IN WHICH I REMEMBER WHY I LEFT CAMBRIDGE FOR SHEFFIELD

August 2023. Cambridge.

Obviously I’m not making these weekly trips back “home” for cheap beer, oh no.

Nope, it’s so Mrs RM can have her photo taken outside one of the UK’s great houses as part of her 100 Day Challenge.

And so I can use my free “Identify A Plant” app for Mum.

No idea what that is.

I recognise all the brands in the fridge at the Co-op that just opened in Waterbeach, ahead of the village’s ultimate rise to “City” status.

I think the presence of Vocation’s Life & Death says a lot about “craft” in 2023.

In 1988, which I was remembering last up, there was less choice in supermarkets and pubs, though perhaps still more than the choice offered by Thomas Hobson Esq in the 17th century.

Mr Hobson was of course the originator of the maxim “One beer is plenty, often more than enough”, but I also read he constructed a clean water course for the city, marked by this fountain head near the spot where I failed my 4th driving test.

Cambridge architecture has changed a bit since Hobson’s day, sometimes for the worse,

occasionally for the better.

Contrary to popular belief, this isn’t the Fen tiger;

Mrs RM wanted a photo outside a Cambridge landmark for her 100 Day Challenge, and I guess the Fitzwilliam is as predictable as it comes.

But I reckon a university city is at its best without university students,

especially ones who drink in their ancient halls and don’t keep old boozers like the Regal going, which I guess is why you pay £4.50 for a pint of Budweiser in the Spoons.

Still, they’ll always have their cutting-edge music scene.

3 thoughts on “IN WHICH I REMEMBER WHY I LEFT CAMBRIDGE FOR SHEFFIELD

  1. It’s a lime or linden, the flowers of which can be used as a herbal tea for boosting the digestive system and relieving constipation but we both know that proper beer in sufficient volumes does that perfectly well.

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    1. Reminds me of a working day lunch, at a curry house in Cheltenham in the 1980s, Paul.

      “Better not have any more beer, what else do you have?” I asked the gentleman serving.

      “We have horrible tea, Sir” he replied.

      “Thanks for your honesty, but I’d still better not have any more beer” I protested.

      It took several attempts before I realised that he was offering herbal tea (with a rhotic “r”)

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