I like this city. Yesterday the Cathedral poked magnificently above the treetops, the English flag fluttering in the summer breeze. The quaint streets and pleasant green, the Tudor beams of quiet houses and leafy trees reflected the sunshine as though pointing to happier times.
I'm visiting my friends, who have made me toast, made me tea and made me laugh. To her great delight, Anita even beat me at Scrabble. I was of course, my usual uncompetitive, gracious-in-defeat-happy-go-lucky-no-it's-fine-it's-the-taking-part-that-counts self, while John and I poured the tiles back in the bag. Few things I like more than losing at Scrabble.
It's great being somewhere different for a while. It always feels liberating, as though I can shape myself to be something else for a few hours - the atmosphere is not the same as it is at home. I can be a stranger, an outsider and an enigma who appears and disappears anonymously, unknown and mysterious. I rather like that. If I could ever be famous, I think I'd miss that.
One thing the atmosphere carries here that I could do without though is the pollen. I'm sneezing again and my eyes are weak and watery. It's an annual annoyance that the nicest time of the year corresponds with this incessant assault on my immune system. I've taken ceterizine hydrochloride but so far it's only sealed up my nostrils like Victorian railway tunnels.
There is also something to be said for this town being a much more laid-back kind of place. I might be wrong, but where I live life seems to rush past. In lots of other places, not just here in Cambridgeshire of course, time is much slower, it seems.
After all, the bus drivers get a round of applause from the passengers for making them later than they expected. I think that's remarkable.
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