The Cornish Exile

Logistics

2011-03-24T19:46:00.006+01:00

Who'd have thought that a post entitled "Logistics" would bring me out of my blogging slumber? Probably anyone who knows me.

I've always been a bit fascinated by the postal system. The idea that you can put a letter in the postbox on the corner, and then have it drop through someone else's letterbox the next day (usually) for only £0.41 is quite an incredible feat of logistics. Even more amazing is that you've been able to do that for over 100 years. Simon Gardner, an academic at Lincoln College Oxford has even written about how the postal system helped to shape aspects of the modern law of contract.

A couple of weeks ago my trusty laptop finally gave up after six and half years of faithful service when one of the hinges holding the screen in place snapped. So, it was new laptop time. I ordered a new one from Dell, which was to come from China, and it arrived today. But what was more exciting than receiving the laptop was tracking it on its way to me. UPS's online tracking service makes for compulsive viewing:

There was something quite compelling about following my laptop's progress as it made its way to my door. As much as I love Royal Mail's ability to get post around the UK within 24 hours, it doesn't quite compare to UPS getting my laptop from China to London in just over 30 hours. But then again, perhaps I shouldn't be surprised, as UPS do love their logistics:

I didn't embrace the delivery man like the lady in the video (I was covered in oil from cleaning up the frame of my bicycle after some thief stole the wheels from it), but he did ask me all about the laptop contained within the box. I think I made a good stab of feigning knowledge, and he seemed to think I'd made a good choice, which is encouraging.

Douglas Adams' holistic detective, Dirk Gently, makes use of the "fundamental inconnectedness of things" to solve crime. From China to London via Koera, Kazakhstan, Poland and Germany, he'd have been impressed by UPS.

An Officer and a Gentleman

2009-04-10T13:02:00.003+02:00

Blogging isn't one of my specialities any more. Gone are the days of updates on what I bought in the shops. Gone are updates of practically any sort in fact. But once in a while something comes along that seems worthy of an entry, and yesterday evening was a perfect example.

Nathan, a friend I've known since the days of primary school, passed out from Sandhurst yesterday after nine-months of training, and even longer preparation. I can't pretend to understand or appreciate the effort that must have taken, but what I do appreciate is how well deserved it was.

At midnight last night he became an officer in the Army, and it was great having the opportunity to be there. Nathan, if it weren't so corny, I'd say I salute you.

Of course, the day wouldn't have been complete without an exploding tyre, me and Jon consequently missing the first three hours of the Commissioning Ball, closed motorways on the way back, getting lost in Frimley at 02:00, and my bumping into Maddy from Selwyn.

As starts to an Easter weekend go, this certainly ranks up there.

Living up to London

2008-12-23T22:15:00.000+01:00

Despite being the sort of person who loves to plan everything out, even if I'd spent a year do so, I don't think I'd have predicted even half of what these past-four months have brought.

At the end of August I moved up to London. I'd just got back from America and Canada, hadn't started work, and had nowhere arranged to live permanently. Four months later and all that seems like a distant memory. Here I am now back home for Christmas having found a lovely flat in Ealing near the Common to share with Eley, Lottie and Simon, and really enjoying work. It's been a fun and sometimes frantic four months, and so much has happened that to try and recount it all would be impossible, and would just do each event an injustice. More recently though, I've been skiing (and strudel tasting) in Italy with Anna, and yesterday was my birthday, so 'thank you' to everyone who wished me a happy one, and especially to Lottie for laying on a wonderful spread of food that should keep us going well past Christmas, and to Anna, for being a formidable karting partner yesterday evening – Lewis Hamilton would have been quivering in his racing shoes, had he been there.

What will the New Year and beyond bring? Who knows. I'm one of these people who makes notional New Year's resolutions, largely because it's the done thing and because I like making lists, but this year, I feel I'm actually going to make some that are going to stick. Perhaps it's because I'm finally 23 - I've always considered this to be the first proper “grown up” age, so I suppose, I'm now a grown up in my own eyes, expect, I'm not. Yet.

So, what are they? In no particular order: To cycle into work and back each day; to buy a, and learn to play the ukulele; to start playing badminton again; to take up karting properly once the new season begins in March; and (can I have this one?) to finally get around to doing everything I've been either putting off, or too lazy or busy to sort out.

2009, here we come. But until then, I hope everyone has a wonderful Christmas whatever you've got planned, and wherever you're doing it.

Take care.

The day the blogging died

2008-08-27T00:32:00.002+02:00

You may (or may not) have noticed that my blog entries have dried up over the past couple of months as I've had less and less time to spend sorting things out and writing things up. Unfortunately, I'm not about to have any more free time to get things moving again, but I do have a back log of around ten entries that I have just got to add some photos too, so I'll try and get them up soonish.

After that though I fear that this blog will go into a deep sleep for the foreseeable future. I'm about to move up to London to start my new job, and I have to move into my new house and settle into a completely different way of life, so things will be busy for a while and I doubt I'll find the time to blog. But, as they say, never say never.

So, until whenever, thanks for reading :).

A Family (Re)Union

2008-08-03T23:26:00.003+02:00

When I first met Judge Koeltl in Holland last year, he remarked on how he knew someone with the same surname as me; Doug Connah, a lawyer from Baltimore. He put us in touch and I ended up exchanging a few emails with his brother, Jim, on the history of the 'Connah' surname as known to both of us. When I recently visited Judge Koeltl in New York though he went one better, and suggested that I get in touch with Doug to try and arrange a meeting given that Baltimore and DC aren't that far apart. On Thursday, that's exactly what happened.

I took the afternoon off from interning to go to lunch with Dough before taking him on a tour of the Capitol building. It was slightly surreal to hear someone else saying 'Connah' at the restaurant, but it was great to meet him especially given the shared career path.

Over lunch Doug showed me copies of the research he's done into the history of the family. He had some great photos of his ancestors and even some newspaper clippings on the history of Connah's Quay in Wales which I visited just under a year ago. What he had certainly tallied with the little that I've managed to piece together and it's spurred me on to wanting to do some more research of my own once I'm in London come September.

I still find it amazing that a meeting like this can be arranged to so easily. Not that many years ago surely it would have been almost impossible. But it owed it's happening to so many coincidences down the line; from my going to Utrecht, to meeting Judge Koeltl, to him recognising my surname, to my interning in DC and to Doug getting back from his European jazz-band trip in time to come down to DC before I leave. It really makes me wonder just what'll come about in the next few years that I can't even begin to imagine at the moment.

Just to further the small world talk, a couple of years ago when Facebook was in its infancy there was only me and someone called Beth on Facebook with the 'Connah' surname. Out of curiosity I got in touch and we've stayed in sporadic contact over the past couple of years. I mentioned a group I set up on Facebook for people with the surname to Doug and mentioned Beth in connection with it only for him to realise that Beth was his niece! Of all the small world coincidences that surely has to be one of the best I've been a party too. Given the scarcity of the surname, and the fact that the two people outside of my immediate family that I know with the same surname are themselves related, surely there's a good chance that somewhere down the line there is a relational link? It would be nice to think so.

A Tale of Two Committees

2008-07-31T00:51:00.005+02:00

One of the benefits to working in an office where there are far too many interns for the work available is that we get to go a relatively high number of events on the Hill outside of the office, such as hearings, briefings and receptions.

Committee hearings are essentially the organs of the legislative process; bills that have been introduced to either house of Congress are passed over to the committees to be examined, amended etc, and otherwise select committees can be convened to look into specialised topics. But until today I've been thoroughly underwhelmed by what I've seen in committee hearings, both at the full-committee and sub-committee level, to the extent that I've not been enthusiastic about going along to some that have come up.

For instance, last week, the Judiciary Committee held a hearing into the Bush presidency. It was bound to be controversial - but the various members couldn't even agree as to whether it was the first step down the road to impeachment or not. Two hours later and the witnesses hadn't even finished making their opening statements. I left, thoroughly bored and disenchanted with what should have been a groundbreaking and incredibly far reaching hearing. But today I went along to one at a committee I've never been to before, the Committee on Science and Technology, and for a change, was thoroughly impressed. So let me compare and contrast that committee with the Judiciary committee - the committee I've perhaps spent the most time watching.

The Judiciary committee is obviously one of the more prestigious in the House and as such, it seems to be staffed by people with inflated egos and agendas. A typical hearing, whether designed to look into proposed legislation or undertaking an investigation starts with ALL of the committee reading out their opening statements (all of which are available on paper) and in doing so usually far exceeding their alloted five minutes to make partisan points, either because they say too much, or because they speak so incredibly slowly. The witnesses then do the same with their opening statements which have already been circulated to all present. By this point, in my experience it's not unusual for two-hours to have elapsed, yet nothing has actually happened. When the questioning starts a sizable chunk of the time is taken up with each side making 'points of order' and issuing 'parliamentary inquiries' which are usually batted aside by the Chair, but not before they've used up more time. Today for instance the issue was legislation on allowing people to make claims against the Iraqi government in US courts for compensation for torture. After starting an hour late, the next 45 minutes consisted predominantly of sniping, before one member asked to make a point of order, to which another candidly replied "he doesn't have one". It's such a shame to see such an important committee descend into such a farce, especially when at the end not enough members had stuck around to make up a quorum, so the vote had to be postponed anyway.

The contrast with the Science and Technology Committee couldn't have been greater. Granted, it was a hearing on the future of NASA, to which both the Democrats and the few Republicans who showed up seemed to share a broad consensus, and John Glen was testifying, but the whole thing was slickly run and respectable and it actually felt like the hearing achieved something. Opening statements were limited to the two senior committee members, and the witnesses stuck to the time limits. The questioning was civil and again, time limits were strictly enforced. The result? All over in two hours, everyone present (both members and audience) stayed until the end, and the process just seemed to work as it's meant too.

Of course, there's not so much to be gained on the Science and Technology Committee as there is on the Judiciary one, but it's striking just how dissimilar two committees can be and I can only put it down to partisanship and the leadership skills of the committee chair. Judiciary is incredibly partisan, and the chair is largely ineffective. Science and Technology had a strong, yet fair, and likable chair and there was broad respect across the aisle.

Everyone talks about needing to build a bi-partisan consensus to get anything done here. I'd wager that it's not about consensus so much as a mutual respect regardless of ideology and an acknowledgment that the good of the process depends on more than petty squabbles about terminology and technicalities which can only serve to score cheap political points at the expense of political progress.

A Very British Reception

2008-07-28T05:12:00.006+02:00

Just after the internship started we heard that we'd be meeting with the British Ambassador, but we knew not why nor quite how. Last Wednesday our questions were answered, at least in part.

After not having been at work due to spending the day at the Library of Congress having an induction to the 'Fundamentals of Federal Legal Research' in the slightly misplaced hope that it would prove to be a sort of taster of what legal study in the US might be like, I decided to walk to the British Embassy. It seemed like it would be a nice walk through leafy greens towards the US Naval Observatory, but unfortunately, when I found myself walking through a wood and along gravel lanes with little idea of whether I was heading in the right direction with less than ten minutes to go before I was supposed to be there, walking seemed like a poor decision. But I finally made it just in time to be ushered through.

We only found out what the occasion was when we were given our name tags with 'British American Business Association' (affectionately known as BABA) printed across the top. Having never been to an Embassy reception I had no clue of what to expect, and things seemed bad when the first thing we had to do was the whole cringeworthy lining up to shake hands with important people, themselves lined up, and who probably have little interest in what you've got to say, or any reason to remember you afterwards - especially when you're in a situation like me where the name tag in saying 'Intern' just about says all there is to say.

Being outsiders to the event it was a little difficult to work up the enthusiasm to network, and our meeting with the British Ambassador lasted just about long enough for a handshake and a photograph. But the Embassy itself is impressive and in a pretty imposing position up on Massachusetts Avenue beyond the Embassy Row quarter of town. The gardens were pretty and plentiful and the Ambassador's residence where the event was held was fittingly grand.

It was odd being surrounded by so many British people again. We're still living together as British interns, but we know each other well enough not to think of each other as being British, so to hear all these unfamiliar voices in familiar accents was initially slightly disconcerting.

Unfortunately, we had been promised 'heavy finger food', which didn't materialise, so we had to make speedy dinner plans after being ushered out after little more than an hour to clear the way for a dinner the Ambassador was hosting that same evening. Unfortunately, just as with the day before the weather intervened at this point by delivering yet another torrential downpour that turned the sky pitch black just as we were exiting the Metro. Washington DC doesn't seem to have much time for us.

The White House

2008-07-28T05:12:00.005+02:00

Every day on my way home from work I walk up Pennsylvania Avenue and past the White House. It's a hugely enigmatic building, and it's striking in its simplicity both from the front and from the back. I'd go so far as to say that it's a good job the British didn't succeed in burning it to the ground. Not that the same can be said for the horribly over the top Eisenhower Executive Building to the west - if that had been around in 1812 it should have been the first to go.

On Tuesday last week I finally got a chance to go inside, and as a result got the morning off work as well. Unfortunately the wonderful Washington DC weather conspired, as it so often does, to catch me without an umbrella and hence by the time I'd finished waiting in the (surprisingly short) queue to get inside, I was soaked through. But, of course, the sunny smiles of all the security staff practically dried me out.

The tour itself is odd. Given the security, the ban on cameras, and the difficulty in getting on a tour, I was expecting it to be guided once you got inside to keep people together, but it's self guided, to the extent that you can spend as long as you want inside. Practically, the pathway is clearly marked and narrow enough to make sure that the line keeps moving, and there's security at every turn to keep you in check. You don't actually get to see that much once inside apart from the state rooms, which are very... stately. I've heard others compare it to a British National Trust property, and it's not a bad comparison to make. Of course, it is very grand inside, everything is in its rightful place and there is an innate grandeur, it's not exceptional. Perhaps the hurried nature of the process through didn't help - it only took about 25 minutes from walking in to walking out - and at the end of the day I can at least say I've been inside the White House, but the rooms we walked through obviously aren't typical of the property. I guess it's been spoiled by the promise of TV's the West Wing!

Last year's ESU interns were fantastically lucky in that they by chance met the White House Press Secretary at a reception and who later organised a personal tour of the White House for them, including a visit to the Oval Office. Now that would have been quite something indeed.

Lazy Sunday

2008-07-21T00:48:00.005+02:00

After the frolics and mileage of Saturday, today has been an altogether more laid back affair. This morning I ventured up to Dupont Circle to visit the weekly Farmer's Market there. I went last time I was in DC with the mooting competition, but didn't have a good chance to look around, so it was nice to be able to spend a decent amount of time there trying the free samples and surveying what was on offer; just about everything it transpired. The queue for one stall was so long that I just had to join the line to see what was so good about it - the resulting croissant didn't disappoint.

Afterwards we all met up to go to Kramer's Books for, oddly enough, brunch. It's a wonderful place, It's basically a book store, but out the back is a cafe/bar/restaurant which serves one of the best brunches in DC, and again, the queue length is testament to that. Fortunately, the other's being late meant that we actually avoided the earlier morning rush and got seated straight away. The menu was extensive, and the choice hard, but I settled on pancakes with assorted berries and walnut syrup with scrambled eggs, sausage and fried potatoes, washed down with complimentary orange juice. It was good, very good, although I think Charlie's banana French toast probably just edged out mine. A place that I'd certainly be happy going to every Sunday. And every other day for that matter.

After that, feeling universally stuffed, we retired for a rest before heading to the river to the same place we hired the bikes from last week to hire kayaks for a bit of a paddle on the Potomac. It took about seven minutes for Alex and Charlie to capsize and get the full Potomac experience, and Ed followed suit about twenty minutes later. Alice, Corey and I managed to stay in our kayaks, but the amount of splashing meant that we weren't any drier, and still weren't by the time we'd walked back home. Alex's and Charlie's attendant was less than impressed by the level of water in their kayak, but it was great fun, and a shame we didn't do it for longer. But there's always next weekend when we're being taken boating by one of the ESU guys here in Washington. So that should be worth looking forward to, and won't need the physical exertion of paddling. Hopefully.

Appreciating Old Town Alexandria

2008-07-21T00:42:00.005+02:00

After last weekend's Metro troubles, my extended visit to Mount Vernon meant my plans to visit Old Town Alexandria on the way back died a death. However, yesterday they were resurrected when, despite yet more Metro holdups, I finally made it.

It's a wonderfully pretty, and dare I say it, quaint place. It's very European, or I guess, colonial, in feel with tree lined streets, old terraced houses, running down to the pier and harbour down on the waterfront. I don't think I've ever felt so immediately at home in America as I did walking around Alexandria. There's not really anything to do there but walk, but the old streets were reward enough for me after a quick breakfast at a local bakery.

A lot of the terraces wouldn't have been out of place in the UK, and nor would the boutique style shops that far outnumbered the chain stores. It's perhaps a little odd that in a country that rather spectacularly threw off the shackles of Monarchy that the two main streets should be called King and Prince's Street, but Alexandria is older than DC itself and so does have a history dating back to the time when America was a colony, hence it's European and familiar feel. Although at least one resident appears to have split loyalties when it comes to the outcome of the War of Independence.

After spending a couple of hours just walking the street and strolling around the waterfront marina, I decided to head back to DC. However, after a spying a sign for a 'waterfront path', I decided to leave the Metro to it's engineering works and walk back along the Potomac, a trip of about 6 miles and two and a half hours. But it was worth every step, although I did bottle out when I reached Arlington and get on the Metro.

The walk itself was, ironically, part of the pathway to Mount Vernon and largely followed the Potomac river northwards, with occasional dips in and out of forests, marinas and picnic areas along the way, but it never went near a residential or commercial area (aside from a brief skirt around Reagan National Airport and some accompanying impressive close up views of landing aircraft), and there were few people on the trail, so it was a pretty quiet, but scenic couple of hours back to DC.

By the time I'd finished I'd acquired a pair of sore feet, one blister and an oddly shaped, and oddly placed, patch of sunburn on my right shoulder. I think I then pushed my luck by getting on the Metro to visit the Georgetown University Law bookshop, only to get there and find it closed. So I ventured the short distance to Union Station as I remembered there being a smoothie bar there. Unfortunately I'd forgotten that it was a pretty rubbish smoothie bar, but it didn't take long to rekindle.

After stumbling back to the flat and phoning home, we went out for dinner at an Ethiopian restaurant recommended by some of Cecily's friends. There are plenty of Ethiopian restaurants here and we'd been wanting to try one for a while, but I have to confess to being a little underwhelmed by it. The food was fine and I'd go again, but unlike some of the others I wasn't that big a fan. The dishes were certainly unlike anything I'd had before - different varieties of cooked meet served on a sort of bread pancake called an injera. Unfortunately a friend once described such an injera as having the texture of leather and the taste of vinegar, and I have to agree with his tastebuds. They're basically pancakes made with sour dough starter, and hence are very sour, which I suppose is necessary to contrast with the spices of the main dishes, but unfortunately not really to my taste.

On the way back we passed Ben's Chili Diner, which is (for somewhat different reasons) a Washington DC institution and similarly recommended by just about everyone. No doubt we'll pay it a visit at some point, hopefully I'll appreciate it more than it's neighbour.

DC by Candlelight

2008-07-20T20:31:00.005+02:00

On Friday night we decided to go and see the new Batman film. Unfortunately, so did the rest of DC's population, so we ended up not going to the cinema until 11:45, which gave me a perfect opportunity to do a bit of night-time exploring.

I've said before how DC is just a lovely city to stroll around, and I much prefer walking everywhere to taking the Metro, but it's especially true when the sun starts set and dusk falls - all of the important buildings and monuments are wonderfully lit up and the whole place takes on a completely different and spellbinding atmosphere. I started off walking up to the White House as the sun was setting to get my 'West Wing DVD Boxset' shot of it, before heading down to the Mall.

The Mall is impressive in the day time, the sheer scale of it is amazing. But at night it has a new quality as you can't see the bits in between the lit up parts, everything becomes disconnected and a little more mystical. There were a group of Falon Gong supporters sat by the Washington Monument, each wearing yellow and holding a single candle, which made for a spectacular sight in the early evening light. It's a shame the photo can't capture the music they had playing at the same time.

Afterwards, the Monument itself was subtly lit and with the flags surrounding the base the place felt oddly serene. Again, I think the lack of any view beyond the immediately lit up areas focuses attention more on what's there. That was certainly the case at the World War Two Memorial, which although lovely, isn't as memorable as the others by day, but at night with the fountains and water spouts all lit up, it becomes something pretty much completely different.

The same's true of the Lincoln Memorial. It's impressive by day, but in my view it gets eclipsed by the other things on the Mall, but at night, it's white simplicity means it stands out above everything else, both inside and out. There are still hundreds of people around, but the atmosphere again is completely different, just a lot more laid back and relaxed.

The White House though almost goes in the opposite direction come night. Whereas I think nighttime brings out the Lincoln and World War Two Memorials, I think it underplays the White House, but I think that's probably intended. By just lighting up the building and not the gardens, and with having to stand so far away, it recedes into the background and takes on a subtly that it doesn't have by day.

DC is so different by night, and I think I probably prefer it then. It's a shame then that on the whole places are so much quieter in the evenings as it can only mean people are missing out on sights that they think they've already seen, only they really haven't.

A Torturing Sequel

2008-07-18T02:32:00.003+02:00

After going to the hearing on torture on Tuesday I went along to the 'sequel' one today before the full Judiciary committee in the House. John Ashcroft, the former Attorney General was one of the witnesses testifying. The hearing itself was much less charged than the one on Tuesday, despite it being a full committee with higher ranking witnesses, and the exchanges were surprisingly civilised despite the difference of opinions held by those on both sides of the debate.

It was probably less interesting than the one on Tuesday, but it was more thoughtful, so I wanted to follow up on what I wrote before about extreme cases making bad law.

One of the witnesses, Benjamin Wittes advocated a law that would permit the President to authorise torture in extreme cases so long as he publicised his authorisation. But another, Walter Dellinger, the assisstant Attorney General under President Clinton, was forthright in his disfavour for such an idea, and I have to agree. No state, or at least no state based on the rule of law and respect for basic human dignity should officially sanction torture, even in the ticking time bomb scenario. Walter Dellinger's solution was that when the ticking time bomb situation arose, the President should sanction torture, then admit his breach of the law and submit to the ordinary criminal process - in essence, he advocated civil disobedience in such a case. It's not an immediately compelling approach, the idea that the law basically 'runs out' is uncomfortable, but I think he's right here. Any law that sanctions torture, that essentially admits a country practices and condones torture is dangerous. Firstly it degrades that country's right to call itself civilised. Secondly it increases the chances of other countries following suit and practicing torture on the citizens of those countries with such laws. Thirdly, it could be the start of a very slippery slope. The civil disobedience approach reconciles the two strands I pointed out in my other post. Torture is illegal, but that's not to say it can't be justified, but that justification should not be legal. Perhaps it could result in a pardon - although who would pardon the President? - but the importance of the conviction would stand.

Beyond the torture debate though, the hearing was interesting for any number of legal reasons. For instance, the authority (or otherwise) of the President to set aside validly passed laws is crucial to the debate. One strand of thought is that he simply can't. Another is that where he has serious doubts as to the constitutionality of the law, he can do so. There's nothing in the Constitution either way, but neither does the Constitution give the Supreme Court the power of judicial review - a power it assumed for itself. What's to say that the President can't assume the same?

There's a lot more to this, like the Supreme Court's ambiguous and highly flexible definition of toture - compared to the expansive definition put forward by the European Court of Human Rights, and the constant sniping by the Republicans and their constant appeals to 9/11 and the threat's we still face. Debate at this level of importance needs to move beyond such things for it actually to be worth anything. Hopefully, the hearing today will set the standard for the future. I'll be interested to read the eventual report.

