retiredmartin

January 2025. Cambridge.

Apart from Crispy Beef and a pint in The Sun, Waterbeach’s saving grace is its train railway station; an hour to London, 10 minutes to Cambridge,

and only seven to Cambridge North aka Chesterton, from where I attempt a rare assault on 20,000 steps and only just fall short.

I have no idea where I’m going, but am certain I will immediately see a poster seeking a lost cat as I enter Chesterton.

This is Cambridge’s southern suburb, the one with the city’s only “High Street” and the bridge across the Cam,

the one where all the food vans park up overnight,

the one you park at and walk across the common to the United ground.

I can’t believe how quiet it is this Tuesday lunchtime.

The Green Dragon, wrecked by Greene King, isn’t even open lunchtimes. What !

That leaves Milton’s GBG Haymakers, which I should have popped in but I’d have had a pint of 7.5% Marcus and that way lies madness.

So I walked the mile along Chesterton Road, passing my first two work places, and wondered how it could be so quiet.

If the Hungarian diner I’d have popped in,

that black pudding looks sensational. What’s the Hungarian national beer ?

Yes, it’s Dryanuary. Yes, the students are off. But it’s a sad sight passing the deserted Greene King pubs and Spoons-turned-fun pubs along the Cam.

And I’m the optimist.

Still, rather lovely along Chesterton Road, which hasn’t changed that much in 40 years, bar the opening and closing of a vegetarian restaurant.

I make up my mind to revisit the Castle, a favourite 20 years back that’s rather drifted of late.

Surely, surely, there’ll be drinkers here ?