classes, they are ace. There are a lot of very clever people here. I mean, really clever. I am listening to the other students talk and being lost in admiration of their brilliant intellects. We have been warned to beware of Impostor Syndrome, and I have always been quite conceited enough for it never to have been a problem before, but I think I might be getting it, a bit. We were told that we were handpicked from a very long list, and are exactly the people that they wanted here, but I can’t help but feel a bit not-as-clever-as-I-like-to-think-I-am. I sat next to an American journalist at lunch, who told me all about his thrilling adventures in the Middle East. Every time somebody opens their mouth I am consumed by admiration for their perception and depth of thought.
Keeping my end up is going to take some doing. I am not sure that perception and depth of thought is exactly my forte.
I am going to go away. I have got to write something brilliant before dinner, and I don’t think that this counts.
I am having the loveliest, lovely time. I can hardly believe that such a perfect perfection can be happening to me.
I am feeling very contented indeed.