To torture, or not to torture, is that even the question?

2008-07-16T05:02:00.003+02:00

I think that yesterday I might have become a Democrat.

One of the perks of being an intern is that I get to sit in on some of the Senate and House hearings on issues as diverse as Parkinson's disease in military veterans to America's oil reserves. On Monday I attended a Senate Republican forum on the need to advance judicial nominations through the appointment process. Coming from a country where judges aren't appointed so much as annointed, the whole process of legislative approval seems odd, but all the more so when the impact of a shortage of judges on the legal process is properly considered. The problem was thus. The Democrats on the Judiciary Committee were refusing to hold hearings for some of President Bush's judicial nominations, citing a dubious rule that such hearings would be slowed in the year of a presidential election. Now, it seems unlikely that this rule exists, but even if it did, how can it possibly be right that politics interferes with the judicial and legal process? All of the witnesses made the same point convincingly, and the point seems so obvious so as not to need debate. So what was the point in the whole forum? I can only assume it was grandstanding. There were eight Republican Senators there, 8% of the whole, for two-hours, stating the blindingly obvious, asking questions designed to produce set piece answers and congratulating themselves on their sterling and tireless work on the committee.

I'm sure that given two-hours, these eight Senators could have made much more productive use of their time. Of course, the issue was important, and given the press-coverage of the forum hopefully their message got out - judicial appointments need to go forward. But it was for all the wrong reasons, to seek to portray the Democrats as stalers and spoilers, which they might well be, but the evidence suggested the Republicans did the same under Clinton, albeit to a slightly lesser extent. The whole thing only illustrates why law and politics do not mix.

The hearing I went to this morning threw this into sharp contrast. This morning saw one in a series of the　House hearings on the torture and interrogration techniques used on terrorist suspects. The significance of the hearing was obvious from the length of the queue outside the room an hour before it started, and the number of protesters in the room. The Democrat-Republican divide was clear almost from the outset and it's a divide that in my opinion did the Republicans no favours whatsoever. There's a blog that I try to keep up to date with, called Head of Legal. It's written by a former legal advisor to Tony Blair, and is usually pretty spot on in its analysis. I'm nowhere near as qualified as he is, but I'd like to offer a few observances on what I saw today.

To say I was appalled would be an understatement, I couldn't actually go straight back to the office afterwards as I needed to cool down a bit. Almost immediately Mr Franks, the Republican ranking member asked why there had been no hearings on protecting the rights of American citizens and the need to move on from going over past acts - and there and then the debate was framed. While Democrats presented the hearing in terms of the need to uphold the rule of law and respect for the constitution at all times regardless of the wishes of the administration, the Republicans without fail resorted to putting the hearing into the context of 9/11, the dangers consequent, and the need to protect American lives and in so doing straight away lowered the level of debate. Two of my favourite quotes came from one Mr Pence who stated firstly that "I try not to think like a lawyer. I try to think like an American" to suggest the average American did not care about legal 'niceties', and secondly "It is imperative that the United States upholds the rule of law. But...", which I don't even think needs completing to illustrative the futility of the statement.

At one level, such appeals to 9/11 cheapen the debate by making it all but impossible to progress beyond appeals to patriotism. But more fundamentally they confuse two important, but necessarily separate questions. First there is the question of whether torture is permitted under the current law. Emphatically is not, but the hearing obfuscated this by vaguely worded appeals to the second question of whether torture should be permitted. Clearly the Republicans on the Committee wanted to answer the latter in the affirmative, and to them, this needed the first question to be affirmatively answered too. The Democrat's by contrast correctly spotted the difference in the questions in trying to focus on the legality, not the justifiability, of what happened in the torture cases, but it was lost in the Republican patriotic onslaught. Of course, there are always going to be situations where a person can seek to justify torture, the ticking-time bomb scenario for example (and of course, it raised its head today), but extreme examples make for bad law, in just the same way that partisan politics makes for bad law.

A good example has to be Antonin Scalia's judgment in the recent Supreme Court case holding that Guantanamo detainees could petition the federal courts for their release where he stated simply that the judgment "will almost certainly cause more Americans to be killed". Such judgments are scarily reminiscent of Mr Franks and the other Republicans on the committee and in my opinion have no place in a considered judgment of the highest court in the United States, or any other country. At best, such considerations can be an excuse, never a justification.

Law's cannot be set aside merely because they are inconvenient. Instead, they can be changed through the regular process. That's one of the fundamental tenets of the rule of law. Ideas that adherence that the rule of law can be conditioned by a 'but', or that the legality of action isn't actually that important are first steps on a very slippery slope and one that the Republicans on the committee should, frankly, be ashamed for even countenancing.

Goodness Gracious Great Falls of Water

2008-07-13T23:19:00.015+02:00

Last Sunday, Corey came up with the idea of hiring bicycles and cycling up to Maryland and Great Falls National Park, and despite misgivings about the combination of sun, heat, lack of shade and the exercise inherent in cycling it turned out to be a very good idea.

I've never really associated cycling with America, but coming from Cambridge it seems pretty natural now, and fortunately the route up to Great Falls (or rather, the route we took) only had two major hills, both followed by equally (and probably more so) major downhill stints.

The round trip should have been about 28 miles, but we took a wrong turn on the way, and ended up cycling along the roads instead of the cycle path alongside the Potomac river. It seemed like a shame at the time, but it meant that we cycled there and back on different paths so at least got to see two different types of scenery - middle suburban America on the way there, white picket fences and all, and scenic national park America on the way back.

Admittedly the way back was nicer, primarily because it was flatter, but some of the neighbourhoods on the way there were interesting if only for their flagrant illustrations of what happens when you try to build a house to reflect, and go one better, than the one next door. At times it felt like cycling along Wisteria Lane.

At first it seemed that the Great Falls were anything but great, and looked little more than a weir, which would have been just a little disappointing. Fortunately though we were looking at the wrong bit, and buried behind the trees were the Great Falls themselves, and there were significantly greater than your everyday average weir.

The scale of the whole thing was breathtaking. When I was on the Amtrak train across America last year I got a sense of the scale of the country, but I didn't actually get to experience it behind sat in a steel train carriage. Cycling back through the park it was hard to believe that we were only 15 miles or so outside of Washington DC and not in the middle of Yellowstone or something similar. It really was like being in one of those cinematic Hollywood films. Everything is just so huge and dramatic looking, but naturally so. Looking over to the horizon, the park just seemed to continue on and when we emerged at the end, the river just dumped us into downtown DC as if it was the most natural place in the world.

Thankfully our $25 hire-bikes were pretty trouble free, despit two incidents of chains coming off, Charlie's brakes locking on, and Alex's bike refusing to change gear - a state of affairs that Emily had to remedy on more than one occasion.

On the way back we noticed that the place we hired the bikes from also hired canoes and rowing boats on the Potomac, I doubt we'd make 35 miles, but I'd be up for giving it a try.

Mr Ambassador, you're spoiling us

2008-07-13T23:19:00.012+02:00

The reason I had to rush back from Mount Vernon was that the same evening we were going to the Bastille Day event at the French Embassy. Now, never having been to a social event at an Embassy before, I had no idea what to expect and so was basing my perceptions largely on the Ferrero Rocher adverts from a few years back.

Admittedly, the evening wasn't quite the same sort of affair, it wasn't black tie for a start, and there weren't any Ferroro Rocher, but there was plenty of just about everything else. The event itself was designed to raise money for the American-French Cultural Foundation, but inside it felt a little bit like a May Ball. There were five or six stalls from famous French restaurants all serving up portions of their signature dishes, and other pâtisserie stalls with desserts, biscuits and chocolates, and others with drinks. There was even a series of live cookery demonstrations, a raffle and an auction. Sadly, despite my intentions otherwise, I managed to repeat my performance at John Spencer's Brunch Party back in the first-year of University by eating far too much - I had to take indigestion tablets when I got back so that I could get to sleep. But what I did eat was very good indeed; from cassoulet to beef bourguignon, from snail quiche to pate, from prune and armagnac Breton cake to French meringues and from fine cheeses to bread, it was all there, and included in the entrance fee. So I can hardly be held accountable; especially as not drinking means I have to get my monies worth elsewhere!

But food aside, the evening was just really good fun. The event was a lot like Selwyn's May Ball in that it was really laid back with people just sitting around, talking or listening to the live music. Later in the evening some of the tables were cleared for us all to dance the rest of the night away, which we did.

An Badly Judged Plan

2008-07-13T23:19:00.009+02:00

Occasionally I set out to do something, and soon regret I hadn't. Other times I set out to do something and it's only after a prolonged period that I wish I hadn't. Yesterday was sadly one of the latter occasions.

When I was in Washington DC mooting last year,　I remember our tutor Professor Roelofsen mentioning how each time he and his wife were in DC that they would make the trip out to Mount Vernon, George Washington's home and burial place. Similarly, on each tour of the Capitol that I have to give I have a little bit to say about how George Washington came to be buried at Mount Vernon rather than in the Capitol as intended.

So feeling that I should see what all the fuss was about, at 9am on Saturday morning I set off to make the trip to Mount Vernon down in Virginia. At 12 noon, I stumbled through the gate there wondering how it had come to take me three-hours. Unfortunately, Metro works conspired to make for one of the least pleasant journeys that I've had in a while. Coupled with the fact that the bus from the Metro station to Mount Vernon only runs every hour, and with the heat, things were not good. I then had to queue for about 30 mins to buy an entrance ticket and then for about 45 mins to get into the mansion which I was shuffled through in about ten minutes, by which point I had barely enough time to walk around the grounds before having to catch the bus back to do the whole three-hour journey all over again to get back to DC. So I completely missed out on visiting the town of Old Alexandria, and didn't get a chance to do anything other than quickly walk through the museum at Mount Vernon. The moral being that you need considerably more than three hours there to come close to getting your monies worth.

But the place itself was nice, if sadly nothing spectacular. I'd actually say that I prefer almost all of the National Trust properties that I've been too in the UK over Mount Vernon. It's fine for what it is, but it's all a bit phony despite the fact that it's been restored. For instance, the mansion itself, despite being subtlety and elegantly designed, is actually made of wood, but it's been treated to look line stone.

In fact, the whole place felt like it was designed to entertain, rather than be just what it is - the place where George Washington lived. That's fine to an extent, but the huge visitors centre, and slightly cringe worthy (but admittedly cinematic) opening movie and narrated introduction all conspired against the tranquility of the place. Not to mention the presence of Pizza Hut.

It's not hard to see why George Washington wanted to live, and be buried, there. The setting of the estate is lovely, backing onto the Potomac river, and bounded by green rollings fields and forests it really could be a piece of little England.

Perhaps some of my ill-feeling comes from the fact that I simply didn't have enough time there to make the most of it, or to really see everything on offer without wondering if I had enough time to make it back to catch the bus and Metro. But that said, I never really got the feeling that I was walking through somewhere that deserved as much attention and adoration as Mount Vernon seems to get. If I get the chance perhaps I'll go back again on my way to Alexandria, but until then I'm going to be left feeling neutral at best, which is a shame for a place that so many people seem to rate so highly.

Food, glorious food

2008-07-13T23:18:00.004+02:00

Before we came out here we had a briefing back at the ESU in London, and one of the few things I remember information wise was that last year everyone put on weight during their internships. So far though I think we've all been doing pretty well in the food regime department despite the gargantuan temptations constantly on offer.

Obviously being on a budget helps, but it seems that America is on a health-drive at the moment. In fact, tonight Corey cooked dinner and ten of us got through enough food for thirty-two portions according to the packet, but it really wasn't anywhere near that.

However, despite these encouraging signs, sometimes things don't quite work out, and Friday was such a day (so was Saturday in fact, but more on that in the next entry). After having breakfast in the flat, I went to a talk by the British Minister for Europe at the Brookings Institute up the road from here, where there was another free breakfast for all participants, which of course I had to partake of. That afternoon it was Liz's (one of the legislative-assistants in my Congressman's office) birthday, which meant that there was both free blueberry and apple pie.

But the crowning glory in the food stakes came on my walk home. From Congress, I decided to walk up Pennsylvania Avenue and along the way I passed the Old Post Office.

When I was in Washington DC with my parents about five years ago I remember we popped inside so I decided to retread our steps and was immediately greeted by the sight of Larry's Cookies and one particular memory from those years passed. When I was here then I spotted a Rocky Road cookie, which in my youth was quite something to behold with its promises of chocolate, nuts, toffee and more chocolate. Naturally, my advancing years meant my pulse didn't race quite so much this time, but I still ordered one to re-live my excitement. Sadly, although the cookie was still good, the rampant heat outside practically turned it to slush in my hands. Some memories are best left alone I guess.

But the walk itself was pleasant, and the view from the top of the Post Office tower was as impressive as I remembered. In one direction you could look down Pennsylvania Avenue towards the Capitol where I started, and in the other over to the Washington Monument and the Mall.

Just a shame about the cookie.

At the old Ball Game

2008-07-11T04:40:00.002+02:00

Being fully in the 'when in Rome' spirit, yesterday evening we ventured over to the over side of town to watch the Washington Nationals baseball team play the Arizona Diamondbacks. Fortunately, Hannah, one of our number, knew the rules and spent the whole evening explaining what was happening to the rest of us.

I've been to two baseballs before in Chicago, and I never really understood what was going on at either, so it was good to finally understand just how the game plays out. And we were lucky in being there when the Nationals, or Nats, scored a home-run with all their bases loaded. The Nationals are apparently the worst team in the league, so with the final score being 5-0 to the Nationals some federal celebrating was in order.

Our $15 seats actually turned out to be pretty decent - we had a good birds eye view of what was going on. The stadium itself was pretty amazing, apparently it's new, and it showed in still being pretty gleaming. Baseball seems to be more than an event, it's more of a pastime. Just as we were leaving during thee eighth innings, a couple who had only just arrived came and sat next to us. It's a bit of a dip-in-dip-out sport and more of a fun evening out with the atmosphere of thousands of people there for the same reason, than just a ball game. For $15 I think it was a pretty good bargain.

A Tour of Duty

2008-07-09T04:02:00.008+02:00

I'd very much like to regale you with my internship experiences within the office, but I fear that to do so would breach too many confidentiality and secrecy laws to be even worth thinking about. As an example, part of the office routine is giving tours of the building to constituents who visit Washington from Florida. Today some such constituents brought along a box of expensive looking chocolates as a thank-you gift, but had to return with them as the House ethics rules prevented us from taking them lest it be seen as giving them a tour in return for a 'favour'. Ridiculous of course, but what can you do other than cry as some fine chocolates return from whence they came.

So instead of filling you in on the (admittedly little) that has happened so far, I'll restrict myself to something of a pictorial review of Washington. After the frolics of Independence Day, Saturday turned into something of a lesser event. I had much shopping to be done while some of the others went to some of the museums and galleries that are two-a-penny in Washington. On Saturday evening we went to an interesting house party for the son of the ESU guy in Washington in a nice house about three miles from here. We got a taxi there, but I decided to walk back home through the leafy suburb and then through the district of Georgetown and back to our apartment. It turned out to be a good call. The evening was balmy and the walk was really nice. Georgetown really is a lovely area of town, much more European in feel, no big shopping malls or department stalls so it's a shame that it's not really near here, nor on the way to anywhere, but I should imagine that I'll get back there before long.

On Sunday morning, Yoosun, Cecily and I headed off to walk around some of the more famous monuments around here. We started off with the Vietnam War Memorial, a very powerful, yet very simple memorial consisting merely of a sunken black marble wall with the names of all the US fatalities carved into it. After that, we strolled through the park to the Lincoln Memorial looking out towards the Washington Monument and beyond to Capitol Hill.

There's something about the Lincoln Memorial. I'll probably always associate it with that Simpsons episode where he talks to Lisa Simpson, but beyond the magnificence of the sculpture, it is a powerful place, all the more so at night. It's disappointing that once you go inside, almost all of the visitors stick to the sculpture of the man himself, and ignore the carvings of his Gettysburg Address and second inaugural speech entirely - there's a wisdom in those words that only serves to enhance the man and what he did, and it's a shame that they seem to be ignored by many.

From Lincoln we came to the Korean War Memorial, which is strangely haunting compared to the sombre neutrality of the Vietnam Memorial.

It's a memorial that I feel slightly uncomfortable taking photos of - although not to the extent that I wouldn't, like at the Vietnam one - the bleakness of the scene, of soldiers marching through a mine infested swamp land, is one that it's too easy to forget is actually based on reality. Perhaps more so than most commemorative monuments, this one really, in my opinion, makes clear the horrors that it represents.

Onwards took us through the more uplifting, and unique, memorial to Franklin Roosevelt. Commissioned by President Clinton, the FDR Memorial is more a walk-through celebration of him as President consisting of a walk through a stone bounded passage with various scenes and quotes from his time as President, and to that extent, it's unlike any other similar memorial I know of.

Walking on from there takes you around the tidal basin of the Potomac River, and around to the Jefferson Memorial - more traditional in form, but still impressive.

Like Lincoln, Jefferson is bounded by quotations from speeches of his, and again, like Lincoln, they often seem ignored by those visiting. Which is odd, because Jefferson and Lincoln were partly the people they were just because of what they said - one doesn't really make sense without the other. Finally we walked back towards the Washington Monument and the World War Two Memorial, a more grandiose walk-through construction.

After a much needed rest and heat stop we caught the Metro over to Arlington National Cemetery. Arlington, set over 600 acres of hillside on the outskirts of Washington near the Pentagon is a powerful place, containing the graves of hundreds of thousands of US soldiers killed in action, and of other prominent figures, including astronauts and Presidents. It's sheer size is what makes it almost impossible to comprehend.

And the slightly disconcerting thing is that I want to say it's a nice place. The green rolling hills make it a lovely place to stroll around, and were it not for the heat, we probably would have done so for longer, but you're constantly aware of just what it is you're walking around within. I suppose in a way that that is Arlington's success, it is more than just a cemetery, it's a place people can just go and walk around to appreciate it for itself.

Perhaps that's what I like so much about Washington. I'm not usually that keen on huge monuments to history, but in Washington's case, I really think the way it's been done, planned and laid out actually works well. They've all become part of the landscape rather than sitting awkwardly on top of what's already there. Of course, it helps that Washington is a 'new' city to accommodate everything, but more than anything, they made for a lovely day's walking, which can't often be said of walking within a city. Washington really is my kind of town.

Independence Day, or Loser's Day?

2008-07-06T19:21:00.007+02:00

On Thursday I ventured into the local Trader Joe's to do some shopping and was asked at the check-out whether I planned on celebrating the 4th July - Independence Day. Tongue firmly in cheek I replied that I didn't see what I had to celebrate about, which fortunately was taken for the joke that it was. But it's an interesting point nonetheless. On my first day in work I joined one of the other interns on a tour of the building given to constituents and when he was talking about the British burning Washington I felt about ten eyes all on me, so I did the whole British 'no hard feelings?' routine.

But July 4th itself wasn't quite what I, or I think what anyone else, was expecting. I'd expected it to be this huge day of national outpouring, but that wasn't what I saw. Simply put there just weren't as many people around as I would have expected at such a major event. The day started off with a ceremonial reading of the Declaration of Independence outside the National Archives before the annual parade set off down Constitution Avenue along the Mall. The first few parts of the parade were nice, the Army, Navy, Air Force etc all decked out and marching perfectly.

But afterwards it descended somewhat into a more carnival type affair, with school marching band after marching band, and some really oddly placed giant inflatable blimps and floats - the American Mustang society anyone?

I did though appreciate the appearance made by Miss American Military Idol 2008. Unfortunately the whole parade rather petered out, ending with a bright yellow Penske hire van bringing up the rear, behind the float of the Taiwanese Friends of America.

Sadly, the day was so hot that we decided to head back to the apartment and to the safety of our air-conditioned rooms. But in the evening after dinner we ventured out again to the East Mall to watch the concert in front of Capitol Hill. Unfortunately we left too late to see that much of it, and only caught a few acts before moving on. But despite the brief visit, the event was much more what I expecting from the day - there were more people and there was an atmosphere that was lacking from earlier on.

After staying only a few minutes we were incredibly lucky as Corey, one of the other interns had managed to get us invitations to a roof viewing of the fireworks from one of the administrative buildings serving the House of Represenatives, so we all clambered out through his office window onto the balcony to watch the July 4th fireworks set to the 1812 overture.

Oddly we bumped into another English intern on the roof who was also over here for the Summer, but no-one seemed to mind their former oppressors enjoying the event on top of one of their administrative buildings. In fact, on the way back God Save the Queen, Jerusalem, and Land of Hope and Glory were all sung down along the Mall, but sadly they elicited no response, apart from one person who misheard the song and chastised her boyfriend for not singing too. I was a bit miffed to hear what I thought was God Save the Queen being played at the parade only to find out that apparently it was just the same music with different words - and to think that I was about to come over all patriotic.

Perhaps that was what was missing. I was expecting a patriotic outpouring, but it had more of the atmosphere of just being a day out in DC with some entertainment. And that's not necessarily a bad thing, it just wasn't quite what I expected to see, and I guess that disappointed slightly. But in hindsight, it's actually quite nice that people could just enjoy the day for what it is, a celebration, rather than having to stifle the feeling with political overtones that are probably more suited to times gone by.

Welcome to Washington

2008-07-06T19:10:00.002+02:00

And so on Wednesday I arrived into Washington DC's grandiose Union station onboard an Amtrak train from New York to start the next leg of my summer. The trip itself was uneventful and I spent most of the time copying out by hand the numbers from my English mobile phone to my new fangled American cell phone (which hasn't a patch on my old-school English one). After arriving in DC I caught the Metro over to the George Washington University campus in the west of the city to sort out my accommodation, and after a brief bout of confusion over keys I ended up in my apartment for the next five weeks. It's only a few blocks from the White House in a quiet part of town, with a view that takes in the Washington Monument, and perhaps most importantly, possess both a Starbucks and Subway store in the basement.

After dropping my stuff off I walked across town and caught another Metro up to the Catholic University campus in the north of the town to sort out my student cards. Confusing we're Catholic University students, interning in Congress, living at George Washington University halls of residence. So we're spreading ourselves wide while here.

The sheer scale of so much in DC is overwhelming, not in the same way as New York as DC is a much more sedate city, but nothing is done by half. Of course, there's the Mall between the White House, the Lincoln Memorial and Congress, but even Catholic University got in on the act. It had one of those picture perfect campuses that I thought only existed on the front of prospectuses where the pavements were clean and the grass was green and uniform. All very nice but slightly too perfect. At the centre was the Basilica that I was told to orient myself by, but I wasn't quite prepared for the size of the thing.

Bearing in mind this was only part of a University campus you get some idea of how things are done here. No doubt there'll be more eye-opening sights to come.

Afterwards things got more mundane in buying bedding and unpacking all my things before finally meeting the other interns from England. These should be interesting weeks.

The Big Braeburn

2008-07-04T00:51:00.001+02:00

It's funny. When I was flying from London to New York, I remember sitting on the plane trying to take stock of the few days previous. What with graduand's dinner and graduation, so much had happened so quickly that it was hard to take in. I'm now in Washington DC after spending less than three days in New York, and the feeling's exactly the same.

New York is overwhelming. I don't think I've been anywhere else where you can walk for so long, in a straight line, and the essential nature of the place doesn't change, at least to the untrained eye. I was staying in Brooklyn, which was a little less frantic than Manhattan, but it's still a little hard to take in. Walking around I got the impression that you probably don't gain much by walking everywhere in New York – I did walk everywhere largely, but it's so huge that it takes so long to get to where you're going that it's probably more profitable to take public transport, and that's what I ended up doing (although, due to an unfortunately sized suitcase and some stubborn subway entrance gates this morning, it ended up costing me three times the usual fare to get to the Amtrak station as my bag lay on one side and me on the other).

