Cambridge

Is ancient.  Everything is medieval.  It is so beautiful.  It is hard to be drunk in the town, especially with high heels.  Easy to fall over.  Something about the past few days has been awfully Withnail & I.  You understand.

On Sunday I went for lunch in Primrose Hill and sat near someone from East Enders.  I don't know if you know EastEnders.  British soap opera.  Terrible and yet great.  Big excitement for me to eat roast poussin near this fellow:

Pure class and elegance.

During the drive up to Cambridge we got caught in the most horrible rainstorm of all time.  Apocalyptic.  Floods.  Terror.  We ate at Jamie's Italian and I drank prosecco and ate scallops and managed to fall asleep and dream that I was caught in a rain storm -- but the rain was GLASS.  What kind of terrible dark things are hidden in my subconscious.  It was the worst dream I have ever had in my life, ever, ever, ever.  

Not quite recovered from our 24 hour hedonistic binge, but it involved Pimms.  And punters.  And waking up in a doorway.  And judgement.