I have just looked at the screen of my telephone, and it is telling me, very helpfully, No More Events Today.
I am profoundly glad about this. I feel as though I have had a very lot of events and am absolutely longing to settle down and sleep.
We got a long, longetty long way south last night, and woke up on the A14 this morning, which for the northerners among you, is the road to Cambridge.
We were in Cambridge by lunchtime, and were instantly flattened by the heat. I love heat, but of course we were dressed for a northern summer, by which I mean thermal underwear and scarves, and of course were instantly boiling.
We were not really wearing thermal underwear and scarves, but our garments were most certainly not lightweight.
We spent the rest of the day pink in the face and flapping occasionally.
We parked the camper van and cycled into Cambridge. Cycling is the best, best thing to do there, because everywhere is flat and it is never raining. Cycling in Windermere is utterly rubbish even if you like cycling and have got legs made out of steel hawsers, neither of which applies to me.
I do like cycling in Cambridge, though. We sailed blissfully along quiet little cycle paths, breathing in the summer air and feeling happy with the world.
In the end we came down a little narrow alley at the back of Trinity. We abandoned the bicycles and rushed over to the market, because there is a brilliant second-hand book stall there. I mean really brilliant. It has everything you might ever want to read and nothing with loopy writing and pictures of ladies in crinolines or tearful abused children. I bought a book of John Betjeman’s poetry and a book of the sheet music for all of Tom Lehrer’s songs, which I will go and thrash out on our pretend piano one day when I have time. Mark bought a thrilling-looking book of yarns told by secret commando units in the war.
After that we went to look at the clock, which is my favourite thing in Cambridge, and then meant to have a cup of tea, but the shop we went to only sold wine, so we had that instead.
We were a bit unsteady by the time we set off back.
Mark went off to the camper van for a snooze, and I went to Lucy Cavendish, where I had been invited to a barbecue for postgrad students, and which was utterly lovely. I met the head of college, and liked her very much, and then my friend from my course turned up, so we sat in the sunshine and talked and talked.
The barbecue only served soft drinks, but by a magnificent chance of fate we had brought our own gin, with which we topped them up, and when the head of college came over to say goodbye we were sitting in a rather disreputable squiffy heap of empty gin bottles and cans of Prosecco. This is not a good look but we did not care by then.
In the end Mark rang, and after listening to me talk for roughly ten seconds, decided I was not fit to cycle back to the camper van, and came to get me.
My friend went off to the library. I was deeply envious and have resolved to spend more time in college this year. We had to dash off because of collecting Oliver, and his flight arrived early so we were late.
Oliver is sunburned and freckled and happy. He regaled us with stories of Korean islands and swimming in warm seas and generally exotic foreign adventures. We were fascinated and admiring and mildly envious.
We turned around, having been robbed of a fiver by the airport in return for them allowing us to pause for three seconds outside their door whilst Oliver jumped in, and I am writing to you from outside Lucy’s house. She is at work, but we will see her in the morning, from whence we will be off to Manchester.
That is more than enough events for one day.
I might be quite pleased to be a bit cooler.