Unfortunately, a combination of jet lag and being in court all day meant that I saw very little of New York, and essentially nothing that lay beyond my walk to work. The first day this took me over the Brooklyn Bridge, and yesterday over the Manhattan Bridge – and I'd recommend walking over either or both to anyone visiting New York – the views over the Manhattan skyline are stunning.

But aside from that, I walked a bit of Broadway, rode the subway, ate some pizza from Lombardi's (courtesy of Judge Koeltl) and had the 'third-best breakfast in New York' at Blue Sky Bakery. But New York is so huge, and so diverse, that I wonder if it ever makes sense to say you've been to, or that you know, New York at all.

But still, sitting with Judge Koeltl and his staff was interesting and I thank then for being so hospitable. I wish I'd got more experience of English court room proceedings to be able to properly compare, but I sat in on quite a few criminal trials at various stages of progression and got to talk to his clerks and interns about what they do etc. The courtrooms themselves are amazing, grand rooms that fit slightly oddly with the purpose built relatively modern sky scraper that houses them. Coming from the unashamedly low rise UK, Manhattan has the undoubted ability to put a crick in anyone's kneck.

Yesterday evening I met up with Jeremy, a friend from the Bethesda Baking event last year who lives in Queens, and after he took (and kindly treated) me to dinner in a Vietnamese restaurant we walked over the Brooklyn Bridge and he remarked how he no longer stops to look. And I know exactly what he means. I couldn't help but be overawed by the skyline and sun reflecting off of it. But looking back, I'm almost no pictures of the places I've lived – Penzance, Cambridge and Utrecht are all essentially pictureless in my records, while places I've spent a few hours in have hundreds of photos to their name. I guess when you live in a place you've got all the time in the world to see the sights, but too often that means you never do. I didn't live in New York, and I doubt I ever will, but I certainly didn't come close to seeing even a fraction of what the Big Apple has to offer.

New York, New York

2008-06-30T14:57:00.003+02:00

It's about 9am in the morning. I'm sitting in my room in Brooklyn. I've just got back from a walk across the Brooklyn Bridge into Manhattan. It's sunny. It's 23C already. I'm rapidly realising that whatever weight I put on through diet this summer, I'll probably perspire off due to heat exhaustion at an even great rate. And with such thoughts, so begins my month long American tour of duty.

I arrived in New York yesterday afternoon at about 2pm after getting into the airport at noon and having the most trouble free trip through immigration and customs I've ever had. Unfortunately, soon after I got here one of the most impressive thunder storms I've been in in a while descended upon the city and with it showing no signs of abating, I decided that, when combined with my jet-lag and general lack of sleep deprivation, it was probably best just to stay in my room and get myself sorted. So that's just what I did, eventually going to sleep at 6pm and waking up at 7am this morning, hence my early morning stroll over to Manhattan.

A stroll that I'm about to repeat in fact, although this time complete with suited attire, which I imagine is going to be highly unpleasant, both for myself and those unfortunate enough to come into contact with me. I'm spending the next two-days interning with Judge Koeltl in the courthouse here in New York in lower Manhattan. I also need to buy a phone, so it's going to be a busy couple of days before I head off down to Washington DC on Wednesday to spend the rest of July interning in the office of Congressman Gus Bilirakis.

Should be fun!

Standing on the Shoulders of Giants

2008-06-29T22:56:00.006+02:00

Yesterday I made the transition from being an undergraduate to being a graduate, the result of a journey I started just under four-years ago, and looking back, I couldn't have imagined just where it would lead - just over four-years ago I thought I was going to be reading Economics

People who've been here before say that the University years are the years of our lives, and I know what they mean. Everything that's happened in the past four years has been part of one amazing experience, and despite the ups and the downs, I wouldn't change any of it for the world. Whether it's cycling through Holland towards a destination unknown, late night essay writing, posing with tourists for their photos, sliding out of a corner in a kart, talking with friends, whether things are mundane or extraordinary, they all add up to one tremendous period of living that I'll always look back on with pleasure, and yet also probably a misplaced wish that I'd done more with, and made more of, my time here.

I remember writing when I left Utrecht just under a year ago that you never appreciate things until they're gone, and it's still as true as ever. It doesn't seem two minutes since my parents drove away from Cripps Court of the first time as I waved goodbye standing on the corner. But in the four years since then I've gone from being 18 to 22, I've spent a year abroad, and I've made friends who'll last a lifetime. And yet, despite the past four-years being so life changing, they feel almost as if they never happened.

And so, yesterday was graduation day; the day that my time at University has slowly been edging towards.

I remember seeing a group of people graduating in my first-year and remember just how far-away and incomprehensible the whole thing seemed. Yet yesterday, at 9:15 I found myself lining up on Old Court lawn to do just the same thing, have the group photo taken, and begin the walk down to the Senate House.

It was all over so quickly, Just enough time to worry about standing in the wrong place, tripping or stumbling, and then, it's done and you're clutching your certificate and walking out of the door – a student no more. Everyone looked splendid in the whole get up and it did feel like a special day. When there's so much pomp and ceremony at University it cane be hard to separate the ordinary from the extraordinary, but looking back ever after a day, I know it's a day that will stay with me for the rest of my life; and the fact that so many photos were taken of it proves that much.

But it, or rather I, left so much unsaid. People have been leaving Selwyn for over a week now; either going home or on to other things, and there have been people who left before I got a chance to say things that I really should have done. But yesterday really brought that home. It's always felt a bit strange saying goodbye at the end of term, knowing it'll be at least six weeks until you see some people again, but this time, in many cases, goodbye meant just that. I'm not going to wake up in Selwyn a student again. I'm not going to be able to cross the corridor or the courtyard to say hello. And I'm not going to bump into friends in all manner of places. Of course, it's been coming for four-years, and the same thing happened in Holland last year, but the speed with which it's come in the last few days has left me a little speechless. There's always more to say and do, but I can't help but wonder what I left unsaid at the end.

I'm conscious of how negative that sounds, and it's not meant to be. Selwyn has been my life for four-years now, and to leave so suddenly can't be anything other than jerking. But I'm really looking forward to what comes next. Deep down I think I'm ready to leave University, and those who know me will well know I've been saying it for long enough. I love Cambridge and the people there, but I'm ready to leave being a student behind, for the time being. No, I can't have the time back, but I can enjoy the time I had, and I can make the most of the times to come.

So, my slider has been set to 'out' for the last time. My pigeon hole will soon be no more. But at least I'm confidant that Selwyn has been left in the most capable pairs of hands I know.

Here be graduands

2008-06-27T01:48:00.005+02:00

It's an often made remark here that Selwyn is so stingey, you only get a free meal when you arrive, and again when you leave. But regardless of the motive, the other day was the Graduands' Dinner; the final occasion for the graduating cohort to be together as a year-group before graduation day itself.

Because I took a year out, I'm effectively in the wrong graduation year, but the third-years have been so welcoming that it hasn't really felt like it, and there are still a number of fourth-years around to complete the picture. Even more came back for the dinner; both Sacha and Lottie came back from their two-years in Paris to celebrate along with the rest of us, and a lovely night it was too,

The evening started with a leavers' service in the College chapel – the first time I've been inside in quite a long time – which managed to bring tears to the eyes when it ended with the singing of Jerusalem. It's just one of those hymns that can evoke an emotion response without even trying – a really beautiful choice to finish with. We then had drinks in the Master's Garden before heading into Hall for the dinner.

The meal itself was good, and it was really nice to be able to sit down and take some sort of stock of things while catching up with friends who I haven't seen for far too long. At the end of meal, Dr Tilby, the senior tutor, got up and gave the graduands' speech, and while it's now hard to remember exactly what he said it was a really fitting end to our time at Selwyn.

Domesitcated Lawyers

2008-06-27T01:47:00.007+02:00

Us lawyers are a friendly, and notorious, bunch. There's apparently something quite sinister about seeing us all together, and we have a tendancy to steer any conversation we have towards law, even if we're talking to non-lawyers. Call it a character defect. But it doesn't stop us doing things with each other both socially and academically.

On Wednesday Janet O'Sullivan invited us to her house for dinner. She lives in a village called Littlebury near Saffron Waldon, so we all hired a taxi to drive us over for the evening, and the fact that we didn't leave until about 1:15 in the morning seems to suggest that things went well!

Her house is really lovely, dating from the 16th century and the reign of the Tudors, it's complete with original Tudor roses in the plasterwork, original wooden ceiling beams and all those uneven walls and floors that make a house a home. Both her and her husband were wonderful hosts for the evening and cooked a really tasty dinner for all of us – even if her son refused to come down the stairs after a bit of a disagreement between them earlier!

It was nice to get out of University for the evening, and even more so to do it with the people I live with there. One of the disadvantages of living in Halls is simply that you don't get to go home at the end of day. Home is university. So going to Janet's house was a nice opportunity to be sociable away from the trappings of University. Hopefully it'll become a yearly event for the other years to appreciate when they find themselves as graduands.

The Ball

2008-06-27T01:47:00.006+02:00

Saturday was an eventful day. At 9:00 Amy and I set off for the Senate House to read the boards and pick up our final result. At 9:30 we found ourselves in Starbucks waiting for the Senate House to open at 10:00. At 10:00 we found ourselves waiting for the caretaker to arrive to open the gate. At 10:30 we finally got in. And at 10:50 we finally saw what we'd been waiting for. Four-years condensed into a “J. E. Connah (SELWYN)” in a list of the other 208 final year lawyers. But it was worth waiting for.

Admittedly the rest of the day is something of a blur now. After finding all the others and talking for ages, I headed into town to meet up with Clare for lunch, before meeting Jon on his attempt to ride from Norwich to Penzance for a second lunch. After that it was time to leave College after being evicted for a security sweep prior to Selwyn's first May Ball in about ten years.

The Ball had a bit of a bad press beforehand, and I left it to the last minute before buying my ticket. After hearing people's stories from the other Balls and realising that it would be the last time to do something like this with friends, I picked up my ticket and donned my black tie attire for what I guess will be the last time for quite a while.

And I think it turned out to be the best £107 I've spent in quite some time. They did such a great job of dressing up the College and it seemed so much better than an ordinary May Ball.

Perhaps it was the people there, or the fact that there were so many familiar faces, or perhaps it was because it was Selwyn, or perhaps it was the situation and circumstance in being a lot of people's way to say goodbye as for those not graduating it was their last night in College before the summer. But whatever the reason, the whole evening was really fun and a lovely way to celebrate finishing.

Aside from the usual Ball things, there was an array of inflatable attractions including a bungee run, gladiator-style dueling and even a blow-up Lazerquest.

Clive Anderson even came back to Selwyn to be an auctioneer for the evening to raise money for Selwyn. Seriously, the money that some people apparently have, and the ease with which they seem to spend it beggars belief some time, but I guess it's all good for the College.

I even got a chance to inhale some helium balloons at about 4:00 in the morning.

So, all in all, a lovely evening and one that I wish I hadn't been so sceptical about beforehand. Everything was planned really well, and aside from a few delays, the whole evening went off without a hitch. Even if they did order in far too many croissants for breakfast.

Apparently there's talk of making the Ball bi-annual after it went so well. If they do, all I can say is, I'll be there.

A Taste of London

2008-06-22T11:06:00.002+02:00

It's funny, until this term I'd never really have called or described myself as a 'foodie'. I enjoyed cooking and eating, but not seriously. Then of course came Midsummer House and the £100+ meal. Now, with this as well, I'm having to reassess.

After the meal at Midsummer House, I didn't think much could top it, but I have to confess that the Taste of London festival in Regent's Park in London did just that.

After spending the night with Stuart and Stef in London and catching up with them over a Chinese take-away and a film, the next day I made my way to Regent's Park to meet up with Kostia and sample some of the supposedly finest food on offer in the Capital. And it didn't disappoint. Despite threatening to rain the whole afternoon, it held off and we spent the afternoon wandering around the Park and taking in the things on offer. I don't really feel qualified to pass judgment on the various qualities of meals costing in excess of £100, but I have to say that I think I preferred much of the food on offer at the Taste of London.

The set-up was such that you brought vouchers to be spent at the Festival, and there were about thirty restaurants there all cooking three of their dishes in small portions – although, truth be told, I thought the helpings were pretty generous and certainly didn't go away feeling short changed. There were plenty of other stalls offering free samples or smaller places offering refreshments or the brands you can sometimes find in the supermarkets.

Unfortunately I'm now bereft of my menu card and can't quite remember what I decide upon, but I did get about nine courses for £30, which doesn't strike me as bad value at all ranging from pig's trotters and pig's head to chocolate fondues via numerous free samples of yoghurts, mueslis, soups, fruits, smoothies, cold meats and fruit juices. I even got to stand about a metre away from Gary Rhodes, to see a presentation by Hugh Fernley Wittingstall, and to attend a cookery demonstration by a completely sozzled Anthony Wirral Thompson, which was something to behold. I also bumped into Richard Bertinet whose bread course I went on in June last year in Bath, and who, to my amazement, recognised me across his bread demonstration tables. But alas, make bread I did not.

Of course, the whole thing was much more relaxed that Midsummer House, and perhaps that's what appealed all the more – while Midsummer House was a great evening out, this was more of a sedate day event. They apparently hold them all around the world, so who knows where I might come across them again?

Indiana Jones and The Final Insult

2008-06-13T11:59:00.002+02:00

If memory serves, the last time I felt moved to write about a film on this blog was about a year ago after I saw Spiderman 3, where I only just managed to prevent myself walking out after about ten minutes. Well, last night a group of us went to see Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, and I have to say that I practically cried at what they'd done to one of the most iconic of film franchises.

There was only one single redeeming feature of the film, about five minutes in where they kick Indiana Jones out of the boot of the car at the US base and as he stands up (after picking up his hat) he's silhouetted against the car door wearing his fedora. If the film had ended there it would have been perfect, but sadly everything from there on just served to make it worth less and less.

Apparently the original title for the film was 'Indiana Jones and the Saucer Men from Mars', and in a way it would have been a whole lot better if they'd stuck with it. It captures the awful B-movie nature of the film perfectly. Clearly they had fun making it, but it might have been better if they'd spared a thought as to whether the audience would have fun watching it. Just before release, Lucas remarked: "We're all going to get people throwing tomatoes at us. But it's a fun movie to make." And therein lies the problem he apparently didn't spot - what does it matter if it was fun to make, if it's not fun to watch? I can't imagine the Monty Python crew, for example, being so short sighted.

Honestly, the audience were laughing at so many points at the ridiculousness of it all. It's almost as if the us of computer effects has killed the industry - what was with the beavers and the ants? Older films didn't suffer for not having animals do what we want them to do, precisely because animals don't do what we want them to do. As soon as computer effects make the impossible possible, then the whole effect is lost. The splash of mud from the car chase on the camera breaking the fourth wall was a case in point - what was the point in that? It's not as if the film was believable enough that we actually thought it was real in the first place.

The best thing about the first three Indiana Jones films was that there were intentionally funny, but this one wasn't funny when it should have been, and was painfully awful when it should have been funny. Calling a character 'Mutt' who then swings through the trees with monkeys? Having Indiana Jones, who ends up in a nuclear blast zone, survive by getting into apparently the only fridge strong enough to withstand the blast and then emerge unscathed after a trip several hundred metres through in the air while still being hopelessly close to the blast. The magnetism that seemed to come and go as it became useful. The laughable falls down three waterfalls. The fact that the plinth on top of the Aztec pyramid fell much further down than it could have done given the fact that it rested on the sand that poured out. Oh, and yes, did I mention the aliens?

What on earth? I'd hoped that a night's sleep would have let me cool down a bit, but I'm actually angry about this film. How two people as well known and apparently as sensible as Lucas and Spielberg could ever have thought it was a good film, a fitting compliment to the first three, is completely and utterly beyond me. They waited almost twenty years to make this film to get the script right. I suspect there are plenty of people out there, like me, who wish they hadn't bothered.

But at least it confirmed one thing; going to the cinema is much more about who you go with rather than what you go and watch.

A Midsummer Extravagance

2008-06-12T11:56:00.003+02:00

There are not many things that make my eyes water, but I will admit that a food bill for £226.13 for two is one of them.

Last night, Kostia (a second-year lawyer here at Selwyn) and I ventured to Midsummer House, the two-Michelin starred restaurant here in Cambridge alongside the river by Jesus Green, as a sort of post exam splurge, us having realised that each other was something of a foody (albeit an armchair foodie in my case). So, feeling slightly awkward and not quite sure of what to expect, at 19:30 last night we crossed the threshold of the restaurant and began a 14-course meal that would finish about three hours later.

Now, this was quite unlike anything I've done before, or will probably do again for a long time. (Un)fortunately, I'm not going to a May Ball this year, so the cost sort of balances out against that, but despite the eye wateringness of it all, I can't deny that it was worth it. Having never been to a restaurant even approaching Midsummer House's standard, I have to confess to having very little to compare it too, but it was certainly an experience!

We started with home made crisps and a balsamic vinegar foam, and cheese scones. I feel incredibly unqualified to criticise anything that we ate last night, and actually I'm embarrassed to do so, but the start was probably the weakest point of the meal compared to the other dishes. The first-dish proper was a champagne and pink grapefruit foam, which was good. Then came a tiger-prawn, cucumber and cauliflower foam, which was very tasty. Cauliflower can be a bit fibrous, but this wasn't at all. Very good. Next up langoustine and king crab, which was my first time eating crab, but while again being very good, didn't quite match up to the rest in my opinion. This was followed by what I think might have been the most impressive dish, piquillo pepper cannelloni. It's a bit hard to explain but it was a chicken liver pate shaped as an ice-lolly wrapped in some sort of red hard coating. Visually it was very impressive, and it tasted to match. Then came a bit of a revelation in sauteed scallop with bay leaf and pigs trotter. I'd never thought you were meant to eat bay leaves, and they do have a very strong flavour, but it went very well with the scallop. But the pig's trotter was quite a surprise, and very nice indeed - ironic for what I guess is quite a cheap cut of meat?! Then a 'safe' dish in English asparagus with a sliver of spring truffle. This was a little less adventurous than the ones that came before, but it was a nice palette cleanser after the previous couple of quite rich dishes. This was followed by roast zander with red wine and nettles.

Then came the mystically named 'Pousse Café', which turned out to be a drink not unlike egg nog made with egg yolks, maple syrup and Jack Daniels cream, to be downed in one. Those that know me will know that I don't drink. The champagne and pink grapefruit foam at the start of the meal was fine though, but Kostia took the first gulp of this one to see just how strong it was. Fortunately it wasn't at all, and I think taste wise, this was probably the most memorable of the meal.

Next was another visual spectacle in bourbon smoked pigeon, iceberg lettuce and sweet potato, which arrived at the table with a glass bowl over the plate holding in a cloud of smoke which the waiter then wafted as he lifted the bowl realising the smoke and the smell. Quite a sight.

We decided that seeing how we were already spending quite a bit that we should pay an extra £5 for the 'artisanal cheeses'. They arrived a trolley, and there must have been about twenty-five to choose from. We each had five each, and while I seemed to pick one's that I actually enjoyed, Kostia was unfortunate enough to pick one particularly strong specimen that had to be severed with a spoon and did actually smell like the inside of a public convenience. His face when he tried it was enough to convince me that I didn't want to sample it for myself; it certainly lived up to its smell. Later on in the evening a guy at the adjacent table refused to have it after recounting his prior experience with the same cheese. But nothing ventured nothing gained I suppose.

Then came the dessert courses, and unfortunately I think I'd have preferred it had the order of the dishes been reversed. We started with what I think was the best with a camomile, lemon and ginger concoction witha gain was palette cleansing and subtly flavoured and wonderfully creamy. Next up was probably the most 'haute cuisine' dish of the evening in the pear, black olive and fennel dish, which we both thought maybe tried a little too hard with quite a few strong flavours. Finally came a bit of a surprise in the coffee, chocolate and passion fruit which wasn't what we expected with each component being impressive cuboid - especially the coffee flavoured poached meringue.

And that was that. As I say, every course was amazing and unlike anything I've tasted before, and I was actually pleasantly surprised by how unpretentious the whole place was. I'm certainly not the fussy eater that I once was, but there are still pockets of food into which I'd rather not venture and I was a little concerned that I simply wouldn't like the dishes we were served, but I can honestly say that there wasn't one dish that I didn't enjoy eating and wouldn't have wanted to eat more of had it been served as a stand along main course. Even those I've criticised, I can only criticise by comparing them to the other dishes on the tasting menu. So in reality, no complaints at all.

Breakfast didn't seem quite the same this morning though.

A Much Needed Break

2008-06-08T18:53:00.004+02:00

True to my word, at midday on Thursday I finished my last ever Cambridge Trips exam. When the invigalator called time at the end of the paper, it was as if she was calling time on my whole four-years at University. It's a very strange feeling. On the one hand, it feels like it's a year overdue, but on the other hand (and I think the dominant one), it feels like it's much too soon. But either way, it's been a huge relief to get this term over with. As terms go, exam term is never the rosiest of the three, but this one has been particularly long.

Of course, it's the same for everyone, and indeed for some people it hasn't actually ended yet. But I reached a point at the end of March where I felt as if I'd been at University too long, and it was great to come back home for Easter. Things were fine at the start of the term, but it's been a long term with little respite. Sadly the exams were a bit hit and miss, not to prejudge, but I'd say two were poor, three were so-so and one was good. Fortunately the last one was the good one, so at least things ended on a high note.

After I'd finished, I went to what will probably be my last Selwyn Formal Hall with Will and Jon, which was fun, before boarding a train bound for Penzance on Friday. I had the pleasure of sitting next to a lady with a Prada mobile phone. The journey to Penzance via train isn't one I make that often, but it's actually a really picturesque journey especially when it follows the estuary of the Ex river after Exeter for several miles. But after seven hours travelling, it was good to pull into Penzance station and find mum waiting for me.

So, what do I do when I find myself at home for the first time in over two-months having just finished my exams? Well, having not had a great deal of fresh air or exercise for a while, I decided to spend Saturday walking to Land's End from Penzance along the coastal path - a walk of about 16 miles. For the first 10 or so it felt like a good idea, then it went a bit downhill (sadly only figuratively!).

It's a walk I've never done, and it's surprising how little I know about the places that are only a few miles from where I live - the coast is full of little inlets, coves, beaches and villages that I've never heard of, let along seen. It's easy to see why Cornwall was such a popular choice with smugglers back in the days - and in fact, the coastal path was originally created to allow the Customs people to patrol the coast.

Dad generously offered to walk with me, and we both remarked on how beautiful Cornwall actually is. Cornwall has a lot more to offer than just Newquay and surfing. Yes, it rains a lot, but there are few places in the UK where you can walk ony a few miles from a town and find such lovely views across the sea, especially when the county itself has such a rich maritime heritage. So much of it is still unspoilt too.

In fact, it places it could almost have been medditeranean judging by the weather, and the amount of the people on the beaches and in the sea - a bit like one of those 'wish you were' here postcard pictures.

But despite the lovely scenery all around, it was a blessed relief to reach the white-signpost that signalled the finishing point of Land's End.

Unfortunately both mine and Dad's boots starting digging into our ankles just over half-way, but fortunately it was my left foot, and Dad's right, and even more fortunately, we're the same shoe size. So, the natural thing to do was to swap only one boot - which we duely did. Much to the amusement of some passing walkers.

Ankles all better now though, and amazingly, I could actually move this morning. Hence the day being spent at a slightly more sedate pace walking around Truro.

