You may have noticed the emptiness of these pages last night. This was because I spent an entire day being educated, after which I toiled all the way back to the Lake District on the motorway, pausing briefly for a cup of coffee with Lucy on the way past.
After that I was too tired even to think about writing any more.
Not only was I too tired to write, I was even too tired to listen. I could not even manage to have a story playing in the cab of the van on the journey. I felt as though there were words coming out of my ears, and I had absolutely no room for any more. I had to play Queen’s Greatest Hits instead.
Cambridge is very nice, but they certainly do talk.
Despite this, I was both profoundly sorry, and mightily relieved that it was over. I love every bit of it, but goodness me, it is hard work. Quite apart from the non-stop thinking, there is a very great deal of talking and chatting-over-dinner, questions to be considered, and preparation to be done.
I am not the sort of sociable creature who finds light-hearted chats a pleasant breeze, and I have to concentrate very hard.
Also, Lucy summed it up beautifully when she said that it was like going to Disneyland for a week.
It is exactly like that.
For a week the whole world disappears, to be replaced by an enchanted kingdom of beautiful surroundings, gourmet dining and magical thinking, where people talk about Braided Narratives and Framing Lived Experience. They describe things as being Meta, and no matter how stupidly brainless your query is, somebody kindly says: That’s a really good question.
I still do not have the foggiest idea what a braided narrative might be, although people have talked about them several times daily for the whole week. I have consoled myself with the reflection that it is unlikely that anybody else knows either.
Meta is a Cambridge word. I have never heard it said anywhere else, and I don’t know what that means either. It is something you say, mysteriously, when you don’t have a clue what somebody else is going on about. That’s very Meta, you say.
Still, I have had a splendid time. Lectures have carried on until the middle of the night, but there has been a very pleasant snapshot of time around dinner when the bar has been open. You can take wine into evening lectures, so I did.
We will not be going again for ages and ages. The next part is online, which I won’t mind, because it saves me getting my smart clothes dirty, although I will be sorry not to see my fellow students. I have made particular friends with a very clever chap who is a psychiatrist the rest of the time. He is brilliant company because he has trained his face to look as though he thinks what you are saying is interesting, even when you are on your second glass of wine and you are beginning to suspect it might be twaddle.
Also you will be pleased to hear that I submitted my Shoe piece, at which you might recall I cheated by writing on here first. You will probably be as astounded as I was to hear that my fellow academics considered it a piece of subtle social commentary, with a varied sentence structure and a display of confident storytelling. I had to read it again afterwards to see if perhaps they had got it mixed up with somebody else’s.
I was very pleased about this, although not entirely convinced. I am not certain that Subtle would be the best description of my remarks about anything.
Only in Cambridge-Land, perhaps.
It is very lovely to be home.
I will probably see you again on Sunday. Saturday nights are a bit busy.
PS. LATER NOTE. I have bashed my foot. I am on the taxi rank wallowing in self pity and drugs. See you on Sunday, probably.
