Racial tensions at Cambridge’s Grand Arcade
(Bad enough by themselves)
Well, it mildly disturbed me anyway.
Credit: Lucy for suggesting that it should be photographed.
(It’s not a title that actually relates to this post, but as I was hunting around for music to listen to I was drawn to fond memories of this and thus Liquid News. Ah, Liquid! If you hadn’t gone I wouldn’t have to get my daily ‘stuff people care about’ briefing from Digital Spy…)
As Lucy leaves from visiting (finally made it to the Waffle House!) and I turn to the final week of term there’s a familiar end-of-term weariness, so it’s probably a helpful boost to my work ethic that my final essay is on religion in America. One of the available questions is simply “Why is the United States so religious?” which I read as ending with an implied “!?!” for good measure. But it saddens me that after this essay I will be returning home for a life of coursework rather than recuperation! Ooh, and Book Club too. (I need to get a move on with that actually. Either that or I lie about when I’m back in London and hide for a week…)
Sophie and I have been watching Pride and Privilege: a documentary about life at exclusive (and rather expensive) Glenalmond College in Scotland. It’s the kind of show which I’d occasionally watch at home, if others were around to poke fun at whatever eccentric cast of characters the producers had persuaded to appear, but it’s given a highly entertaining edge by the fact that Sophie is actually one of Glenalmond’s distinguished alumni and thus can provide all the extra inside gossip (“oh my god, they went and found the stupidest girl in the school…”). It did make me think about what would have happened if I’d went to boarding school – I just don’t think I could have endured someone coming in and turning off the light to make me go to bed at night. All of my crazy 2am creations lost! Still, I wish I had a show about Queens Park to provide in return 
Last Wednesday night, when I should have been planning an essay on 60s ‘rebellion’, I instead finally managed to get to one of Andrew’s Peterhouse Politics events and saw Christopher Meyer – former British Ambassador to the US – speak on Barack Obama. Luckily, everything he said now has a warm afterglow now that the election is over, but it was still interesting to hear about his friendship with John McCain. It all confirmed what I thought really: nice guy, detested Bush but with a tendency to lose his cool under pressure big time and fly into rages. (And consequently do stupid things and, say, appoint stupid people to be his VP. Thought I might as well get this in before Sanna blogs 
) And I’m suddenly struck by amusement at the idea that this is my equivalent of Abbi’s gig reports!
Before I leave you with another instalment of unique wit and wisdom – you know you love them 
– the idea of having ‘features’ over multiple blogs reminds me somewhat of The Self Twist. The what? The newsletter thingy I made from 2000 to 2002. OK, so it had a circulation roughly equivalent to that of the Daily Express – four – and that consisted purely of everyone else in the house. (Ah, the joys of word processing as entertainment before the days of broadband Internet connections…) But it was also fun, with youthful forays into ‘writing for an audience’, ‘meeting deadlines’ and ‘marketing’. And bits of it can even be unexpectedly reflective now:
from The Self Twist, Issue 41, September 2002
~
The Wit and Wisdom of My Mates And I: Part 3
Part 3: On Peer Pressure
Our hero has gone to London and fallen in with Mark Watson: a ‘crafty, cunning young man’. Under his influence they make life difficult for the good and pious Harry. “…one sultry day in July, when we had taken a long walk, and were tired and hot, Mark proposed, for the first time before Harry, that we should turn into a public-house to refresh ourselves. I gave a sort of wink towards Harry, as much as to say, “What will he think?” Watson understood me.
“Of course we needn’t ask you to come,” he said, as Harry hesitated; “you’re too great a saint for that; far above the vain pleasures of us poor mortals.”
“I’m not a saint,” said Harry bluntly.
“Well,” said Mark, changing his tack, “perhaps I was wrong, but you may have other reasons – your mother won’t let you, eh?”
“I can do as I like,” said Harry again.
“Dear me, then I’m very pleased,” said Watson, with a bow; “walk in then, I’m glad to be favoured with your company, I’m sure.”
[drumroll?]
And Harry did walk in.”
Reindeer Post
It technically launched two weeks ago, but there’s still more than enough time to tell you about… Reindeer Post! Yes, over the holiday I’ve been working on this joint business venture: my role, unsurprisingly, was to build the website. The idea is very simple – personalised letters from Father Christmas for children (or even ironic adults ). Simply head over to the site, fill out our order form and (for a low low price) the intended recipient will receive a customised letter from Santa addressed to them in the post. And let’s face it, getting letters is pretty cool these days even when it’s just a bank statement… how amazing to get one from the North Pole? (Or Lapland, he said hastily.)