I'm getting the sleeper train back to London this evening, to get back to Cambridge tomorrow morning. And it's amazing how much difference a couple of days can make as I'm looking forward to being back; people to see, things to do as they say. This will be my last end of term, so I'm certainly going to make the most of it!

A Final Countdown

2008-05-20T23:40:00.002+02:00

This time in seven days I'll (presumably) be heading to bed on the night before my first-final exam. Over the following nine days I'll sit a total of six exams ranging from topics as diverse as the Historical Foundations of the British Constitution and the Conflict of Laws, to Equity and Jurisprudence.

Exam term is always an odd term. The current atmosphere at University can be summed up by more apt clichés than I'd usually care for, but "the calm before the storm" works well. Hopefully though, upon putting down my pen for the last time at midday on the 5th June, it'll turn out that it would have been more suitable to speak of "the calm before the storm in a teacup". Wishful thinking? We'll just have to wait and see.

London Calling

2008-04-28T22:54:00.004+02:00

This is not the term to be heading backwards and forwards between London and Cambridge, but nonetheless, that's what I seem to be finding myself doing and I spent the weekend just gone in our illustrious capital city. And a busy weekend it was too.

I made the decision on Friday night to get up ridiculously early on the Saturday, to catch the 06:45 train down to London to go to a bakery in Islington for what the Guardian recently said was the 'best breakfast in Britain'. It was part-established by Dan Lepard (the baker whose internet forum led to the bread baking weekend I spent with a group of 15 or so other like-minded people in Bethesda in Wales last summer). So off I trotted through Islington, past estate agents advertising places at an average of around £750,000 to pay just a bit less than that for breakfast. The French cinnamon brioche toast with Greek yoghurt and berry compote was indeed very good, but at £10, I'm not sure whether it was the best value in Britain.

There's much more of that to be had in Borough Market, a place that really proves that the saying 'you can have too much of a good thing' is just plain wrong. I can't pontificate enough about how much I love this place, so I won't even try. But suffice to say, walking around so many tempting things, I was sorely regretting my Islington breakfast. If there's one thing to be said for living in London next year, Borough Market is probably it.

Afterwards I had to visit Westminster to deliver something to Cecily's parents before meeting Lisa for a much too long a delayed catch-up lunch in the coffee place opposite the Royal Courts of Justice. I then spent the next three hours at a talk on postgraduate study in the USA at King's College London before meeting Stef and Stuart for something I'd been looking forward to since my last visit.

Queen's Day! Last year on the same day in Holland the whole country turned Orange and came out for one big street party to celebrate the Dutch Queen Mother's birthday and to my amazement last time I was in London I noticed that the Dutch Tourism Board was putting on an event for the day on the South Bank in London! Cue the chance to get all nostalgic over stroopwafeln and olliebollen, and to have a photo taken wearing 'Dutch' hats. All very good fun, and I even got to speak some Dutch, but alas, despite my supreme effort of enunciation, the addressees of my Dutch words replied in English.

Day two in the city saw another delayed reunion with some friends from back home, who are no longer back home.

Jon had recovered from his epic cycle ride to Cambridge from Norwich last weekend. Jess had just returned from a six-month trip to the other side of the world, and Will now works in London. So we spent the day stomping around London and generally catching-up on our lives. It's always quite fortunate that wherever you seem to end up in London, something worth seeing generally presents itself, and Sunday was no exception. A sedate walk through St. James Park became slightly less so when a parade came by:

Sadly the weather wasn't quite as keen to play along as it was on Saturday, but it was a really fun day nonetheless and it was great to see everyone again over the course of the weekend and to get away from the Cambridge bubble, which, this term at least, seems to be building in internal pressure.

But perhaps more importantly than anything, it provided an opportunity to see presumably the next stage in green car technology.

I guess this one doesn't have to pay the Congestion Charge.

Edit: Dan Lepard has let me know that he wasn't actually involved with the establishment of Ottolenghi (the bakery I visited in Islington), but that instead he helped out with their bread baking after they were established. So I'm more than happy to clarify that.

What was the day that was?

2008-04-28T22:40:00.002+02:00

Wednesday of last week was St. George's Day. But you'd never have known it. The flag outside my window was showing about as little enthusiasm for the day as the rest of the country appeared to be feeling.

When I had my interview with the English Speaking Union to spend the summer interning on Capitol Hill in Washington DC, one of the aspects of the questioning was how I'd be an ambassador for the UK. I mentioned that I'd like to portray the best aspects of the country to those I met. Predictably (although I hadn't appreciated that when I gave my previous answer), the next question was what I thought the best thing about Britain was. I fumbled, and never quite found the right words to describe what I wanted to pin down. As soon as I left the room I figure it out; British reserve. Regardless of whether people feel more 'English', 'Scottish', 'British' or even 'Cornish' there's a lot to be proud of in this country, but we don't shout about it. Perhaps we don't feel the need, or perhaps we're embarrassed to do so.

Just compare our 'celebrations' on St. George's Day with the celebrations in America on Independence Day. Of course, modesty should only go so far, and despite thinking that we've got a lot to be proud of in our British reserve, we've got a lot to be proud of in our country to, and we shouldn't be afraid to recognise that - even if for only one day a year.

A long way from home

2008-04-20T19:20:00.003+02:00

Today's trendy trend is to 'Go Green!' whereby you're saving the planet through, for instance, counting your food's carbon footprint, or working in darkness. Some people though go even further than this in the name of saving the world.

This weekend, Jon, a good friend of mine from back in Penzance really went one further. Not content with all the usual methods of transport he determined that he'd come to Cambridge, from Norwich, on his bike. Not a motorbike, but a bicycle. 75-odd miles on a bicycle. Again; that's 75-odd miles. On a bicycle. Yes, it's pretty flat, but still, 75-odd miles. Madness.

Granted, I think it was more in the name of saving money than the world, and I'm not sure how many tonnes of carbon-dioxide he saved, nor how many calories he burned off, but whatever the final count, undeniably it was a pretty amazing effort. It took him just over 7 hours to cover the distance. But perhaps most amazing of all was that he could still walk yesterday evening and today.

I've been back at Cambridge for three-weeks now, not that it really feels like it, but most of the time has been spent in the library reading this and that, and understanding this but not that. So it was good to be able to take a complete break from things and have at least part of the weekend off from this studying lark.

After a well-deserved, and personally much-missed, Cornish pasty on Saturday for lunch we spent the rest of the day wondering around Cambridge before coming back to cook dinner and spending the evening playing pool and indulging in a bit of Nintendo Wii action. I learned the hard way that it's quite depressing to be beaten, at midnight, at Wii Tennis, by someone who got up at 6am and cycled 75 miles earlier in the same day. Today saw a further wander as a build up to the (in)famous Selwyn brunch, some real-life bowling (where needless to say, I was again beaten), before Jon took the train back to Norwich. No more cycling today.

It's odd how it's tempting to divide friends into 'Uni-Friends' and 'Home-Friends', as after all, aren't they essentially the same? Supposedly the friends we make at University are the friends we'll have for the rest of our lives, and I certainly don't doubt that. When you're living around people for three years you really do get to know people on a different level to the way you knew people in school. Jon on the other hand is certainly a home friend, but I've known him since I was 11, and a further 11 years since must count for something. The same goes for other friends from home. At the end of the day I think the University versus Home friends thing is a false dichotomy. Friendships aren't about geography. It doesn't matter how, or where, or when you know someone. What really matters is why you know them.

"Just like London town"

2008-04-07T21:02:00.006+02:00

Day's where I have to get up at 6:30am rarely go well. There's something about the lack of good mood that invariably greets me in the morning on such occasions that just seems to carry on through the whole day. But fortunately today turned out to be something of an exception.

After dragging myself out of bed and making myself look as presentable as I can with the materials I have to work with, I walked the 35 minute journey to the train station, baulked at having to pay £39 for a peak-day travelcard, before remembering that I was being reimbursed, and boarded a train to London. One hour later I arrived into King's Cross and walked to Chancery Lane. There can be few other places in London whose mention evokes an emotional response in lawyers on the same level that Chancery Lane does. Which is a bit odd as it's actually quite a pokey street in a perpetual state of building works. It's a bit like there being no Muffin Man shop on Drury Lane (seriously; why hasn't anyone done that?). But nonetheless, today I had an interview on Chancery Lane for a (legal) job for next year. I should find out how it went in two or three weeks, or rather, my Dad will, as all my post seems to be going home at the moment, so that'll be a fun phone call for him to have to make.

After it was over I took the opportunity to make the most of the not-my £39 and traipse around London for the rest of the day. I've lost track of where I actually walked, but the blister on my left foot, and the wearing through of the sock on my right testify that I covered a few miles at least. I eventually ended up at St. Paul's and crossed over the now not wobbly bridge to the Southbank. I was trying to think of what image sprung to mind when I thought of 'London', when I noticed a small gathering of about 50 people looking into the area where the skateboarders usually skate. Sneaking a closer look I saw the back of a music band being filmed by the BBC for a new programme called 'Sound'. Upon moving up the queue I realised thatwho they were:

The Feeling were in town, and fittingly enough, they were singing 'Just like London town'. Or rather, they were singing it over and over so the BBC could get their shots in. If anything it was surprising how few people there were watching. I don't really follow music, but judging by how often the song is played on the radio they seem to be quite a big thing, and so many people were just walking by. Apparently the show will be on the TV on Saturday, so tune in and see if you can spot me being told off by the producer for not turning my flash off.

Afterwards I trotted onwards along the Southbank past a proper image of London in the London Eye, and over the bridge to Parliament Square as there was something I wanted to see.

I've been reading quite a bit about Oliver Cromwell recently for one of my courses this year, and I just can't quire figure him out, and nor it seems can quite a few people. Many people abhor him. His actions in Ireland and Scotland were inexcusable. Some see him as a fascist despot, but the more I read, the more I see a man who, despite going against everything in British constitutionalism, was committed, in England at least, to achieving 'right' for the nation after the mess of Charles I, and who was crestfallen when he didn't succeed in his ideal. Surely a despot would have seized the Crown when it was offered to him? But of course, my perspective is entirely from the view of legal history and I don't seek to condone. Socially or politically the picture could be, and probably is, very different indeed. His legacy is hard to determine, shortly after he died the Monarchy was reinstated and he was posthumously executed (his head is now buried at Sidney Sussex after being separated from his body 300 odd years ago). It's perhaps ironic that his anti-monarchist approach has led to the strong passive Monarch that we enjoy today. But however history judges him, it's interesting to note that his statue stands inside the grounds of the Palace of Westminster itself, while notably others are consigned to the square opposite.

That's probably the image I have in my head when I think of 'London' - the home of so much that I associate with being British. London is history.

I was walking on the grass one day

2008-04-05T17:07:00.002+02:00

Or rather, she was. It's one of the hallowed rules here that we're forbidden from walking on the courtyard's grass - there are polite, yet firm, signs reminding us at practically every turn. But every so often, the rules are relaxed and people can indulge the pent up desire to trample across the lawn.

Admittedly, getting married in the College chapel is probably quite an extreme way of getting around the general prohibition, but everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. And being able to walk across the grass gave them all a useful shortcut to shelter when, unfortunately, it proceeded to rain about two minutes after I snapped the photos.

I think I'll just have to wait until graduation to get my dose of stomping in.

A Gran(d) Visit

2008-03-31T14:54:00.005+02:00

Before the curtain came down on my penultimate term at University, my parents and my Gran came up to visit Cambridge for a couple of nights. Gran had never been before so it was a nice opportunity to show her where I've been living over the past three-years and to do the tourist-thing that you never do yourself when you live in a place.

A late arrival and a long journey here (via Chester and Stratford-Upon-Avon) meant the first night consisted of a (very nice) meal before retiring. We decided that early the next morning we'd do the one thing that you can't come to Cambridge without doing: Punting.

So at 10am the following day we found ourselves manning what turned out to be the only punt on the river - which given my (lack) of punting skills was probably for the best. Of course, everyone else might have been staying away due to the fact that the water was freezing, but we punted on regardless. It took just over an hour to punt from Darwin College, past Queens and St. Catherine's, Kings, Clare, Trinity Hall, Trinity, St John's to Magdalene before turning around. It's lovely how peaceful the river is at that time in the morning and it's a great way to see the colleges from positions that you wouldn't otherwise get to see. Fortunately no-one fell in, and nor did we lose the pole. By the time we were done the wind and water had conspired to make my hands numb and blue, and, intriguingly, my fingers were about twice their usual size.

Luckily, Selwyn is only about a five minute walk from the river, so a quick trip back allowed me to warm up and for Gran to have a look around the college.

It's exceptionally easy to take your surroundings for granted, so it's always nice to show someone around who hasn't seen them before to really appreciate them. With the flowers beginning to bloom the gardens looked beautiful, and with most people having gone home for Easter, the college itself was peaceful and still.

After a spot of lunch we headed for a walk around a few of the in town colleges. This is where the little blue student card comes in very useful. Not all of the colleges charge non-members for entry, but invariably the ones that people want to visit, do. I'm sure there's a business opportunity in renting out my Uni card to visitors for a day. We walked through Kings, popped into Corpus Christi before heading to Trinity and walking through St. Johns to Magdalene, finally having a look at Sidney Sussex. Magdalene's gardens were especially pretty alongside the river.

By the time we'd done all that, the sun was going down and that was the end of another day. Unfortunately we only had the morning of the next day before we had to set off home, but it was enough time to climb the spire of Greater St. Mary's church in the centre of town - something that I've never done, and indeed, didn't even know you could do. A bit like punting, it was interesting to see a bit of Cambridge from a vertically-different perspective, even if the market did look like something from the Magic Roundabout from up-high.

As with too-many things, it was a shame that we couldn't have stayed for longer. It was lovely that Gran got to see Cambridge before I leave, but beyond that, I felt like I got to see it a bit too. I don't take the time to visit the College's or to stop and look at the view and I'm always too busy trying to get somewhere or do something else instead. It's a bit like 'the grass is always greener' and the place you live never seems that remarkable. But I know that in three months when I leave for good I'll immediately regret not making more of my time here, so before that time comes I've resolved to take the time to properly visit each College and to walk down all of those streets that until now I've just walked past. After all, treading off the beaten path can often be the most rewarding way to really see a place.

Va Va Varsity

2008-02-28T00:52:00.005+01:00

My last two posts have all had a smattering of karting content, so my apologies for those who find all this petrolheaded talk a little tedious and unintelligible, but today I intend to continue the trend and recount the experience of yesterday's Varsity Kart Race.

Unfortunately, it was one of those "this'll sort the men from the boys" type events, where I ended up resolutely in the boys camp. Having only really taken up karting last year, and having only driven the Pro karts twice, the step up to yesterday's Club 100 karts was going to be a shock, but I didn't bank on it being quite such a shock. Firstly, they can do 0-60mph in about 4.5 seconds. Second, they have a top speed of about 65mph. And thirdly, they're clutchless, so they need to be bump started, and if you brake too hard, spin, or go too slowly, they stall and need to be bump started again. On my first lap out of the pits in practice I spun about 4 times, so it took about 5 minutes to do one 45 second lap, my distinctive red helmet didn't do anything to lessen my visibility.

Fortunately I eventually got the hang of it (just about) prior to the race. Unfortunately, one the first lap the engine refused to fire up, leading to the rather embarrassing situation of my kart being pushed around the track by a pusher kart trying to kick some life into it. It didn't work, and I had to swap into another 'cold' kart. Starting 8th, I made it to the first hairpin in roughly the same position before being hit and spinning out, needing a bump start. This entails dragging your kart back onto the track and waiting for the pusher kart, by which point, we were last, and there we would stay.

I can though claim that this was not entirely my fault. Early in the stint I realised that something was wrong when the car seemed to 'top out' along the back straight. In the practice the thing just seemed to keep on accelerating, but now it wasn't. Having already changed kart once and not knowing if it was something I was doing wrong, I plodded on while all streamed past me. But even with what turned out to the automotive equivalent of a blocked-artery it was a pretty nerve racking and bone shaking experience. But one I can't wait to have again.

My teammate Graeme subsequently went out, and came back in right away to get another kart, and managed to salvage things - we finished second-last, some way off of the podium, with Oxford retaining their title.

Needless to stay, I've got this bug, and I don't think it's going anywhere.

From RAGs to Riches (of a sort)

2008-02-24T01:27:00.004+01:00

Today's been one of those eclectic days where everything was planned in advance, yet altogether everything that went on doesn't really fit into one whole.

It started as with many others, in the library, but fortunately that didn't last terribly long. Today is the start of RAG week here. RAG are a student body who organise different events to raise money for charity, and today was RAG Carnival day. I needed to do some shopping for 'Dutch Dinner Do' that I've perhaps unwisely agreed to do tomorrow night, so it seemed a good way to combine the two.

The parade started at the Grafton Centre and made its way to the Drummer Street bus station, which didn't really seem that far, and a little out of the way for something that's supposed to be quite high profile. But a lot of the people had clearly made an effort with their costumes, and they all seemed to be enjoying themselves.

It was certainly colourful, and provided a nice diversion while buying my 'British Fenland Kale' from a Dutch market stall - who says globalisation doesn't work? But RAG today wasn't just a parade, they also organised a rubber duck race on the Cam. For some reason, this really caught my imagination. I had visions of them flinging bucket loads of rubber ducks from Magdelene Bridge and people shouting their ducks on from Quayside. Unfortunately it wasn't quite like that, and instead they offloaded them from a punt in bin liners. In fact, if you look closely, you can see one bin liner that got away before it was emptied leaving a bin liner for of ducks in line for victory for quite a while.

Fortunately, the bin liner didn't win, and neither did mine or Amy's duck. The Cam's probably not the best place for such racing, as it's a pretty gently flowing river, and for quite a lot of the time they just bobbed along in a very uncompetitive unison, but eventually one duck broke free of the others and was hoisted onto the waiting punt to be proclaimed the winner. Apparently all who entered do get their duck to keep. So I shall look forward to being presented with my bright yellow/green/blue/pink duck at some point in the future once they've all been fished out.

This evening though I was presented with something of an all together different kind at the Cambridge University Automobile Club annual dinner at Downing. After a half-hour battle in front of the mirror with my bow tie, and despite some interesting service and a menu that didn't always reflect what we found on our plates, it was a really good evening, and it was nice to get to know the people who I've been racing against a little better while we didn't all have helmets on. I'd been told in advance that I was going to get an award, and I had a sneaking suspicion what it might have been for. But at the end of the meal I was presented with the CUAC award for 'Best Crash', or as I prefer 'Best Example of Driving Beyond One's Capabilities', or as it actually says on the trophy 'East Essex Pony Club Brew Cup for the Best Tetrathalon Performance'.

No-one was quite sure where the trophy came from, but I think it's great, and it has taken pride of place on my mantelpiece. Maybe I'm an equestrian extraordinaire just waiting to be discovered. I'm planning on writing a little piece on the crash so that they can start building up a catalogue of idiotic driving to pass down the generations. For a Society that's over 100 years old, it could be some list.

The Three R's

2008-02-16T23:16:00.005+01:00

Late last term saw the second-round of the University Karting Championship at the Rye House circuit. Then was the first time that I'd been the circuit, and the first time I'd driven what I now know to be a 'Pro Kart'. As such I was pretty chuffed to have come sixth in the team endurance.

Today it was time to 'Return to Racing at Rye House'; three R's that are much more exciting than whatever they're supposed to mean in Government-speak. We've just got back from the third-round at the same circuit and in the same karts, and second-time around it was even more of a blast, even if it did take about 15 minutes for the blood to return to the extremities of my fingers after I'd finished my stint.

There's not really any way to recount a kart race on a blog in a way that's going to be interesting to people reading. So I'll restrict myself to saying that having qualified 7th as a team, I'd got up to 4th by the first corner, before falling back to 6th in the second. It's amazing how exhilarating a standing-start can be. 10 karts, all only a metre behind the one in front, accelerating away into a sweeping right hander is guaranteed to raise a smile. Sixth was fine, but I got into a two lap-long battle with a guy from Churchill college, which resulted in me getting a warning, before he punted me off on the fastest part of the circuit. Not that I've a problem with that, it was close racing and I could have just as easily done the same to him. Unfortunately I didn't have to time to lift off before I hit the grass, so pirouetted twice before rejoining the track, only to be penalised for driving off the grass. Such is life. This left us last and chasing the whole pack, but by the end of my 43 laps I'd got us back up to fifth, and on my penultimate lap I finally managed to break into the 43 second boundary having done solid 44 seconds lap all the way. I managed a 43:83, which was only 00:20 slower than our team's best lap. So chuffed with that!

After that Will took over for another 25 laps before Roy took us the rest of the way with his 57. He managed to get us to fourth as well, so only one away from that first podium. Can't be that far away.

Racing in the dark is extremely atmospheric, but bitterly cold, especially when you're grasping the wheel for dear life and your knuckles are in the wind protected only by millimetre thick gloves. But it's all part of the experience. But boy, did I look rough once I'd finished my stint. It's surprising just how demanding 30 minutes of racing appears to be! But I'm never going to get tired of that last sweeping right hander; it's worth the asking price alone.

Come the end of the evening I was being cajoled into taking part in next week's Varsity race at the same circuit, but on the next karts up, 'Club 100'. Seeing how I still find these one's a bit of a handful, I'm not sure. But although they're a handful, they're tremendous fun, and I'm not actually sure I can pass up the chance to drive something even faster seeing how much I'm enjoying al this. Watch this space.

Blasts from the Past

2008-02-14T01:00:00.004+01:00

It's not often that reading a Law Report produces the kind of 'wow' feeling that makes you stop what you're doing. Last night, after getting back from working at one of the Careers Service events, I was reading the case of Re Hallet's Estate from 1879 in a law report actually printed in said year. It's always quite satisfying pulling a 130 year old book off the shelves, and you usually end up covered in dust, but this case was a little special and was rather like a legal message in a bottle. Someone had carefully annotated it in the margin with a list of citations for subsequent cases that considered it.

Of course, today you can just look on the internet to find out such information, but in 1919 (the most recent date in the old-handwriting) you couldn't do that, so this person had apparently taken on the task of writing it into the law report to save others the trouble of doing the research. Of course, it's a bit naughty to write in such an old book, although it would only have been 50 years old when they did it. But today it struck me as a great insight into an older world, and got me visualising Dickensian visions of legal studies. The handwriting was scholarly, and so regular and neat that I thought it was typed at first. It certainly makes a change to today's scrawled and barely legible annotations, the sort that I peddle. In fact, back in 1919 it was probably quite a heinous thing to do. I can't help but be intrigued by who it was, and the fact that we'll never know somehow makes it all the more interesting.

Unfortunately I rather deadened my appreciation of finding the book when I proceeded to walk into a door after leaving the library. College has taken the rather dubious step of fixing 'controlling' mechanisms (like posh versions of those 'arms' that stop doors slamming) to each of the outside doors, presumably so that they can be opened and closed from afar. This unfortunately means that doors now open and close very slowly, even when pushed very hard. I forgot this, and while walking apace, put my hand up to open the door, and before I realised that my hand was remaining stationary against the door while my body was rapidly approaching it, my nose had connected with the glass panel, leading to a presumable comical rebound. What's this 'progress'?

In search of a conclusion

2008-02-09T19:44:00.000+01:00

For a student of the arts, I have a worrying, and often unrealised, fondness for 'yes' or 'no' answers. Unfortunately, legal questions rarely come in digital and we're left hanging and have to make do with "if this, then this, but if this, then this" answers. Occasionally, but only occasionally, I'm known to crave a bit of trigonometry.

