‘The Other Place’ & other journeys…

This blog post carries with it a certain sense of a journey - perhaps less in its literary construction than the fact that it was composed on the 23:20 from Gerrards Cross to Marylebone, but I shall leave you to be the judge of that.

A fair bit of journeying has taken place in my life over the last couple of weeks - 2 physical, one emotional journey and countless more to the fridge (and some to the bathroom, but enough of the delicate detail). My first physical journey took me to ‘the other place’ as it is so affectionately and affectedly known. It is a comparatively shorter trip in miles from my home to Oxford than it ever was to Cambridge (strangely enough the mileage has not changed) but my heart had travelled to Cambridge with a frequency and a fervour far greater than its intermittent and half-hearted dalliances with Oxford. But the call of a friend must be answered, and so I made my way on the train (in fact in the company of Mary Berry - what an unexpected treat) to see my dear Raffaella. This fiery, feisty and phenomenal Italian (note she did not bribe me to say this) was not necessarily her usual unflappable self, as she had been struck by the perils of an evil winter cold. Nevertheless we made the best of our trip by using the excuse of the old saying ‘starve a fever, feed a cold’ to promote our various lunches and dinners about town. Needless to say I couldn’t let Raff feed her cold alone, and I had to ensure I did not contract one myself! So the feasting was indeed a shared activity. We marched across the countryside of Oxford one day to a delightful pub called ‘The Trout’ - Raff assured me they had two peacocks living at the pub, but since I never witnessed them I must put this down to the delirium of a cold (and therefore I must insist that she takes me back there upon my next visit!). That evening we partook of the company of two old friend (well, 1 year old) from the BSA summer school of yesteryear. Ben and Matty graced us with their company and were present for the consumption of my very first Martini - well darling, if Hollywood is going to call I’m going to have to learn to live the high life, no? After a decidedly glamorous and nostalgic evening, we headed back to Raff’s home to recuperate before the next day, which brought more strolling, shopping and sipping (there may have been some chewing too, but after the consumption of a glass of English wine - yes ENGLISH wine, and it was quite potable - I can’t remember so much of the chewing). I then journeyed home to leave a poor Raff to her disrupted immune system, perhaps tired from our experience, but hopefully buoyed by the very presence of my quite notable health. It was, despite the obstacles of tissued ad infinitum, a thoroughly diverting weekend with the most delightful company.

The enjoyment of delightful company on delectable journeys continued when my mum took me - the very next day and somewhat antithetically - to Cambridge. It had been at least 4 months since we had been there, and that is clearly too long by anyone’s standards, and I did not need any excuse for a mini-break! We took the familiar train route and walked the familiar paths, bought presents in the familiar shops, and I even revisited the college and my favourite porters who did not disappoint with their typically warm reception: ‘Bloody hell! I thought we’d got rid of you already!’. It is so nice to be loved. That evening we also went for a catch up drink (which melted into the plural) with my DoS, Dr Yannis Galanakis. He was, as ever, on good form. I received gossip, encouragement and wisdom (whether requested or not) and it was just like old times - except I wasn’t sweating under a pile of work and had no looming deadlines to get me down! The evening continued in its wonderful way as mum and I sipped champagne at the Ivy and dined in style. This journey, however, takes a less savoury turn as I found myself sprinting between bed and bathroom for several hours of the night. I have concluded that I am not allergic to champagne, nor Yannis’ company, but something of the evening did not agree with me. Not one to let anything keep me away from shopping though, the next day we hit the town in retail style and virtually wrapped up Christmas in an afternoon! Well enough to consume a glass of prosecco in the evening I caught up with friends, Tig & Elliott, reminiscing on our Quinoa days with a mixture of nostalgia and relief. Oh how young and positive we were, and oh what fools we must have made of ourselves. But folly like that builds friendships that last a lifetime - or so I told Tig and Elliott as they gritted their teeth through the prospect of being stuck with me for life. The theme of catching up continued as the next morning I saw Amanda, having seen dear Laura the day before - both of whom seem to be doing exceedingly well in their final year at the land of Cam. So it was with a heavy heart but a glowing smile that I waved to the place I had called home for 4 years.

But what, I hear you ask, is the emotional journey you claim to have experienced over the last few weeks? You have told us of Oxford, of Cambridge, even of your trips to the hotel bathroom, but nothing of an insight into the inner workings of your heart. Well, reader, I am sorry to say you may never know the inner workings of my heart, for they as of yet remain a mystery to even me, but I did experience what some may contritely term a ‘rollercoaster of emotions’ during my viewing of a play called ‘The Inheritance’ tonight. I want to tell you how brilliant it was. How unutterable beautiful, and funny, and touching, and light with shade and sweet with bitter, and all things one could want to say about a play. But really I just want to tell you to go and see it. It is in two parts, so I have only seen the first, and the second is booked for next week - I am sure to update you if my opinion changes, but I feel certain my affection for the play can only grow over time. So there you have it - my journey through the story of my recent journeys. Not necessarily direct, but at least a little diverting I hope.

Until the next journey.