A word about the website itself: yes, it’s very simple and highly imperfect. I know this, honestly. But I am reminded of that erstwhile Microsoft saying – “shipping is a feature” – and particularly so for such a seasonally-dependent service. The important thing is that the site is up and running and works, which is does, so that we can all learn lessons for next year. So go on – if you know anyone who would just love a letter from Father Christmas, tell them about Reindeer Post. Ta
~
The Wit and Wisdom of My Mates And I: Part 2
Part 2: On Bad Wives
Ladies! Please make sure you don’t live like Jane Wallis, for she is “a great talker, and spent the time in which she ought to have been providing for her husband’s comfort, in standing at the corner of the street gossiping with all the idle people who chanced to be passing. And then the money Dick earned went to pay for smart bonnets and gowns for her, for she was very fond of finery. Then when the bills came in, Dick complained and grumbled; but it was of no use. She answered him with such a storm of abusive words, and with such a burst of passion, as fairly drove him out of his home, and sent him to ‘Red Lion.'”.
Oh dear. I think we all know what happens next…“Well, one night it came to and end… We rushed to the front to see what was going on, and we saw there such a sight as I never saw before, and I trust I shall never see again. Poor Jane Wallis was lying on the ground apparently dead, her head bleeding dreadfully, and over her was standing Dick, with the poker in his hand, only half sobered by what he had done.”
Hot on the heels of being taken out for dinner by my aunt Carolyn on Thursday night, the very next evening I was feeding (quite literally) off Lucy’s generosity in Brighton. (Sentence framed this way to draw attention to the issue of card machine sexism!) Touring the Sussex campus, I was torn between loving the ability to walk around in a virtually car-free environment and never quite being able to escape the thought of The Village, which is common to all campuses. However, it was lovely to visit and see more of ‘real’ university life
My Mates And I
The next day we went back to Brighton and visited a wonderful second-hand bookshop with plenty of old, old books. Naturally, I headed straight for the children’s section and it was there that I made The Discovery: My Mates and I, by a Mrs. O.F. Walton and published by the Religious Tract Society. According to the British Library it was written in 1870 – although published later – and is by all accounts a terrible, terrible book… from the absurd title and woeful characterisations to the paper-thin plot which barely makes any effort to disguise its Jesus-leanings. I just had to buy it. And now, in what I anticipate will become an irregular feature, I would like to inaugurate the first in a new series: The Wit and Wisdom of My Mates and I.
The Wit and Wisdom of My Mates And I: Part 1
Part 1: On The Temptation of a Noisy Game
Having received expert spiritual guidance at the house of old Mrs. Payne, the lads depart and soon find temptation… “just outside we met with a number of our companions, who were talking and laughing at the top of their voices, and who wanted us to join them in a noisy game. However, with Mrs. Payne’s words ringing in our ears, Frank and I refused, and went quietly home; though I am sorry to say our two mates were over-persuaded, and left our company for theirs”.
On Saturday night my irregular wine-drinking partners Andrew, Matt and Caroline – who I struggle to come up with a collective name for other than the dispiriting ‘Themes & Sources crowd’ – braved the apparently highly dangerous route to my house for an evening of, well, wine drinking? Well OK, wine drinking and CUCA bashing – for Caroline is that way inclined – which is always a perfect recipe for a great night. As the night wore on the political discussion intriguingly managed to buck the expected descent into incoherence – well, if you take my word for it – and Caroline pulled off a rather neat trick by being the first conservative to sell a conception of ‘family values’ I didn’t react against with horror. It was clever, actually, and bizarrely smacked a little bit of Old Labour.
Matt, me and Caroline (carefully framed by wine)
(Oh, and Andrew discovered that the Peterhouse May Ball is a white tie event. Oops )
Blurry gig photo!
Joshua arrived on Sunday on a multi-pronged visit to see me and his friend Daniel at Selwyn. That night, a million miles away from the world of wine and white ties, we went to see The King Blues perform at The Portland Arms. And it was awesome. As this was technically my 2nd gig in a not highly illustrious career (sssh, Abbi) I’ll happy nick the phrase ‘protest punk ska reggae frenzy’ to describe it perfectly. We were right up in front of the stage, head-banging and moshing (!) in a wonderful and very friendly atmosphere. Although I don’t believe in their exact protest politics – in many ways it’s like going to an SWP meeting except with a great soundtrack and alcohol – having everyone shout ‘fuck off’ to the BNP in unison is a perfect moment in and of itself. Plus, afterwards a very cool guy was performing an anti-Boris poem (along with others) on the pavement outside. Yay!
The glorious sign
Oh, and I now have their on-stage sign in my room after Joshua took advantage of his height to grab it! (I just love the grammatically correct apostrophe for a Cambridge audience )
The next day Joshua and I went into overdrive at the glorious Waffle House and had two each – an entirely justified excess. In the evening, Abi came over for a famed Peggle tournament – ooh, worlds colliding again 
– which rounded off a very enjoyable couple of days. I must apologise to Joshua, though, for the rain. Sorry! That’s what happens when everyone suddenly decides to visit at this time of year…
If I’m Obelix, you are my boulder.
Abi and Joshua face off at Peggle Nights
Linda Moffitt on Colombia: “Such a sweet memory of the four of you meeting up in Colombia!” Dec 2, 07:42