And that's very frustrating, and I guess that's why I'm not all that interested in pursuing a career as a lawyer. I'd much rather sit in a library and try to make the law come to nice 'yes' or 'no' answers, so the world cane be a happier and better place. But it seems that that's just how it is for me in real life too. I've noticed recently that increasing I try to finish every conversation with a concluding remark. It was quite funny at first, but now it's started to annoy me (and probably the people I speak to as well), mainly because I often can't think of something suitable. So instead of finishing naturally, these thing tend to have two or more abortive endings in search of a departing comment, before stuttering and tailing off most unsatisfactorily instead.

It's probably related to my desire to have things planned out months in advance. For instance, after my internship in Washington DC this summer, I'm going to have about three weeks free to spend in North America. Now, this isn't for another 6 months, and I can't figure things out definitively for a while yet, but it doesn't stop me trying to plan out all the different possibilities. It would be much easier if I just decided to believe in fate.

I wonder if that's a product of the unilateral nature of writing a textual blog? After all, writing is much more discrete than conversation and actions, and I can finish a conversation with myself anyway I want. See?

A Flying Visit

2008-02-04T12:16:00.000+01:00

There are two things in this world that I will never tire of; (a) the feeling of acceleration when a plane takes off, and (b) stroopwaffles. As a result, flying to Holland this weekend proved a perfect way to get a fix of both, and I'm still enjoying the latter while cleaning the crumbs out of my keyboard.

Last year I made a promise after winning the Dutch round of the Jessup competition that I'd come back the following year to hand over the winning-cup to this year's victors. And being a man of my word, that's exactly what I did. So after spending Friday afternoon in London being briefed on my Summer-scheme to be, I boarded a train to Stansted for a journey that ended up taking considerably longer than it should have done. All the time wearing a suit, my plane was delayed for an hour-and-a-half (it left Edinburgh for Stansted after it was supposed to leave Stansted. My train from Schipol to Den Haag then broke down at Leiden. All of this wouldn't have been too bad had it not been for the facts that it freezing and raining, and my hostel closed at 1am. Fortunately I got there at 12:30am, so all was good. but getting up at 7am the next morning for the competition was less good.

The competition was fun, but unfortunately the Utrecht team didn't win this year, although they did make it to the final round and split the judges 2-1. So this year the Netherlands will be represented by Leiden, who amazingly had a guy who I know from my Jones Day vacation scheme on their team. It never ceases to amaze me just how small this world of ours is.

It was great to see people again; Emma, Bart, Lobke, Ellie, Rachel and Sabs, to name a few and I'm thankful to them all for making me feel so welcome. But it was really heartening to see how it didn't feel strange being back, walking down the Oudegracht felt quite normal - just like going home to Cornwall does in the holidays. In fact, the strangest thing was how it didn't feel at all strange. I guess I expected that more would have changed, but there's no reason for it to have done as it's only been 7 months since I lived there. More odd was knowing that so many of the people I spent last year with have moved on, or back to where they came from. Andrew wrote a fantastic essay for the Erasmus essay competition which sadly and unfathomably wasn't appreciated by the competition judges, but I think he summed up this feeling perfectly, and I hope he doesn't mind me quoting a little here:

[Our accommodation was a] blank page which I realize, we entirely filled out and erase in our departure. The glad, cheery heat of a family which left with the last of us, leaving - only to be renewed by other faces. If we return, it is as an intruder: a true stranger out of history - without his family - who are flown across the surface of the earth. You wound yourself by your disappointment when you rediscover the place unyours.

It's hard to disagree. Utrecht is the same, but it's not mine, or ours, any more. A new generation of people have taken over and made the city their own. Graf Floris isn't my hang out any more. Going back to Jessup really brought this home. While it was lovely seeing the new team and seeing them moot (and not having to do it myself!) nothing could be a clearer indication of how things have moved on there, and I suppose that I must too.

But really, I have one request to Easyjet. The train company First Great Western puts on special trains from London to Newquay in the Summer, presumably because the general crowd going to Newquay would make a 6 hour train journey rather unbearable for people going elsewhere. This is a fantastic idea. You can always tell which flight is the Amsterdam flight at Stansted; it's the one with all the British stag/hen party entourages crowding the boarding gate before boarding has started (invariably with the wrong boarding card) and generally hollering to each other. Why not have special stag/hen flights? Even I'd pay to put them on one!

A Wintery Return to Meribel

2008-01-17T10:32:00.000+01:00

When you've got a dodgy knee that hurts just a bit, what would any sensible person do? Why, get in a cramped car and drive for 15 hours overnight to the French Alps for a bit of skiing of course. Why not?

Yes, those are snow chains. Last week; Jon, Will, Nick and I did just this on an epic journey to Meribel-Mottaret, the same place that Sacha, Lottie, Jon, Colin and I went too this Summer for our Alpine ambling.

It's funny how much difference snow makes to the feel of the place, it covers up all of the features of the landscape, and because you're skiing much faster than you could walk it makes everywhere feel a lot closer - almost depressingly so when we remembered how long it had taken us to walk to places this Summer. But Winter or Summer, it's a beautiful place and one that I don't think I'll ever tire of.

But it was such a fun week, and I don't think I've laughed so hard in a very long time. Doing this sort of thing as a small group may be more expensive than going on the University trip, but in my albeit limited experience I'd much prefer to do it this way if the opportunity arises again. You get to know the people you're living and travelling with a lot better than you would do otherwise, and I think that makes the trip much more enjoyable. Aside from a dodgy fondue incident I think we managed to get through the week without too much infighting!

The resort itself was fantastic. Meribel is right in the middle of the Trois-Vallees, one of the biggest skiing areas and we never ran out of places to ski in the week we were there. Our apartment was fine, right opposite the ski lockers and pretty much directly onto the slopes. So we couldn't have asked for much more there. We were all about the same level, and hopefully I didn't hold the others up too much, but there were the occassional hilarious moments where we lost it in often spectacular fashions. Memorable falls include my slamming into a wall of snow on a green run and leaving such a good imprint that you could make out my goggles, nose, mouth, hands and knees (it was still there two days later), Jon's fall on a blue which caused Nick to fall in avoidance, whereupon I was laughing so hard that I couldn't help but do the same, Jon's close encounter with a snowboarder under a 'Slow' sign, Nick falling off a drag lift and having to climb up to the top of the lift in foot deep powder, and my slide down a red which resulted in my jacket and trousers getting packed with snow.

But the funniest has to go to Jon and Will's impressive mask efforts which got them no end of odd looks on our way down the slopes - especially Will who I was a little concerned could have been mistaken for a skiing Hitler. It's funny just how hard uncontrollable laughing makes skiing, and how Jon skied while only seeing through the end of his snout will forever remain a question in need of an answer.

So it's all been a bit of a culture shock waking up one morning in France, then going to bed the same evening in my room at Uni - there aren't any ski slopes around here y'see. What's in store for the next trip? Well, flying to Orlando in Florida, buying a car and driving to Anchorage in Alaska was talked about... watch this space.

Don't I know you?

2007-12-29T21:45:00.002+01:00

Events have got me doing quite a bit of thinking these past 24 hours.

Today I was visiting my aunt in the shop where she works, when someone who was my closest friend, my companion for two-years, walked past the window. I shamefully looked away. But the worst thing is that I know why.

Last night a group of us went out for dinner for Bryony's birthday/my birthday/Christmas/New Year and a good friend of mine from secondary school, someone who helped make it all a little more bearable and who I haven't seen in four-years, came along. And it was just like 'old times' with all of us. And again, I know why.

But what I can't figure out, no matter how hard I try, is why the people who we're closest to and care the most about, are the very people we don't stay in touch with when thing's go awry, no matter how much we might want to, and are the very people we're most awkward and uncomfortable around when our paths cross again, even years in the future.

And now I've sat here for 30 minutes wondering why I've written this entry, whether it's an attempt at some sort of redemption, while hovering over the 'publish post' button wondering whether I should push it.

A Birthday Casualty

2007-12-22T22:35:00.000+01:00

A year ago I almost ended up spending my 21st birthday in Asterdam's Schipol airport after England rather inconveniently fog bound itself. Fast forward a year and I find myself having spent a portion of my 22nd birthday in the Casualty department of the local hospital.

The receptionist didn't seem to pick up on the significance of the occasion when she asked for my birthdate, and I replied "Today, but 22 years ago". Fortunately the nurse did and wished me a 'Happy Birthday' while bending my knee in all sorts of improbable directions. Unfortunately the end diagnosis was about as ambiguous as the reasons for me being there in the first place. After waking up in the middle of the night on Wednesday with a rather acute pain in my left knee, I woke up on Thursday morning unable to bend said knee. A whole day with a hot cushion on my knee made little difference, and walking on it, or bending it, produced a sensation which felt like what I would imagine stabbing the back of my knee cap with a hot knife would feel like. Unfortunately yesterday brought no improvement, and neither did this morning, so I had to concede defeat and follow my parents' advice to go to Casualty. Apparently I may have (a) a bit of cartilage/bone 'free floating' behind my knee cap, (b) a torn something, or (c) a random imflamation. I'm holding out for the latter, although a bit of keyhole surgery for the former would certainly be exciting.

Unfortunately the upshot of this was that I was ordered to rest and not put weight on my knee, which put paid to my plans to go ice-skating, karting or walking today, and instead meant I've had a rather quiet birthday at home - although I'm now suffering Strictly Come Dancing. Hopefully, after Schipol last year, and West Cornwall Hospital this year, it won't end up being Guantanamo Bay next year.

Thanks to everyone who's sent their birthday wishes today; it's been lovely to get them :).

School's Out for Winter

2007-12-01T20:04:00.000+01:00

It's that time of year again. It hardly seems possible that a little over two months ago I started my final Michaelmas term, but true it is. Last night was Selwyn's SnowBall and this weekend almost everyone packs up to return to their other homes for Christmas. But not me. I'm staying around for another two weeks. The upshot of this is a very quiet College, the downside; the lack of people. Coming down the stairs earlier today I noticed a rather sad sight - everyone apart from me being marked as 'OUT'.

Obviously there was a party and I just wasn't invited, but at least it should mean that I get some work done these next two weeks - provided all the conference attendees and interview candidates don't prove too distracting. Which I imagine they will.

Last night though was the SnowBall and jolly good fun it was too.

This year with people who graduated last year coming back for it, and it being the last one while I'm still here, I had a change of heart and decided to go along. And I'm glad that I did. It's not a May Ball, but it's not meant to be either. There's something much more personal about the SnowBall, but having said that, the use of a strict one-way system meant that I actually saw shamefully few people to talk to properly. The only other one that I've been too in 2004 didn't really capture anyone's imagination and I'd been in no hurry to go back, but 2007 was certainly a much better affair. It's nice to be able to 'go out' with a better Ball.

It's just not Christmas

2007-11-18T18:40:00.000+01:00

But you'd be forgiven for thinking otherwise. Today is the 18th November, a full 37 days before Christmas day (admittedly less if we use the more commercially popular measure of shopping days), but that hasn't stopped today being the chosen day for Cambridge's Christmas Lights Official Switch On Ceremony. Oh yes, apparently they've even gone and got someone from Neighbours in to flick the switch. Unfortunately, in the three years that I've been here I've never actually been to the switch on ceremony, and I didn't go today either, partly because it's belting down with rain and blowing a hooley, making my room a much more preferable place to be. However, I did venture into town this afternoon to do some shopping so I got a little taste of the Christmas spirit. There's was a stage outside the Guildhall on the market square which had an audience of about 50 cold-people being sprinkled with some fake snow. There was also a rather amusing pair of performers walking around to amuse the children, and big children like me.

Unfortunately I'm feeling a little 'bah humbug' about all of this. Perhaps it's partly to do with being at University while it's all going on, but I mean, it's still the middle of November. Yes, it's getting colder and the nights are drawing in, and it is starting to feel like winter, but it's not starting to feel like Christmas. I guess I'm partly comparing it to the Sinterklaas ceremony in Utrecht last year as well, which was miles ahead of what went on today. People just aren't in the Christmas mood at the moment, and won't be until at least December. I'm sure that if the lights went on in December, no-one would complain that it was too late, and people would be much more into the spirit of things at the time. I just feel sorry for the parents who have to tide their children over until the real Christmas.

Last night though was an altogether different affair with the annual Law Ball. It's the first time that I've been to one and hence I had no idea of what to expect. I've got a rather love-hate relationship with Balls. The SnowBall in the first-year put me off the very idea for quite a while, Sidney May Ball in the second-year was good but nothing that special, while Downing May Ball last year was a really lovely evening. So I shacked up with the other Selwyn lawyers for a 'night of sin' that was really anything but sinful. Personally I just wanted the opportunity to wear a tuxedo for the first time this term and spend 40 minutes cursing in front of my mirror trying to tie up my bowtie.

It was a nice evening, but I think I'm going to have to (a) learn to dance, and (b) drink alcohol to really appreciate such things. But more than anything it's about the people you go with, and that's something that I really learned to appreciate last year when I was travelling around. You can do something on your own and hate it, then do it with others, and love it. People can make the world of difference.

A Karting Calamity

2007-10-15T22:00:00.000+02:00

Two years ago, I remember feeling faintly suspicious when our International Law lecturer started his lectures by justifying the study of the subject, and having to explain what the subject actually was. Come the end of the (very long) year my suspicions were eventually confirmed. So, imagine my horror when our Jurisprudence lecturer was asked what Jurisprudence actually was, and answered that there was no accepted answer! That's a whole big step beyond the International Law scenario, but thankfully I'm not feeling suspicious about it, it's oddly satisfying studying a subject with no accepted answers.

Yesterday I finally realised an ambition that I put on hold in the first year after baulking at its price - karting. Karting is one of those words that Microsoft's spell check refuses to accept, and most people seem to react slightly oddly when you say it's what you're doing. But its relative obscurity is part of its appeal, although the speed helps too. So yesterday 29 of us took off to a local indoor karting track for a bit of racing action. We each took part in two qualifying races to determine positions for one of the three finals. I haven't karted for at least two years, and not in a proper racing kart for closer to six or seven years. Nonetheless, after starting 6th in my first heat, I was 2nd by the first corner, and finally came home in 4th, which I thought quite respectable. Unfortunately things fell apart in my second heat. I started 2nd, and owing to having a kart with less than perfect acceleration, I was 10th and last by the first corner. Eventually I pitted to get it checked out before being sent on my way. Perhaps I was pushing a little too hard at this point, but unfortunately what happened next resulted in me leaving my seat, and my kart, and ending up sprawled across the track! I'm not entirely sure what happened, but I remember coming into a 180-degree corner, and finding a kart spun on the apex. Unfortunately I had no time to brake, leaving my inertia to disagree with the sudden deceleration, the result propelling me out of my kart. Fortunately the red flags were thrown straight away and no-one hit me. But everyone looked a little shocked, not least the staff who obviously had the inevitable insurance claim running through their minds. But I soldiered on and got back in, to finish 9th, which doesn't say much for the guy who came 10th. In my final I started 2nd and finished 1st, which seemed to make up for the events of the second heat.

Despite all that though it was tremendous fun, and I can't wait to get back behind the wheel and do it all over again, although I wouldn't mind staying in my kart next time. I've got an impressive bruise and scratch on my back, very sore shoulders, and a nice bruise on my derriere, which seemed to take most of my track-bound impact.

By comparison with all that today's five hours worth of lectures and one supervision has seemed pretty dull. Although I did meet the five Dutch students who've come over from Utrecht this year. I was sat in the lecture theatre a few rows behind them before thinking "I know that language!", so I trotted down for a chat. My Dutch lectures continue to amaze me - I didn't know how much about language I was completely ignorant about. I'm the only non-linguist, so perhaps it really shows, but I'm sticking my hand up every few minutes to check on the meaning of dipthongs, indirect objects, definite articles and personal pronouns. And I still can't speak Dutch.

A new perspective

2007-10-12T23:36:00.000+02:00

So it's now been over two weeks since I came back up to University, and to be honest, the more time I spend here, the more it's beginning to feel like it always has. Last year in Holland there was the double whamey of being in a new place, with new people. But despite that, I settled in there in no time at all, so I guess it stands to reason that seeing how the only new aspect here are the new people (and the fact that library now has a toilet) I should feel right at home. Which I do.

But that doesn't stop me from seeing things a little differently than before. Take the Law Faculty, where I spent a sizeable portion of my afternoon today. There's a fading newspaper article outside my Director of Studies office reporting on the problems with the Faculty when it first opened. Primarily the architect thought it would be a good idea to have the three floors of the library all open to each other with each higher level being like a mezzanine. Not a bad idea in itself, apart from the fact that he went one further and made the whole library one giant mezzanine to the communal entrance area. Hence, all the noise from downstairs resonated up through the library. So new glass walls had to be built to make the library more like a library. But not only that. The whole Faculty has one normal sized entrance door for people to get in and out. There's another door inside to the lecture theatres which is similarly normally sized, and there are giant concrete pillars blocking the entrances to the individual theatres themselves. The door into the men's toilet hits anyone using the urinals. You can hear what's going on in one lecture theatre in the one next door. The swivel chairs will only go down, and not back up, so everyone has to sit with their knees at the same level as their chins. The automatic lights noisily shake their shades every time they come on. The stairs are too shallow to take comfortably one at a time, but slightly too deep to make it two a time all the way up. And the whole place is cold, apart from the lecture theatres which are roasting. In short, I hate it. But the best thing is that it's designed by none other than Norman Foster himself. It's enough to make you want to cry that someone so famous can get it so so wrong. People say that from the outside it looks like an airport terminal, but in that case, inside it can't be anything other than the baggage handling hanger at Heathrow.

Selwyn itself is thankfully much better. Although I returned to my room the other day to find the whole staircase decked out in rather institutional signs pointing to all of the rooms. An immediate thought crossed my mind. The College has been without these signs for the past 130 odd years, with apparently no ill effects, so what's happened in the past few days to make them put them up? Although at least there's no danger I'll walk into the kitchen expecting to find the shower in the morning any more.

Unfortunately while I was working in the library (read: analysing it's faults) little did I realise that a certain grouping had taken a liking to my room. The other day I woke up to find a rather large bee in my bedroom - he seemed just as annoyed at the inconvenience as I was. But today nature went one better, and while I was beavering away, a group of ladybirds apparently decided to take up residence behind my curtain rail.

This could well explain why I've been ushering out similar ladybirds for the past few days. Obviously someone's done the ladybird equivalent of posting an invitation to a party in C13 on MySpace or YouTube. I'm just waiting for the music to start.

A life in Post-it notes

2007-10-04T23:16:00.001+02:00

Behind my desk there's a wonderfully empty expanse of magnolia wall - easily 3 metres long by about 1 high. Originally I planned to find a poster to fill the space, but couldn't find one that I could bear to stare at all day. So instead, I've filled it up with Post-it notes. This might be more original, but it has the unfortunate drawback that I'm constantly reminded of the things that I am, by definition, actually not doing. But it does make me look busy.

Today was the momentous day when lectures finally started. I've only been here a week, but it already feels about double that time, so it came as some sort of odd relief to be back in the lecture theatre. Although my wrist wouldn't have concurred after writing about as many notes in a one-hour lecture as I wrote for a whole subject in Holland. Although the fact that you're expected to speak out in lectures in Holland did mean that I did so today without really thinking about it, which I guess is a good thing - even if it did come as something of a shock after the event. I also met my Jurisprudence supervisor, and he successfully managed to note a category of jurisprudence students who'll survive by making comments such as "it's all about morality in the law". Barring some amazing foresight on his behalf I don't think he was addressing that to me specifically, but he might as well have been.

But today also saw a slightly new direction in my to-ings and fro-ings. I didn't think that I'd actually do it, but today I had my first Dutch lesson whereupon we learnt the alphabet. It's hard to convey just how shaming it is to have spent a year in a country and not be able to sing that country's alphabet song. I could manage the infamous Dutch 'g', but when it came to 'a', 'e' and 'i'... well, memories of year-6 German came flooding back - but without the in hindsight grotesque attempts to impress the exchange students. But still, I shall stick with it.

I met another returning-Erasmus student today who was having the same problem of not knowing anyone, so at least it's not entirely down to my social ineptness. There was a lawyerly bonding session in the (now gloriously smoke free) Bar the other night, where I impressed myself by managing to converse properly with one Fresher. I feel torn between the part of me that wants to get to know who all these unfamiliar faces are, and the other part that just feels slightly removed from the whole process. The lecture theatre was an oddly lonely place, which is slightly ridiculous considering how before, although I recognised people, I had no more of idea who they were.

Of course, throughout the year more people will become familiar, but it's already time to be thinking of next year. I've already missed a couple of deadlines for things I was thinking of doing through a combination of ill-planning and laziness, so it's time to get focused. And that's where the Post-it notes are intended to come in.

Room with a View

2007-09-29T18:42:00.001+02:00

And so it begins. Or should that be ends? I've now moved back into Selwyn to start my final year as an undergraduate by taking up my role as an elderly fourth year - a mark of distinction highlighted by my possession of a yellow coloured pigeon hole, and hopefully not grey hairs.

Things have been pretty quiet so far, with a few people coming and going, but things really got properly started today with the Freshers arriving. Luckily my room has a fantastic vantage point from which to spy on the comings and going in College - and to gauge how big the queue for Hall is before venturing down the three flights of stairs that lead to my abode.

So far I can tell a Fresher from the fact that they follow a pattern. Usually they emerge from the arch over the Porters' Lodge either in front of, or behind of (never to the side of) their parents. One parent then takes a photo of the Chapel while the fresher looks away, then said fresher is coaxed by the same parent to pose for a photograph in front of the Chapel. True, I did exactly the same thing three years ago, but it doesn't stop it being faintly amusing, it also allows me to feel a little God like in looking down on people milling around, and it's certainly a more entertaining way to pass the time than by reading a 'Constitutional History of the United Kingdom'.

So what should this year hold? I'm down to take courses entitled; Equity, European Union Law, the Conflict of Laws (allowing me to answer questions such as: what happens when an Irishman, driving a Japanese car in France, hits a German driving a faulty Swedish car, causing an accident killing a Norwegian?), Jurisprudence, European Human Rights Law, and the Historical Foundations of the British Constitution. But if that isn't enough I've put out tentative feelers towards signing up for learning Dutch at the languages faculty. A bit late perhaps, but something that I'm oddly keen to do.

And I think that sums up my attitude to this year. So far things do feel different to the first and second years here. I don't know whether it's because I'm a year older, or wiser, but the year abroad really seems to have helped my approach and there's no feeling of apprehension about what lies ahead. I guess that my final year here is just going to be the first year on the road to something else, and I can't wait to find out what that something else will be.

A short Scilly island hop

2007-09-20T18:33:00.000+02:00

It's commonly thought that Cornwall is the last place in Britain, hence it being home to Land's End. Anyone watching the BBC weather forecast would agree. However down in the bottom left corner, always hiding behind the weather forecaster, forever hidden from public view, are the Isles of Scilly - truly the last place in the British Isles before New Foundland, which is quite a long way away.

The Scilly Isles are a perfect example of the sort of place that so close, yet so far. You can just about see them from Land's End on a clear day, but they only merit one page in the local newspaper, and aside from the constant whir of the helicopter blades, it would be easy to forget that they were there. In fact, the largest island, St Mary's, only has a population of 1,666 and the smallest, little more than 70. Alarmingly though, despite their diminutive size, the Isles were officially at war with the Netherlands as recently as 1986!

So in keeping with my obsession with following the compass points, two weeks ago (I know, it's a shamefully late entry this one) I boarded an absurdly small plane at Land's End and took off for St. Mary's for four days of exploring.

I've been to the Scilly Isles before - once when I was a lot younger for an extended stay, and twice more recently for day trips - but I've only ever really known St. Mary's, so this time I resolved to get to know the other islands; St. Agnes, St. Martin's, Tresco and Bryher. This primarily involved getting a launch from St. Mary's each morning to a different island, and then spending the rest of the day walking that island's coastal path.

On the first day after settling in I donned my oh-so fetching shorts and set off for St. Agnes via quite a few seal colonies, and the Bishop's Rock Lighthouse, the most south-westerly outpost of the British Isles.

Leaving aside my odd obsession with lighthouses, there's something quite inspiring about Bishop's Rock and the real sense of isolation there - even from St. Agnes it's little more than a speck out to sea. In fact, it's this sense of isolation that makes the Scilly Isles such a wonderful place. When the weather's bad the islands can be cut off from the mainland for weeks at a time. I've commented before on how I've grown tired about visiting places on my own, but I never felt that way on Scilly, instead, it almost felt like the right way to experience the islands. Sitting on the top of Bryher, looking over the archipelago to Tresco, Samson, St. Mary's, St. Agnes, Gugh and Annet, and not being able to hear or see another soul apart from the boats cruising between the islands was a fantastic experience and one that I'd have happily sat for the whole day enjoying.

This isolation goes beyond setting the islands apart from the mainland, and it even contributes to each island putting forward its own unique character. It's hard to convey just how different each of the islands feels. St. Mary's is the busiest, but even there, most of the hustle is concentrated around the main town and quay with the rest of the island feeling deserted at times.

St. Agnes was the first island I visited that I hadn't been too before, and seemed to be the most celtic, and remote, of all the islands. It's connected to the island of Gugh (population: 3) via a sandbar that's only crossable at low tide, and it's separated from the rest of the islands by a deep water channel.

There was a real feel of a different world walking around the Atlantic coast, no more so than when I came upon a truly beautiful beach that had been filled by people creating structures of standing stones.

There must have been thousands, and it has hard not to marvel that people had bothered to make them in the first place, and that someone hadn't come along and knocked them down in the name of fun. But aside from the atmosphere, the scenery didn't seem that different to the ordinary Cornish coast. So onto Tresco.

Tresco has something of a bad press on the islands. It's the only private island and is rather exclusive, and that seems to lead to quite a lot of resentment among the other islands. It's a shame, because Tresco is really a stunning island with a sub-tropical garden that I'm told has even made its way into the Dutch geography curriculum! But there is an air of pretentiousness there which does detract from what could be called the most beautiful island.

Bryher had to be the island that took me most by surprise. Stuck out to the north, only one side is visible from the other islands, and it's the bit that's hidden that's the most remarkable. Constantly battered by the Atlantic waves, Bryher acts as a sea wall for the rest of the islands and has the feeling of a remote headland. The coast itself can only be described as barren and rugged, but that's what's so wonderful. Compared to the managed beauty of Tresco, Bryher's a perfect example of how beautiful nature can be when it's left to do it's own thing. The fact that the north of the island shelters the rest of the island leaves the middle of the island a little tranquil oasis, and probably leaves Bryher as my personal favourite of the islands.

On the fourth day I set off for St. Martins, little aware of what to expect, other than that the fact that it's home to the Rough Guide to Britain's Best Beach. St Martin's is quite accurately described as one big beach home to an island, and the whole coast is practically covered by white sands.

But despite their beauty, they're all almost without fail, deserted. And that's just it with the Scilly Isles. The majority of visitors to the islands come on a day trip, and then tend to stay on St. Mary's, or perhaps visit Tresco. It's unusual to spend longer, or to take a day trip to another island, so so much of what's on offer gets missed. Admittedly, the fact that the island's aren't overrun lends a great deal to their appeal, but I can't help wishing that more people took the time to really appreciate the place. In fact, in the end, some people did. The weather closed in on the final day such Land's End became fog bound and grounded my flight. Luckily I was staying with a friend, but the other's on my flight were day trippers who hadn't packed for an overnight stay, nor had banked on having to pay for accommodation. I really had to sympathise with them, but at the end of the day there's a little part of me that thinks any reason to spend a little longer on the islands has to be good.

Before this trip I had little idea of what the islands held. Ironically on leaving I noticed the following sign on the walkway over the runway:

Funny, loitering on the Scilly Isles is just what I want to do more of.

The way of the Camel

2007-09-07T18:30:00.000+02:00

Cycling was something of a past time of mine in Holland, but it's not something that I often do back home - too many hills for one, access to a car for another. But the other day I decided to take my bike to the most Dutch part of Cornwall - the Camel trail. The Camel trail follows a disused railway line from Padstein (nee, Padstow) to Bodmin, and is therefore wonderfully flat.

That does not however mean that it wasn't hard work. It took four hours to go from Padstow to Bodmin, onto Wenford Bridge, then back to Padstow, by which time placing my leg in a fully straight position resulted in an awkward locking problem, and sudden movements resulted in uncontrollable stumbling. Clearly something has happened in the two months I've been back from Holland, but I'd dread to think what I'd have been like on the hills slightly closer to home.

But cycling, even when I'm cycling, does seem to be a slightly more consistent and reliable way of travelling than the trains do. Yesterday I was on my way back from Truro after visiting Jess when my train, one of those little sprinters, amazingly stalled after leaving St. Erth station and coasted down the track before stopping. I'd never really thought about trains stalling, but then the driver obviously turned the key before it spluttered back into life and continued spluttering all the way into Penzance. Kind of sums up First Great Western.

The Yorkshire Tales

2007-09-01T20:51:00.000+02:00

After spending time in both Cheshire and Wales we embarked on a brief visit to York, a city I visited when I was about eight and from where my main memory is of taking a rather embarrassing horse-drawn carriage ride around the town.

York is comfortably north of my comfort zone, in fact, prior to this weekend it was the most northerly place I'd visited in the UK, but that didn't stop me loving it. At the risk of sounding like a broken record, York is yet another city that feels like Bath - probably because they're both Roman. And this similarity means that it also takes up a position on my 'would like to live there' list. A list that's now getting scarily long and wide.

It was great to find old streets that weren't filled with chain shops and department stores, even the StarBucks was so understated as to look like a little independent coffee house. It's actually a real pleasure to shop in a shop that you haven't been in elsewhere and I for one feel more likely to buy something in a place like that knowing I can't get it somewhere else, even if it does cost a little more.

But York really is beautiful, full of genuinely old buildings and a general sense that the people who live there appreciate it for what it is. Perhaps it helps that the whole city is dominated over by the impressive Minster, a constant reminder of the city's heritage, but there were plenty of signs about 'taking pride in York' which I can't remember seeing in any other comparably city. The fact that the old city walls are still largely intact is wonderful too. I'd take city walls over a ring road any day.

Beyond this though, York is just a tremendously atmospheric place, something that I can only guess comes with the age of many of the buildings and the history they know. It's a shame that there's always a tendancy to compare cities to other cities, but with the exception of Bath I can't really think of another city that comes close in terms of the intimacy of the atmosphere in York, and even Bath falls short here as in a way, it's just too big and spread out. York feels much smaller and there's a genuine sense of friendliness amongst the people there.

In fact, the steam train gave rise to one of the more bizarre conversations had in York. We discovered that the train went to Scarborough, a place we hadn't visited, and so we considered going for a ride. Until we found that it was £30pp. We then questioned why we didn't just drive to Scarborough, before asking why we even wanted to go to Scarborough in the first place. Realising that we would only be going because it was a steam train, we came to the decision that when you're on a steam train it feels much like any other train and that its best to see it from the outside - which we had when it steamed past out B&B window. So we abandoned both the steam train ride, and Scarborough. Next time perhaps.

York is just the sort of place that it's great to wander around without a purpose, so it was a little unfortunate that one evening, devoid of anything to do, we went to see a play at the theatre advertised on the basis that it starred the actress who played Sue Ellen in Dallas (an actress primarily famous for not shooting JR). This turned out to be a bad decision (the lady next to us commented that, not being able to hear anything Sue Ellen said, she thought she'd gone deaf since entering), and rather than killing time, it seemed instead to flog it, then kick it while it was already quite far down and out. York could do better.

But for a city with such heritage there wasn't any of the grandeur that can be a little overwhelming at times, as there can be in Cambridge. In fact, sometimes you'd see something that could only suggest a little mischievous on the part of the people living there that nicely stood out.

After spending two days admiring York we detoured via Castle Howard, about 30 minutes north-east of York in doing so took myself further north within the British Isles than I've ever been before. I don't usually go a bundle on these country estate type places, but Castle Howard was actually something else. For starters it's absolutely huge, I imagine it would take at least a day to walk around all the grounds open to public (it does have four lakes), but it's also quite a captivating place.

Unfortunately time constraints preventing speeding more time there, but it is a place that I would recommend a visit to should you ever be in the area. On the way back to Cheshire we decided to have a further stop over in Harrogate, a place that I knew little of other than it sounded like a nice place - primarily because I seem to remember knowing someone from there who said so - and so it proved. Almost. It's a little hard to describe, it had a certain Llandudno quality to it in the Victorian adornments abound, but it didn't have the same 'pride' that York had. York seemed to be a smart town proud to be so. Harrogate seemed to be a smart town trying not to realise, or at least, promote it. But nonetheless it was still a nice place to spend a few hours with some really outstanding gardens around.

And so came to end two weeks of travel and visitations around Cheshire, Wales and Yorkshire, and perhaps the busiest August I think I've ever had.

Bala, Bread and Baking in Bethesda

2007-09-01T13:32:00.000+02:00

In a world where it's strictly forbidden to even think about meeting up with people you've met on the Internet, getting into a car and driving to Bethesda, a remote village in northern Wales, to do just that might seem just a little bit silly.

But that didn't stop me and a number of other intrepid people from doing just that, and I think I speak for everyone when I say that we all had a fantastic time baking bread, having fun and exploring a truly beautiful area of the country at event dubbed Bethesdabakin'.

The history of the event and how it was set up is quite long, so I'll spare you all the details, but it came about through an Internet forum and was the idea of a Bethesda local, Mick. The idea gathered steam and unusually for things like this, actually took place last weekend with 17 people descending from all walks of life and all sorts of places. People came from Denmark, Switzerland, France and even Australia and America as well as places closer to home to make friends and bake bread. And that's exactly what happened. The event was organised via the forums on a baker called Dan Lepard's website, and he himself came along to join in and give some invaluable advice and encouragement.

Highlights had to be the building of a wood fired brick oven on the patio outside the rugby club kitchen where the event was held which, courtesy of its 500C plus heat managed to turn out pizzas in around four minutes, Otto, Alex and Kathy's dog who quickly became our mascot, and the innumerable trips to the local Tesco to shop for the five-thousand.

Unfortunately I wasn't up to the standard of the others and had to take a more backseat role for the weekend, although one of my contributions, a barley flour soda bread, turned out to be the one disaster of the weekend, burning on the top, not cooking in the middle and sticking to the pan on the bottom. But what can you do? I even burned my elbow taking it out raising the number of cooking related scars I currently sport to four.

But despite the bread-related theme, there was more to the weekend than dough and flour. I was quite taken aback by how ignorant I was about the whole area. Not only did I fail to appreciate how widely Welsh was spoken by everyone from the people in the Rugby Club to the teenagers working in the Londis store, but I never realised just how beautiful Snowdonia was, nor indeed that places like it even existed in this country. Welsh is quite unlike any language I've heard this year, not even that similar to the little bits of Cornish I know, and it's no wonder that the Welsh parts of the bi-lingual road signs seem unpronounceable to English speakers. But the odd thing is that this wasn't so even 50 years ago when Welsh wasn't that widely spoken, even my great-grandfather who was Welsh born-and-bred didn't speak the language, so to hear little children conversing in it with their parents was really ear-opening and really did make me feel like a stranger in my own land. But I thought it was great, so why stop at Welsh? It stands to reason that people in Scotland, Ireland and even Cornwall should be able to speak the 'local' language, especially when people note how beneficial it is for people to be able to speak a second language.

The Youth Hostel where I stayed has to be located in one of the most scenic places I've ever stayed in. Located at the top of the valley with a lake on one side it was a truly stunning location to wake up and in and retire to, so much so that I'd love to go back and explore the area properly.

It's odd that when you're in the mountains the only thing you have to judge scale to are the other mountains, so it doesn't matter if they're all 1000m or 3000m high, they all look equally impressive, so for a time it really felt like being back in the Alps, and that's something I didn't realise this country could offer. Even seeing things on TV doesn't quite bring it home, and it's made me wonder just what the Scottish Highlights are like in the flesh.

So here's saying a huge thankyou to Mick and Sue, and to everyone else who came along and made the weekend the huge success that it was. Here's looking forward to next year.

Life in the slow lane

2007-09-01T13:01:00.000+02:00

My auntie's house in Cheshire is pretty unconventional in the transport connections it sports. In one direction there's a railway line about two metres beyond the garden boundary, and in the other there's a canal about one minute away. Unfortunately there's no way to board the former without some serious acrobatics, but fortunately the canal is punctuated by a lock, so when the weather looked good we hired Rosie for the day and set off on a long slow cruise along the Cheshire waterways.

Unfortunately the fact that it was such a lovely day resulted in me ending the day with a rather red nose and that burning feeling, but it was worth it. It's hard to describe just how tranquil canal-boating is. We did it when I was younger, but I wasn't really old enough to steer the boat, so this was the first time that I had a chance to pilot for myself, affording some good opportunities for some rather embarrassing photos of yours truly.

Apart from one scrape along the bank, one bang when attempting a three point turn, and one beaching incident when hit by another boat's wash, the day went off without a hitch (although the last one did threaten disaster and took about ten minutes of heaving and shoving to get us free).

Everyone's so friendly as well. All of the boats you pass say hello and exchange pleasantries and so do the people on the bank. In fact, often you're motoring no faster than they're walking, so on one occasion I had a conversation with a couple of walkers lasting several minutes. Unfortunately though some are so engrossed in what they're doing that they don't notice as you motor on past.

Thankfully our boat was only about 30 feet long, and I'm filled with tremendous respect for those who pilot the normal 70 feet behemoths and who manage to make them so nimble. At times it felt like I was driving a barge without brakes and with a mind of its own, and the whole 'left to go right' mentality took a great deal of getting used to, but it was tremendous fun. I didn't appreciate quite how extensive the British waterway network was and how well connected the various canals are so I'm now filled with a desire to charter a boat for longer and make a proper go of it. Anyone keen?

The Connah Conundrum

2007-08-31T13:01:00.001+02:00

Genealogy has always interested me, perhaps because Connah is an unusual surname, so it's always intrigued me that there's a town in North Wales called "Connah's Quay". A little internet research suggested that it might have been named after the local inn-keeper, part time smuggler and suspected murderer, James Connah. So buoyed on by the prospect of having someone so exciting in my past, and the thought of visiting my 'homeplace’ and having some sort of revelation, that's exactly what I did.

I was warned before I left, and I should have guessed from the rather lackadaisical use of the apostrophe in the name in the various signs around, but my undisguised optimism clouded rational thought. What I found was pretty grim, even the local Somerfield had an air of deep seated resentment about it. I’d hesitate to say that it was a northern version of Camborne, but Redruth would be a good and sadly valid comparison. But the town did at least provide a number of good opportunities for passing motorists to wonder why on earth some bloke was posing to have his photo taken next to the sign of the place they were getting out of.

So while Connah's Quay might well be in my family’s past, a rather large part of me has trouble thinking of it as being part of my future, which is a shame really.

Fortunately the same is not true of all of northern Wales. Admittedly, after the disappointment of Connah’s Quay we lurched straight into another at Colwyn Bay where, after walking a mile in search of a place to eat, I practically suffered from a near-life experience of rigor mortis waiting for perhaps the greasiest toasted sandwich I’ve ever had the fortune to consume. But things looked up afterwards when we motored on to Llandudno, a not-seaside town on the seaside. It’s a place that we used to visit each time we went up to Cheshire when I was younger, but one that seemed to give an entirely different impression to my ten-odd year older eyes. Unfortunately having squandered time in Connah’s Quay and Colwyn Bay we only had time to drive through the lovely Victorian town centre complete with old awnings and paved streets, and drive up the best bit about the place – the Great Orme. When I was younger, the best bit about this rather large hill (or maybe mountain) was that you could take a cable car or tram up it. Now, the best bit is the staggering view from the top where you can see right across the bay to Anglesea, or inland beyond the town to the mountains beyond. It was just a shame that there wasn’t more time to appreciate it all properly.

Just have to go back one-day I guess.

A trip up memory lane (aka the M6)

2007-08-31T12:44:00.000+02:00

When I was younger, every Summer a trip up to the little village of Bunbury in Cheshire was practically guaranteed to spend some time with my Gran and the rest of my mother's family. Unfortunately in 2001 my Gran died, and so did the tradition. But this year I decided that it was time to go back and so embarked upon a rather tortuous 10 hour journey with an average speed of about 36mph to revisit (note, don't try and drive out of Cornwall on a Saturday in August).

I've always had something of a fascination with the family, and I think living close to everyone in my dad's family, along with having an unusual surname helps that, but I've also felt a little neglectful of my mother's side of the tree.

Going back to a place you haven't been too for a while is always a little odd, but it can be fascinating what you remember. Obviously I wasn't that young the last time I went up, but six years is enough time to see things differently. For me, it was the little white metal fences around the fields, the signs designating the different cattle herds, and rather peculiarly (and a little scarily) my aunt's TV remote control that triggered memories.

But Cheshire really is a lovely place, full of rolling hills and lovely little towns. It really does feel a world away from the place I live in down here, and I guess with it being so far away, it could be. Chester for instance is a really beautiful city, and Tarporley is such a tranquil and friendly little village that I wonder why I'm not living there now.

In fact, even the wildlife in Cheshire seems tame. I drew open the curtains on the first morning to be greeted by a family of rabbits looking at me from the garden, all of whom seemed entirely unmoved by my appearence in my boxer shorts. Squirrels would have eaten out of my hand had I had anything to feed them with, and even flies posed for their photo to be taken. A far cry from the seagulls in Cornwall.

There's one sentiment that seems ubiquitous when meeting people you haven't seen for some time, namely "Oh, haven't you grown!" And there's no proper answer, but an encounter with my 43 year old cousin got me thinking. While he remarked that he wouldn't have recognised me, I spotted him from some distance off. This leads to the worrying conclusion that at some point in the next 22 years I'll reach the stage where I won't have grown and altered when people see me again, which also means that I'm approaching the stage where my adult features are set - leaving precious little time for the bits I don't like to ebb away!

In fact, while I was there I felt oddly compelled to engage in the sort of activities that my younger self would have done - from visiting the local ice cream parlour, to buying gingerbreadmen from the bakery, and waving to passing trains. In fact, I did engage in such activities in what I can only assume was some sort of nostalgic desire to regress to my childhood for I think that I will forever associate Cheshire with childhood holidays, no matter how long ago they were.

Zip It Up

2007-08-31T12:38:00.000+02:00

This blog isn't about social commentary (well, not entirely), but I've been so incensed recently that I've decided to make an exception.

The subject of my ire? Climate Change? Global poverty? No, something far more close to home... the button fly. I ask you; has something so pointless, so fiddly, so unnecessary, ever been inflicted on the human population? Can any designer who makes the conscious decision to equip a perfectly decent pair of trousers with such a useless appendage even be (a) a bloke, or (b) sane? I've lost count of how many times in the past month I've seen a pair of trousers that seem 'just right' only to go and try to zip up the fly and find myself confronted with an array of buttons that repel all attempts to button up without supreme effort, concentration, and some pretty unflattering contortions. When a zip can be mastered in less than a second, this new found 'fashionable' obsession with buttons utterly confounds me.

Designers take note - not only have you lost at least £30 in lost sales because of your thoughtlessness, but you've also dangerously increased one young man's blood pressure.

When Emma and Laura came to town

2007-08-31T12:14:00.000+02:00

There are some things in this life that we tend to take for granted, like the fact that the sun will rise the morning after it sets (which perhaps explains why sunsets seem monumentally unappreciated). Also in this category are friendships. Facebook has made it easy to be 'friends' with people whom the term wouldn't apply in the traditional sense.

But I'm pleased to say that after Emma and Laura came to visit Penzance, some nine months after we last saw each other and they left Holland, some Internet friends are just as good friends in real life.

So after an oddly short amount of time getting reacquainted following our separation we settled into the routine we left in Holland like little had happened - only I'd acquired a car and tan lines, and lost an obscene amount of hair. In only four days we managed to cover a large amount of ground, from the Eden Project (which finally managed to impress me after two previous visits ended in me vowing not to return), to St. Ives (a marvelous place that succeeds in being both the quintessential tourist trap, and quintessential Cornish coastal town simultaneously), and the Minack Theatre (where even a truly bad performance is made good due to the fact that the mind pays just as much attention to the (a) view, (b) discomfort and (c) cold, as it does the performance - but it's still a fantastic place).

It's amazing just how much you can learn about the place you live in when you end up showing other people around. Things that I take for granted, and things that seem unremarkable suddenly seem exicting again, like going for BBQ's on the beach at sunset. In fact, there's a whole side to Cornwall that I never knew existed - there's a whole lot of fudge and ginger biscuits around these parts. Tourist Cornwall, and the people it attracts, comes in for an awful lot of stick locally, but the truth is that the economy depends on both. Not only that, but I love Cornwall so much that I equally love the fact that people travel from all over the UK, and indeed from Europe, to visit it. Sure, they clog up the roads and the nice places to visit, but then I've spent the majority of this year doing the same in the places that I've visited. And sometimes I wonder whether the locals who do the complaining actually bother exploring the nicer areas in Cornwall that most tourists don't get too. A quick walk out to the Celtic stones at the Men an Tol or the ruins of Ding Dong mine reveals an unspoilt and authentic side of Cornwall that most people, local or otherwise, don't often see.

So I guess what I'm saying is simply, come to Cornwall and enjoy what's on offer. Sure, it's not Spain, but isn't that what makes it so attractive?

An awful lot of hot air

2007-08-13T18:42:00.000+02:00

Several years ago I resolved that I'd visit the Bristol Balloon Fiesta, I then promptly forgot until the following year, when the pattern repeated itself. So it has been for the past three years, until this year when I finally remembered and worked in a visit on my way back to London, making a special detour via Bristol.

Bristol's an odd city. It likes to think that it's part of the South-West, when any self respecting Westcountryman will tell you otherwise and possibly shoot you for even suggesting so. It also has, I think, an unfortunate name that rather like Uttoxeter (what were they thinking?) conjures up less than appealing images. However, it's actually a surprisingly nice place which surprises me every time. I didn't have any time to walk around the city itself this time, but the youth hostel was located down on the riverside by the old docks, an area that seems to have been extensively redeveloped recently and it's become a really lovely area such that I feel a little guilty about my previous misgivings about the place.

But still, this time I wasn't there for the city, but instead for the annual Balloon Fiesta, or more correctly the International Balloon Fiesta, presumably to make it seem more important. I wasn't really sure what to expect from the event, and was a little surprised that (a) it was massive,(b) it felt more like a fairground with balloons than the other way around, and (c) you could buy food from about 100 vans, but if you wanted something healthy you were out of luck bigtime.

There are really two highlights to the event, the mass balloon launch and the night glow event, although there were other acts going including motorcycle stunts and plenty of parachute jumps and paragliding.

People say that trams have an ability to revert even the most serious bloke into his inner child, and they're probably right, but for me, balloons, especially those of the hot air variety, have a similar effect, so the launching of 72 hot air balloons within the space of 60 mins was a pretty spectacular sight to behold. I hadn't appreciated just how much work goes into getting a balloon blown up an airborne before.

After the balloons had all taken off and floated serenely away over the trees to a presumably less serene landings near the Avon gorge, I bagged what looked like a good spot and pulled out the Newsweek I purloined from the train and waited for the night glow. The night glow is the sort of thing that the local news station gets all excited about each year, and in line with most other things the local news gets excited about, I was expecting to be a little disappointed with it, but as it happened, I wasn't. After it got dark (and colder) they reinflated the balloons and equipped them with liquid fuel, and let rip in tune with the music to create a rather impressive music and light show, followed by an equally impressive fireworks extravaganza. Although some of the music choices were a little dodgy, I thought that '99 Red Balloons' was an apt choice.

Alas, there was no opportunity for me to actually go up in a balloon, a feat that I've been chasing ever since I was robbed of such a chance when I was about five at a previous local balloon fete due to 'adverse weather conditions'. Never mind that I could have died, I'm still a little bitter. But if it's taken me three years to get to the Fiesta, then I guess I may have to wait a little while longer to actually venture far enough to go up, up, and away.

Old Faces, New Places

2007-08-13T18:20:00.000+02:00

Being about to start my fourth year at University is an odd feeling, especially as most of the people I know have just graduated after their third year, have spread out over the country, and are about to enter the big bad world of working.

I'm not sad about postponing the latter, but I am a little sad about postponing the former. One of the reasons I went to Holland was that I didn't feel ready to graduate as I didn't know what I wanted to do afterwards. Having now been to Holland, I'm a little more sure of what I want to do after finishing University, but I'm 100% certain that I'm ready to graduate and get on with things, and that's a feeling that's only been exacerbated by spending a few days visiting friends who've now done just that.

After getting back from France I visited Jon who's moved up to Norwich to live with his sister and brother-in-law. I'd never been to Norwich before, and I didn't know what it was like, but I feel it worthy of being classed as a thoroughly nice place. In fact, it wasn't dissimilar to Bath (possible my favourite place on earth), just a little bigger and more cityish. It also provided a good opportunity to see the Simpsons Movie (itself a slightly missed opportunity). On the second day there we all went to Pleasure Wood Hills, a slightly oddly named family-friendly pleasure park just outside Norwich with Jon's little sister. Now, I've known Jon for 10 years, which means his sister was 3 when I first new her and alas, not having a little sibling myself I tend to still think of her as that age, so it came as a little surprise to find her being 13 - a surprise that triggered one of those "we're so old" exchanges that tends to leave everyone depressed for rather longer than it should. Although I have noticed that the young prodigies in the news have gone from being a few years older than me, to being several years younger over the past couple of years.

The pleasure park was an odd cross between fairground and theme park, and Jon and I seemed to occupy an awkward age range, being slightly older than other groups of kids, and younger than the groups of parents. However, this provided some fun. After noting that Jon and Lauren went further at the bottom of the water slide than Lauren and I did, and that Steve and Lauren went further still, Jon and I decided to see what we could manage and so we pushed their two-to-a-dinghy rule to the limit and got up some impressive speed before launching off the bottom jump and sliding to a halt quite some distance away. Maybe getting old in age, but still apparently young at heart.

After the excesses of the day I boarded a train for London to visit Stef, Stuart and Joe who've just graduated from Selwyn and moved to the big city in the Docklands area. Unfortunately owing to the day at the pleasure park I didn't have that long there as I had to catch a train early the next morning, but it was great to see them again and to hear about how they were getting on post-University.

It's odd to think that had things happened differently, had I not filled in the Erasmus form, that I'd have been part of it all, moving on from home and university to start something new, but I've no idea where I'd have been. Going to Holland may have made me desperate to graduate and 'grow up' while postponing the event by a year, but it's also made me much more prepared for doing so and I'm continually glad that I did it. I'm not wanting to graduate to get away from University, in fact I'm pretty sure that I'll come back to it at some point, instead it's that I'm wanting to graduate to move on and get on with what my life will bring, whatever that may be.

An Alpine Amble

2007-08-13T17:38:00.000+02:00

After spending exactly one-month doing precisely nothing since returning home from the flatlands of Holland, two weeks ago I found myself onboard a train heading for the south of France and to the Alpine village of Meribel-Mottaret to spend the week hiking in the mountains with Sacha, Colin, Lottie and Jon. And jolly good fun it was too - the snow blindness incident aside.

My previous visits to the Alps have all been in Winter for skiing holidays, but I'd always been curious as to how things looked when the snow had melted and the skiers had moved on in the Summer. So I've finally been able to answer my curiosity - and the best I can say is that there's a whole new world out there.

The white snow has a habit of hiding not only what it covers, but of obscuring distances as well. I remember being struck by the beauty of the mountains when I got off the coach on my first skiing trip, but after this week I think they really come alive in that regard in the Summer.

Meribel-Mottaret was a lovely little village at 1700m in the middle of the Trois-Vallées, between Courchevel and Val Thorens. I imagine that it would be a fantastic place to ski from, but it proved to be an equally excellent walking base too. Now, those who know me will attest that my physical fitness levels are not high, and hence, with hindsight it might have been a grand idea to get into shape before setting off. But alas, I didn't, so spent quite a lot of the week rather tired, but if there's something worth getting tired for, it's what we did. Unfortunately the weather wasn't entirely on our side, but after some pretty fantastic thunder-and-lightning displays we set off on a three-day hike from Meribel. The dissapointing thing about walking in the mountains is that while you cover only about 4-5km as the crow flies, it still takes about 8 hours owing to the irritating habit that mountains have of being just a little undulating. But then it wouldn't be any fun if it was just like walking into town. Over three days we rose up to 2900m, walked alongside a glacier, hitchiked, swam in a mountain lake, sang songs, taught Colin to speak English in both Gansta' and Chav, learnt about magical paintings, and had a snow ball fight - all without killing each other in the process.

In fact, aside from Colin's blisters, Lottie's ankle and my giving myself snow blindness (tip: always wear sunglasses in the mountains unless you want to end up wearing sunglasses even in the darkest room and feeling like you're always looking into the sun for a couple of days), things went really well. We stayed in mountain refuges, which I had visions of being places that only welcomed you if you practically fell through the door after running out of water in the dead of night. However, I was quite wrong and they were basically youth hostels at altitude which seemed to specialise in mammoth dinner portions. The second required us all to sleep on one giant bunkbed, which provided a good opportunity for Sacha to smack my forehead throughout the night and for Lottie to proclaim, to my eternal pride, that I was the only one of the group who didn't snore.

We also had a lot of fun. When you're walking for so long that a little entertainment was practically obligatory, but unfortunately I was ruled out of the best part - the swimming in the lake - by virtue of my snow blindness which turned the lake into one big mirror for the sun, but still, I could never have beaten Jon's effort to frighten the mountain goats.

Something that I'll never see in the same way again are hitchikers. We've all driven past them standing at the side of the road, and truth be told, I'd never thought anything about it. But having now been a hitchiker myself I can confidently say that there's little more dispiriting than standing by the side of a road for more than 40 minutes while countless cars, with ample space inside, drive on by. Eventually though we did get picked up, so a big thankyou to Mr. Bernard Vissoud, Savoyard wine specialist and qualified moutain guide who gave us a lift on one occasion. One very generous gentlemen squeased Lottie, Sacha and myself into a three door hatchback stuffed full of suitcases by getting his little son to ride atop one of the suitcases in the back, sandwiched up against the roof. People are apparently helpful like that in the mountains.

And that's only one of the reasons that I love them and why I can't wait to go back. There's something about the isolation that you can feel in the mountains that's incredibly refreshing, and the fact that we were in France where the boulangerie rules supreme, only made things even better. Of course, my continuing lack of language skills still grated and ensured my Englishman abroad persona survives, especially seeing as everyone else spoke French. But that didn't detract from a really great week that's convinced me to get myself into a little better shape to be able to appreciate what we did even more.

Vive la Montagne indeed.

All good things must come to an end

2007-07-01T09:15:00.000+02:00

Today is a sad day, for today is my last, last-day. Later this afternoon I'll be driving out of Utrecht, out of the Netherlands onto a ferry to the green and pleasant land that is England. Although it wouldn't have been Utrecht without some last minute oddness. Last night after dinner Chloe, Mark, Andrew and I went out to see Shrek 3, although only Chloe and I actually ended up seeing it. We managed to walk into the wrong cinema screen, and because we therefore messed up the assigned seating (my apologies to the usher on her first night who apologised to us for the mess, little aware that it was us who caused her problem). Chloe and I ended up sitting away from Mark and Andrew. Luckily Chloe had seen the other film before, else I'd have probably sat there waiting for Shrek to start (although perhaps the murder in the other film might have given away the fact that Shrek wasn't following on). So after much stifled laughter we made our way out and found the right place. Unfortunately Mark and Andrew stayed for the whole showing of the other film, which lasted about an hour longer than ours. Apparently it wasn't worth seeing either. So much for a final group outing, but a fitting end nonetheless!

There isn't really much left for me to say, but before I sign off, there's one last thing that I need to do, something that I should have done before now, and that's to say thank-you to everyone who has made this year what its been. This year wouldn't have been as fantastic as it was without any of the people that I've met, regardless of how long, or how well, I knew them. But of course, there are people who have been friends throughout and who deserve a special mention as being those people who were the participants in the majorities of tales replicated here, and who I hope will reprise their roles in ones to come.

What follows is a paragraph hopefully less cringe worthy and slightly more irreverent than an Oscars speech to say a real thank-you to all of the people who have made this year for me. In no particular order: To Javi, for shaming me into learning how to cook. To Amadeo, for the laughs and long afternoons in front of MTV. To Mark, for sharing the pain of Principles of Good Governance and for letting me know about the free hot chocolate place. To Andrew, for introducing me to the pleasures of appelbollen, and six-hour lunches, and for always being available for both. To Natalie for being Jollyalie. To Zoe for bringing the legendary Tantes cook-your-own meal to the masses. To Tineke, for her paddling power. To Emma and Laura for willingly sacrificing their health by being guinea pigs with my cooking, and for being such great fun. To Lobke, for being my partner in crime and reminding me that being a legal conservative is OK. The Chloe, for her food monologues, and for being perhaps the most unfailingly happy person I know. To Sophie, for having an unending supply of tales available in wonderful prose. To Jeff, for being perhaps the ideal flatmate, Americanisms included. To Emma, Yu and Fajar for ensuring that the light at the end of the mooting tunnel remained firmly in sight. To Bart, for giving me the opportunity to teach, and to him and Sophia for making me feel welcome and proud to be British. To Robbert, for convincing me to come over in the first place. To Stuart, for permitting me to sleep on his floor and get in his way on many more occasions than he had to. And finally, to all the staff at Graf Floris, for their understanding and unbending tolerance on many a long afternoon.

So after 111 blog entries, 4 burns marks, 3 haircuts, 0 cycling accidents, far too many stroopwafles, far too few vegetables, and many abortive attempts to utter words in Dutch, it's time for me to say goodbye to the place that's been my home for 304 quite extraordinary days. Will I be back? Undoubtedly. So for the time being only; Tot ziens Utrecht, and Tot ziens Holland. Doie!

Whining and Dining

2007-06-30T11:06:00.000+02:00

Today is what I'm going to term my first last-day. Owing to the odd circumstances of my impending departure I'm effectively leaving over two days. The eternally unbending SSH demand that I leave my room before 12 noon today, which I will, but unfortunately I don't leave Utrecht until about 6pm tomorrow. Luckily when my parents came to stay their hotel room had a number of faults, which, when subsequently complained about, resulted in them being offered another room for one-night free of charge. So later today I'm heading over to spend my last night here in some sort of comparative luxury.

It's hard at the moment to be cheerful about leaving this place. It's like anything, you don't appreciate it until you've left, but quite literally in the past days I've realised how much I will miss Utrecht. The year has been truly exceptional in so many ways and I'm so grateful that I filled in the form to apply, and looking back, I wish I was more enthusiastic in doing so. Still, I can rest happy in the knowledge that eight people are coming over from Cambridge next year, so the good experiences should be multiplied eight-fold next year, which is grand.

One up side though is that there are no shortages of good eating opportunities presenting themselves. On Thursday I went out for a goodbye lunch with Lobke, then had Emma and Fajar around for dinner as a last gathering of the remaining Mooting Crew. On Friday Andrew, Tineke, Chloe and I of us went out for lunch to celebrate the year and to have one last Duch pancake and in the evening Jeff and I went out for dinner in a little Italian place that I've walked past everyday but have never ventured inside. Today I'm heading off for my final appelbollen, and tomorrow morning I can gorge myself at the hotel buffet breakfast.

At least I'll leave Holland on a full stomach.

A Scandinavian Bridge Too Far

2007-06-29T10:52:00.000+02:00

It's customary when things are coming to an end to try and go out with a vain last hurrah, or on a bang. It's also fitting that my attempt to do so backfired slightly. On the day after I got back from the UK I got on a train to visit Copenhagen in Denmark, on the Wednesday I was wondering whether it was such a good idea.

Way back in 2006 I'd planned on making a trip to Scandinavia, a place I've always had an odd fascination with. Originally my room rent lasted until the 15th July, which would have give me two weeks after my courses ended to make such a trip and I'd mapped out where I'd have liked to have gone. However, I soon realised that (a) it was going to cost a huge amount of money and (b) that my new room's rent only lasted until the 30th June. So I toned down expectations and wasn't even going to go at all until I discovered the half-price train deal a few weeks ago. So I guess the whole trip started out as the smaller brother of another more idyllic one, but still, I was really disappointed by Copenhagen.

It's harsh to say that I was disappointed because it's exactly like Amsterdam, but it's true. That's not to say that Amsterdam is all bad, it has grown on me since I got here, but to spend 16 hours on an uncomfortable train to visit a mirror of a place 30 minutes up the road is a little irritating. Admittedly the weather was rotten while I was there, and the 'Hostel of the Damned' that I stayed in was populated with people who seemed to have forgotten how to smile or talk, neither of which conspired to produce a happy atmosphere, but then, neither did the place itself. I usually have a problem when I go to somewhere new in that I take way to many photos and spend hours sorting through them - not a problem in Copenhagen which really didn't present that many opportunities. Although the harbour area around Nyhaven was an exception, and that's probably why it was so packed out.

In fact, I thought that one of the prettiest and nicest places was the one that comes in for the most criticism. Hans Christian Andersen's Little Mermaid sculpture is often compared to the Manneken Pis in Brussels as both are rather smaller than they're made out to be. However, while the Manneken Pis succeeds in being both located in a run down corner of a street intersection and a little vulgar, the Little Mermaid is located on the riverside and is actually quite elegant in being so diminutive and was worth the trek from the centre.

Aside from that the most stand out thing was Tivoli. There can't be many cities in the world that contain a theme park right opposite their main railway station, but Copenhagen is one. It's basically a traditional park with pavilions and restaurants, and a number of theme park rides ranging from peddle boats, to teacups, to roller coasters. I visited on the Monday night and was glad that I did as it had a really lovely atmosphere, but unfortunately after listening to several bands, it started to pour down, and with the final illuminations not being for another two hours I decided to call it a night so didn't get to see the crowning event.

Unfortunately the weather was a recurring theme in Copenhagen and it poured down on the Wednesday soaking me through, confining me to the indoors, and oddly even seemingly corroding both of my shoe laces meaning my shoes became glorified slippers on the way back.

As such, on the Tuesday I decided to leave Denmark and take a train to Lund and Malmö in Sweden across the Öresund strait. And I'm so glad that I did. To get to Sweden you cross Europe's largest bridge at 7.9km, and it's a truly impressive thing.

People say that Skåne (the area of Sweden containing Malmö and Lund) is very like Denmark, but I thought it a world apart. Lund is a famous University town of about 100,000 people, but most seemed to be away when I was there and it resembled a ghost town, but a pretty little ghost town nonetheless. I even wondered around and into the University buildings without anyone challenging me - I could have sauntered into a lecture on particle acceleration, but I resisted the urge.

After I'd spent a good few hours wandering around, I got on the train back to Malmö, which managed to be even nicer. Not only was in pretty, but it has an oddly appealing name, and it's also a city that I will remember as the place where everything was free. No sooner had I got off the train than a lady thrust a bottle of lemon water into my hand, and then another after I enquired as to what I'd done to warrant the gift. Then I was given a bag of sesame biscuits and a tube of (frankly disgusting) squeezey cheese to spread on them. Finally I was also given a bag containing lots of fliers and money off vouchers which would have been great could I read them to find out what I could have got money off. And people were smiling again - including me. Happy days indeed.

But the crowning glory of Malmö had to be something that I'd never associated with Scandinavia - it's beach front. Lonely Planet said it was a bus ride away, but a 20 minute walk later I'd arrived and spent the next four hours just strolling over the dunes to the harbour near the big bridge. There was hardly anyone there.

Apart from a bridge and unexpected stumble into a naturist area it was a lovely afternoon. Of course, as soon as I got back to Copenhagen, it was raining.

As trips go this has to be the most mixed bag that I've had this year. It was interesting noting how late it got dark, and how early it got light, and I'd like to go further north to see the midnight sun. Using different currencies again was novel, but oddly welcome as well, a nice bit of unhegemony never hurts. Perhaps I'm being overly harsh on Copenhagen, and having just come back from the familiarity of the UK couldn't have helped, but I'd heard some great things from people who'd been, and perhaps I'd set my sights too high, but the little bit of Sweden that I saw really impressed me and I'd certainly go back. But I wouldn't do it my train again as my train affinity only extends so far. My journey first took me to Duisburg in Germany, a unremarkable commercial city that became my home for three hours on the way there and back (first at 9pm in the evening, then at 6am in the morning - not great times). The journey up to Copenhagen wasn't too bad, but the compartmentalised coaches were a pain as your legs end up entangled in those of the person opposite you meaning neither gets that much sleep. The way back was both better and worse. I shared a coach with Alex, Larry and Charles (Canadian, Finnish and Finnish) and we chatted most of the way. This was great as it was probably the longest time I'd spent with fellow travellers this whole year, but it also meant that we got no sleep. The train was also delayed for two hours in Hanover, then cancelled, meaning we needed to transfer onto a little regional commuter train before getting on the train back to Utrecht to find someone sitting in our seats. Pah, although I am entitled to 20% off my next journey with Deutsche Bahn... It was really interesting talking to them for the evening and finding out what they were doing, where they were going and what Finland and Canada were like. I wish I'd done more of that this year. I'd been something of a lone traveller and I think it got to me a little in Copenhagen. Travelling alone has the great benefit that you're your own person, you can do what you want when you want. But that's quite a selfish benefit compared to the benefits that you can get from having a companion to share in the experience, and I imagine that as with anywhere, Copenhagen would have been just fine had I not been on my own.

I've been so lucky this year to have had the opportunity to travel to so many places for the first time, and I've had such a fantastic time doing so. Some places have been better than others, and others have been unintentional diversions, but I can't help but wonder whether Copenhagen was a case of travel fatigue in the sense that it's time to try something a little different. I don't know how people who travel around Europe for months on end manage it, I'd be shattered after the first week if I didn't have some sort of base like Utrecht to return to and recuperate. I wouldn't change anything that I've done this year, not even a little, but if anyone's looking for a travel partner in the near future then I'd be pretty eager to put myself forward as a candidate. Europe's not that far away after all.

A wonderful reminder

2007-06-24T10:47:00.000+02:00

After I'd finished in Bath I braved the unknowns of First Great Western Railways and travelled up to London to meet Lottie on my way up to Cambridge. I hadn't seen Lottie since December, which was quite a long time ago, so it was great to meet up again even if only for a few hours.

It's always odd when you meet friends that you haven't seen for extended periods of time - I never know how to react, a bit like when you're saying goodbye. Do you make a big deal of the time, or just react like you've seen each other yesterday? I suppose the good thing is that whatever you do, it doesn't feel awkward, which I guess is the mark of a good friendship. But after I moved on from London to catch a train up to Cambridge I certainly had a lot of that!

I was last in Cambridge only four months ago, but such a lot happens in such a short space of time that it felt like an age, and it was an odd feeling being back. I'm now firmly in between years - I'm not a third year or a second year and I spent the four days I was there skating over the surface of the place. Yesterday was results day and it felt very peculiar being there when everyone else was getting there's, knowing I'd have to wait another year. It's an odd feeling knowing that the people I've basically grown up with at Selwyn won't be there next year, and it'll be like starting over in a way, but most will be living in London next year, and I'll probably be doing the same the year afterwards.

As a kind of celebration of the past year a group of us went to the Downing May Bay on the Wednesday night, after the Law Society garden party, and thankfully the rain stayed away the whole night. I think I speak for everyone when I say that we all had a fantastic evening spending time with good friends. The Ball itself was good fun as well, and better than last year's at Sidney Sussex.

Unfortunately I now have to decide which subjects I want to take next year when I'm back there, and this is about one-hundreds time harder to decide than it sounds. I had to have two meetings with my Director of Studies discussing the issue and I still never really reached a conclusion. Utrecht's spoiled me with its huge choice of subjects, such that the 10 or so I can choose from next year seem a little stingy. I think I'll have to do some pondering this summer, but it's good to be able to consult those who did them this year.

Lots of people asked me whether I'd missed Cambridge and whether I felt like I'd be able to get back into it next year. I don't think I could answer 'yes' more strongly to both questions if I tried. This year has been fantastic and I'd do it again in a heartbeat - and I told as much to the people I met who are coming here next year - but I left a lot behind to come, and while that's not lost, it wasn't quite the same being back as it would have been had I never left. Of course, that's to be expected, but there's a part of me that will wonder about that. As for getting back into it, there's an odd idea that once you get out of the Cambridge 'bubble' you can't get back in, but I can't disagree more strongly. I already feel more grown up than this time last year, and there have been times this year when I've felt so frustrated by the work here that I've longed to read an article or a case judgement properly, and I'll be able to do that with a vengeance next year. I know I'll be complaining the opposite way next year, but at the moment that doesn't matter. I'll be more than happy to move into my room in September to start my final year, but I'll be sad to leave Utrecht and the Netherlands as well. I would never have thought about living abroad unless my job took me there prior to this year, but now moving to Utrecht, or Amsterdam seems no more of an upheaval than moving to London. A small world it is.

B(re)aking Bread in Bath

2007-06-24T10:27:00.000+02:00

Last Saturday I boarded an Easyjet flight for my first visit back to the UK since February. I hadn't quite appreciated how long it had been since I'd been 'home', but I really noticed it on landing. Perhaps flying into the home of the West Country accent had a large something to do with it, but on the train to Bath I was sat along from a group of rather drunk lads with thick accents, and I don't think I've been more content for quite a little while. Smiles all around, apart from those sitting opposite them I imagine.

Anyway, why was on my way to Bath? Well, for one, it ranks as my favourite English city, despite the fact that it's been a number of years since I was there last and I've never been there for more than a day at a time. So it was great to be able to spend four days there getting to know it a little better. Bath is one of those places which appears to be effortlessly charming - like a lot of European cities, and it's a pleasure just to stroll around and sit outside watching the world go by (and there appears to be a lot of the world in Bath).

But the main reason was to bake bread. As you'll probably have gathered, I have a weakness for all things dough, so I was there to attend a two-day bread baking course at the Bertinet Kitchen, run by this very affable Frenchman.

And fantastic fun it was too. I had absolutely no idea what to expect as I've never done anything like it before, was I going to be the youngest? The least, or the most, experienced? The only one? As it turned out there were about 11 of us each day of all ages and backgrounds. I was in fact the youngest, but only by a year, which doesn't count. It was interesting seeing how to bake bread 'properly', and I was quite amazed at what we managed to turn out at the end of each day before sitting down to lunch to munch on it all.

His method is fantastically messy, and I ended up with a worrying amount of dough in my hair on the first day. But it was all great fun and it's given me the confidence and enthusiasm to try some new things when I get back home. Highlight of the two-days though had to be the doughnuts that we made, they're definitely going to become a staple.

The course was actually four-days, so I missed the final two, and after having such a great time I was considering staying on, but as I was going up to Cambridge, it would have been quite a commute each morning, so I'll have to go back at some point this Summer to finish off. It would be nice to head back to Bath as well. On the Sunday I found a National Trust walkway around the city called 'Bath Skyline' which was remarkably poorly signposted, but provided a really nice ramble through the hills around Bath and some great views.

It all reminded me how lovely our country is and how much we don't always appreciate that. It's been easy for me to be blown away by some of the things I've found here, but on my way back to Utrecht yesterday I met a Dutch guy who'd been in Cambridge who was lamenting the blandness of everything in Holland compared to the UK. I guess it's a case of the grass always being greener, but Britain can be a lovely place, and I think Bath provides a perfect example of that. Perhaps next time I'll have to take to the skies for a better look.

So I don't think I could have asked for a much better reintroduction to the country, aside from a dodgy moment in a Starbucks on arrival where I started to ask for a drink in Dutch, and the fact that I'm still not sure which ways the cars should be coming from.

Done, but not quite dusted

2007-06-15T18:27:00.001+02:00

This morning I woke up at 7:45, got up, then decided it was a bad idea, and went back to bed. I then re-woke up at 10:15. Much better.

Today I finally finished all 28 pages of my final paper of this term, detailing the differences between methods of constitutional interpretation in the United States and the United Kingdom. The downside of this was that I needed to buy a new pack of paper just to print it out. The upside of this was that I've now done all of my work for the year - assuming the paper's worth a passing grade that is! It's odd, I had expected that I'd feel a sense of relief or elation after I'd handed it in, but I didn't at all. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that I had to go straight to what was probably my third 'final' mooting meeting (over three months after it finished!). But I suppose it's more to do with the fact that there hasn't been that steady build up to a round of final exams at the end of the year. Breaking the year up into self-contained periods means that today in reality I've only finished period 4, which only really started at the end of April.

But still, I can hardly grumble that I don't feel good enough about finished, for being finished is all that matters. To prove that I know how to celebrate I even stopped by the Dick Bruna Huis on the way home to see the birthplace of the creator of the Netherlands' favourite rabbit daughter, Miffy. It wasn't that great.

Tomorrow I'm heading back to the UK for a week, and I'll be in Cambridge from the 20th until the 23rd. I haven't set foot in England since February, and I beleive you've gone and changed the £20 note since I've been gone and that you're due a new Prime Minister soon after I come back. Can't I trust the country with anything?

Forehand Farewells

2007-06-13T21:43:00.000+02:00

Today has been an emotional day. At 10:30 I had my last face-to-face contact with SSH (the housing association here) when they came to inspect my room prior to my impending departure. To their seeming disappointment I hadn't wrecked the place, and everything on the inventory was present and correct. So, that little experience, along with the knowledge that I'm done with SSH, nicely covered 'euphoria', on my behalf at least.

Afterwards I'd been invited to take part in a workshop on student service for the Faculty members as a student representative. It wasn't terribly interesting from a student perspective, and I mainly nodded and shock my head at the appropriate moments - I'm always sceptical as to the use and effectiveness of these sort of presentation led workshops. But nonetheless, I was glad to be felt worthy enough to have been invited as my last act within the University. So there goes 'appreciation'.

I also got a phone call from Joe and Jaron who are in Holland for a couple of days, who invited me to a talk in Leiden this evening, but alas, due to the above meeting this afternoon, and a very special occasion this evening, I couldn't make the trip. So I guess that covers 'disappointment'.

Finally, the special occasion - my final badminton lesson. Tears almost welled in my eyes when the trainer proclaimed that he'd miss me. It's been a really fun thing to have done while I've been here, although today did give rise to the awkward question of what to do when you're saying goodbye to 15 people who you don't know all that well, but who you've seen every week for a year, that you're not going to see again? Do you shake their hand and wish them well? Just give the usual parting cry of 'Tot ziens'? Do you do the Dutch thing and kiss them on the cheek? In the end I adopted all three for different people, pretty much at random. But three events made this evening even better. Firstly, one of the Dutch people there spoke to me in Dutch without realising what they were doing - 'acceptance'. Secondly, I understood a joke that someone cracked in Dutch without having to wait for someone to translate - 'surprise'. And thirdly, I won my last ever game of badminton here - 'delight'.

Hair yesterday, gone today

2007-06-12T14:17:00.000+02:00

My final two courses here have now become one, although in truth they weren't really that separate anyway. This morning I had my oral exam for my US Constitutional Law course. I've never had an oral exam before so had no idea what to expect, so I made sure that I knew the cases that had been assigned and rucked up at 8:30. At 9:00 I was done and on my way home grade in hand. Eh? What happened there? Apparently that's the way it is, and everyone else seems surprised that I'm surprised. Not that I'm complaining, although I've always thought it odd that a years worth of study comes down to a final three-hour exam, so I guess six weeks of study coming down to a 30 minute chat shouldn't shock me that much.

What this means is that I've now only a paper to hand in on Friday then I'm academically done for the year. It's also on American law, although it's a comparison with British law. It's practically finished, so everything seems on course. It's odd how much I've enjoyed looking at American public law this year and I'm glad that I've had the opportunity as the Cambridge Tripos is too rigid to afford me the opportunity to do the same there. In fact, I'm even more glad that I had the chance here as Cambridge have shafted me somewhat. They sent me the Part II papers the other day, and the Public Law dissertation option, the option that I've been basing my entire approach to next year on, has been withdrawn and not replaced with anything comparable. This means that I'm left with a gaping whole that I'm going to have to fill with something I don't want to fill it with. Not impressed to say the least. But at least I got my public law fix while I was here.

After my exam finished so quickly this morning, before most of Utrecht woke up in fact, I took the opportunity to get my mop of hair cut. I've been meaning to do this for about two months now, and I had intended to take before and after shots, but I only remembered about the before shot half way through having it cut off, which I thought was rather too late for the exercise to have much meaning. But 'tis done now, so now I feel much lighter up top and all the more summery.

Discovering Den Bosch

2007-06-12T13:44:00.001+02:00

When it comes to place names in the Netherlands, things aren't always what they seem. Amsterdam for instance is actually pronounced 'Omsterdom'. Den Haag (The Hague), is officially known as 's-Gravenhage (The Count's Hedge). Den Bosch is officially called 's-Hertogenbosch (The Duke's Forest), but for three days of Carnival it changes again so the city becomes known as 'Oeteldonk' (Frog Hill). But whatever it's called, that's where I went on Sunday.

Last Sunday I remarked that I intended to make Sunday a travelling day, and so after crawling out of bed at much too late an hour I boarded a train to Den Bosch, half-an-hour away in the south of the country. Many people had told me that it was a lovely place, and it supposedly has the finest Gothic churches in the Netherlands, so having missed out on the change to go during the carnival, it sounded like a good destination. And indeed it was, but not for the reasons I was expecting.

I'm used to writing on here about how nice Dutch cities are etc, but I'm not going to say that with Den Bosch. I didn't think it was actually that nice a place. Sure, the weather was miserable, but it didn't have that usual 'feeling' that accompanies most of the places that I've been to which had made them all lovely to walk around while all feeling quite the same. Instead, it was the people that made Den Bosch for me. On leaving the train station I passed a lovely scene of community that was repeated throughout the city:

I got there at lunch time and found a little cafe inside on old church where the waiters were so polite, friendly and curious as to where I was from, that it really made for a nice lunch. Afterwards I went for a wonder around the city, and wasn't really that impressed with doing so as everything felt a little soulless and empty, even the central Markt was dull and rather dispiriting despite the vintage car show being held there. So I headed over to the Cathedral to see what all the fuss was about. Well I can tell you that it's justified.

It's an oddly beautiful cathedral, all the more so being attached to a comparatively small city. I paid to take a tour up the tower, and it has to be the best €3.50 I've spent since I got here. The tour guide was so enthusiastic that it took us one-and-a-half-hours to do the tour, while people who started after us had left long before we did. He told us everything about the cathedral's construction and renovations, about the city itself, about other buildings in the city, what to see while we were there. The guy's passion for the place and for his job just shone through and I left feeling thoroughly contented with it all. Even the people from Den Bosch on the tour gave out the same spirit of interest.

Den Bosch itself is a fortress city and as such remained quite small until not that long ago when it started to expand, but following protests from the population, the expansion was halted in one direction, meaning that the city is surrounded by suburbs on only three sides, with the other side of the city centre stopping abruptly when it reaches the flood plain.

Building on flood plains is never a good idea, not least in Holland, but here, the sudden boundary line lends a peculiar feeling to an already peculiar city. Suffice to say I liked Den Bosch, but for more substantial reasons than the cosmetic ones that usually pepper these blog entries, even if I was being watched.

Den Bosch, a city with substance then.

When Sacha came to stay

2007-06-12T13:16:00.000+02:00

If there's one thing that I've learnt while I've been here, it's been to expect the unexpected. So it was that with only the briefest discussion and arrangement beforehand, and a confirmation on the same day, I found myself waiting at the train station on Thursday to welcome Sacha to Utrecht - my first such visitor.

It's been six months since I went to Paris to visit him and Lottie, which is rather too long to between seeing friends, so it was great to host him for a few days. It's always really interesting to see the place you live from the perspective of someone visiting. I felt the same way when I researched Penzance for Emma and Laura who are visiting this summer - I guess you see 'home' in a new light, which can only be a good thing, especially when you're reminded of things that you now take for granted. The sheer number of bicycles here for instance, or the sheer oddness of the way Dutch traffic lights (don't) work.

We spent the Friday exploring Utrecht after I tried to prepare a semi-Dutch, semi-Scottish breakfast. Friday was ridiculously hot and humid, but it was a lovely day to see the city at its best. We started off by visiting all the University buildings, which were all oddly open to the public, even the administration block which is usually access by appointment, and the Academy building which is usually in some form of lock down. Quite a contrast to Panthéon-Assas in Paris where you need ID just to get into the faculty! After that we went for a walk along the canals before deciding to climb the Dom Tower. I've climbed it three times now, but the view from the top still amazes me. On a clear day you can see as far as Amsterdam where you can see the Ajax stadium, but alas, it's never been clear enough for that when I've been. After a lazy lunch we hired a canalbike despite the lady's warning that it was 'very hot'. Indeed she was right and one hour later I was indeed feeling the heat just a little. That evening it did the usual thing of pouring down after such a nice day, but that didn't stop a trip to the ice-cream place, where we were confronted by another impromptu music stage on the Neude. It never ceases to amaze me how often this happens here, and how many people go along despite the fact that there never seems to be any warning beforehand.

On the Saturday we headed off to Amsterdam where the weather was happily much cooler. We did pretty well in avoiding the tourist packed areas until the end of the day. We had intended to visit a few of the museums there as I've only seen a few, but unfortunately many seem to be undergoing renovation at the moment, so a walk down to the museum district was slightly wasted, but provided a good opportunity to see the canals. We eventually visited the Museum het Rembrandthuis and the Stedelijk Museum, both of which were slight let downs. I did however finally buy myself a musuemjaarkaart which gives me free access to most museums in the Netherlands for a year. The fact that I only have 6 days left in the country (eek!) just means that I'd better get a move on!

Sacha made the interesting remark that it was odd for him being in a country where he couldn't read anything. I guess I don't think of it like that any more; not understanding signs and sentences just seems to be routine now and I don't think anything of the vast gaps in my awareness. That's actually quite worrying, but quite normal at the same time. I was at lunch with a Dutch friend today who started reading the menu to me before I pointed out that I could in fact read it. She seemed surprised, which makes me wonder how much more clueless some people here must be when it comes to reading Dutch. I don't rate my Dutch at all, but I have to confess to feeling quite content after ordering two stroopwafles for Sacha and I at the market, in Dutch, to Sacha's seeming approval.

Back to Belgium

2007-06-04T18:13:00.000+02:00

A few days ago I bumped into a Dutch friend of mine who I haven't seen for a couple of months, and within a few minutes of catching up, we were both denigrating the Belgians, as is the custom here. Personally, I've something of a love hate relationship with Belgium. I've been to Brussels three times, and despite wavering on the second visit, I'm now pretty resolute in not appreciating it, and Liege was, well, such a horrible place that I'm trying to forget it. On the other hand, Brugges is a really lovely little town that really charmed me.

Yesterday I was facing the reality that I've only got a limited number of Sunday's left before heading home at the start of July. Fortunately though Sunday is also one of the days that the law library is shut (it's shut more often than it's open), and with the books I need being 'NOT FOR LOAN' there's little I can do. So yesterday I decided to make the most of my externally-imposed work prohibition, by going back to Belgium to try and solve the mystery once and for all. So at 07:17 I boarded a train to visit Antwerp and Ghent in Flanders, or northern Belgium.

Unfortunately things did not start out well and the morning mist that I hoped would lift only got denser the closer we got to the border. Until we crossed the border, when, I kid you not, quite literally vanished. Of the two trains in the Netherlands that are practically guaranteed to be late one is the international train to Belgium (the other being the train to Schipol), so I was amazed to pull into Antwerp ahead of schedule to a lovely sunny day.

Things were looking up, and Antwerp did not disappoint. I know two people who have been, and both remarked that they didn't like the town. I don't know what they were talking about. Sure it doesn't have that homely feel of Brugges, but it doesn't have that nasty city feeling that Brussels does either.

Unfortunately, yesterday was a koopzondag in the Netherlands, meaning that the shops were open, but this was not the case in Belgium where everything remained resolutely shut. But I did notice an odd number of pizza restaurants (by far the majority of eateries) all offering a 20% student discount - competition or cartel? I'll let you decide. Anyway, the fact that places were shut was offset nicely be the fact that there were markets just about everywhere they'd fit, and not just any markets, but the most eclectic markets I've come across. Including one sprawling example that sold everything from toys, to music, to gadgets, to food, to chickens. But not dead ones, no, this one had live ones. Right next to the geese and rabbits.

As for Antwerp itself, I'm sure that visiting on a relatively quiet and sunny day helped my perceptions, but it's a thoroughly calming place. It's located on a river and the architecture of the buildings, both ordinary houses and administrative buildings, is fantastic, especially around the main square, where the more impressive buildings fitted right in with the rest.

Of course, that's not to say that all the more imposing buildings fitted in, with some dominating the skyline in a rather grandiose way, especially the rather petite castle that someone had stuck on the riverside.

On the whole, the architecture is more ornate than the Dutch attempts, but it's quite similar in style nonetheless. Antwerp was exceedingly easy to wonder around, had a number of residential streets that seemed so tranquil and removed from the hustle of the town itself.

I also discovered a tranquil tunnel under the river to the other side which provided one of the those "Does this thing ever end?!" moments.

Perhaps more surprisingly though was the fact that you had to use a wooden escalator to get down there. I don't think I've ever seen one before, and after the Kings Cross fire I'm surprised any still exist - especially in a part of the world where smoking is practically obligatory.

Eventually the clouds returned, which was nice, as I was beginning to feel that if it got any hotter I'd have spontaneously combusted. At the same time I boarded what was probably the least aerodynamic train I've ever seen, to Ghent. I only know one person who's been to Ghent, and she lives there, so she's biased, but I'd heard it recommended as a less touristy-Brugges, and that was good enough for me to want to take a peek.

Oddly, it took longer for me to appreciate Ghent than it did Antwerp. The fact that the train station is about 3 miles from the centre, and that the main road between the two was just that. But when I reached the centre of town I practically forgot about Antwerp. I get the feeling that I'm gushing, but Ghent is beautiful. Really. I'll let some photos do the talking here.

It's one of those towns that just feels old. There were plenty of people walking around in period dress, and horse drawn carts etc, but it didn't feel out of place at all - as if people were putting on a show (which of course they were, but it didn't seem false).

One would imagine that in a place as small as Ghent, or in any other place for that matter, that one or two spires would be enough. But not for Ghent, which lays claim to officially three (right in the centre of town) but many more than that in reality. Of course, I had to climb one.

Of course, you can't go to Belgium without sampling a Belgian waffle, and I found a place that proclaimed itself to make "Probably the best waffle since 1950". I was impressed by its modesty, but was left wondering what was so good about that 1950s waffle I'd never get to sample. Nonetheless, their effort was very good.

Ghent also has a proper university quarter, which I strolled around to find people talking to other people in other buildings simply by shouting out of windows to the other party. There were also people playing what I can only term 'urban' golf in the streets and on the numerous squares.

So, where does all of that leave my feelings towards Belgium? Confused, that's where. As I walking around I was aware that everything felt 'softer' than the Netherlands, but I don't quite know what I mean by that. Perhaps the fact that there's more than one language, with French and German also being spoken, breaks things up a bit and makes everything feel more inclusive. Perhaps it's just because the last time I was in Belgium I couldn't really speak any of the languages, but now I can by with a little Dutch/Flemish. But whatever it was, I really enjoyed the day just strolling around and taking in the sights, and I felt supremely comfortable doing so, which I didn't the last time I was there. The architecture is fantastic as well. There are plenty of examples of good Dutch architecture along the canals in Amsterdam for instance, but it's all a little samey after a while. That's not the case in Antwerp or Ghent, where every little house seemed to have a distinctive style all to itself regardless of its size or stature. Have Ghent and Antwerp tipped the balance that Brussels and Liege did so well in upsetting? I'll reserve judgement, but I will say that from what I've seen, Flanders is a lovely area - that fact that it's basically an extension of the southern-Netherlands, an area that I find equally nice, might well have something to do with that.

Wonder what next Sunday will bring?

PS: If anyone's lost a bike to the water in a river or the sea, then it might have turned up beached in Antwerp.

What's in a name?

2007-05-30T23:25:00.000+02:00

At badminton I'm usually referred to as 'Jackie'. Originally this reminded me of primary school, but I've come to see it as being a sign of affection for the 'English guy' (although I can now count to 21 in Dutch quite confidently, not that my score ever gets up that high). However, today my instructor used my surname, or close, when he called me O'Connan. After, he took my aside and asked me if I was Scottish. I assured him that I was English, that I hadn't been misleading them, and that my surname was in fact Welsh. This he thought was quite funny, all the more so when I told him that O'Connan, as he thought, would in fact be quite Cornish (my old very Cornish tutor being a Conan) - which would have been more appropriate seeing as that's where I live. Ah, small things.

This afternoon I had to present an oral argument on why there's no right to an abortion in the US Constitution. I always doubt that I'll enjoy doing that sort of thing, but I got quite into it once I got started and I thought I'd made a few decent points. Afterwards a Greek classmate came up to me and told me how much she loved by English accent, and that I could work in voice overs. So, it doesn't seem to matter what I say, just so long as I say it in a English accent. Perhaps Stephen Fry was right after all!

Fitting it all in

2007-05-29T19:48:00.000+02:00

Today I made a mistake, well, no actually it wasn't a mistake, but I didn't expect to do it nonetheless. When I first realised that my rent was due to run out on the 15th July, but that my courses would end around the 30th June, I set about planning what to do in those two weeks and came up with quite a thought out plan to travel around Scandinavia. However, when I moved room in January I changed the end date of my rental to the 30th June, which scotched the plan - although I've still got the map I sketched out as a reminder of what might have been.

Anyway, I've hit upon the possibly slightly unwise policy of trying to get all of my work for the year done by the 16th June - the date I come back to the the UK for a week to visit Bath and Cambridge. This means that I'll be back in Cambridge one with the other people who've finished, but it also means that I've a rather hectic couple of weeks coming up writing my paper and getting ready for my oral exam. The upshot though is that, should I succeed, I'll have a week here at the end of June with nothing scheduled.

I'd had a few thoughts on what to do in that week, but today, out of curiosity I popped into the ticket office at the train station to find out how much a trip to Copenhagen would be. The idea being that if I couldn't do the whole of Scandinavia, I could do a little bit of it instead. I hadn't intended to buy anything - especially seeing how I haven't even confirmed that I can get all of my work done before going back to Cambridge - but, of course, I did end up buying a ticket. The lady assured me that it was a 'special price' and that it wouldn't be around for long. The fact that I get to travel on one of those fancy German trains secured the deal, so I'm now off to Copenhagen for three days the day after I get back from Cambridge, which rather puts paid to Berlin being my last trip.

It also means that I really had better get on with getting all of my work done, else I might well be taking a laptop and a few books to Cambridge and Copenhagen, which won't be that much fun. But that's not going to stop me from going to watch the Apprentice now.

Ich bin ein Berliner!

2007-05-27T16:48:00.000+02:00

Oh yes. Earlier this morning I returned from spending the past two days in Berlin on something of a whirlwind trip. But what a whirlwind. In a word, Berlin is wunderbar. In fact, it's one of the only places I've visited this year where I came away wishing I'd spent longer there.

Although, I almost didn't get there at all. I had mistakenly thought that border checks between European Union countries were a thing of the past, so I was slightly bemused to find our coach being boarded by German immigration officials asking for passports. By way of scene-setting, I've travelled between Spain and Portugal on a coach and I did not need my passport. I've travelled between the Netherlands, France, Belgium, Luxembourg and Germany on the train, and I did not need my passport. Even when I flew from Malaga to Amsterdam I did not need to show my passport. So here I was, on a coach being passport checked, without my passport. Problem. The German immigration lady was less than impressed.

"Where is your passport?",
"Err...",
"Where is your ID card?",
"Err, well I have my drivers license?",
"No good.",,
"But it's good in the UK, and it's all I have.",
"Where do you live?",
"Err, well in the Netherlands, but I'm English",
"Why are you travelling?",
"Just for a two day holiday." [in a regretful tone of voice]
"[With eye-brow impressively raised] I see, are you alone? Where are your bags? Are you carrying drugs; marijuana, hash, cannabis, weapons?"

And so it went on. After emptying the contents of my bag she apparently reached the conclusion that I was just a rather silly Englishman, but only after taking away my drivers license for 'checking', whatever that means. A part of me rather hopes that my name is now on some sort of European watch-list ready to flag me up the next time I try to illicitly cross a border. By contrast, the Dutch didn't even bother to stop us on the way back.

I don't quite know what it was about Berlin that I found so appealing, but almost right away I knew that I was going to like it. I hadn't a clue what to expect though. Berlin often seems like the forgotten city of Europe - everyone talks about Paris, London, Amsterdam ad Prague etc, but Berlin doesn't often seem to get a look in, so I thought it might seem a little hollow, but it really didn't.

One thing I had expected to be more evident was the distinction between the old east and west parts of the city. All of the maps highlight where the Wall was, but for the most part, I wouldn't have been able to tell if no-one had told me. Checkpoint Charlie for instance is little more than a hut surrounding my tourist touts. In fact, there's hardly anything left of the Wall at all. A part of me found that a little sad. I can't imagine what it must have been like to have lived there during the occupation, but tearing down the Wall would probably have been one of the first things I'd have wanted to do. But there's no denying that the Wall is one of the most significant structures of the 20th century, and for less than a mile to still survive is a shame. That said, the main surviving part has been turned into a graffiti art gallery, which is quite powerful in itself.

I basically spent the two days just walking around taking in the main sights, and Berlin has plenty to see. It's probably one of the more ornate cities that I've been too, but for a reconstructed city, there's little of the obvious modern buildings that blighted Cologne and it seems that things have been restored rather than rebuilt in most cases, and it works.

I think the Reichstag has to win my award for most-impressive Parliament building of the year. Most of the one's I've seen so far have been pretty austere, but humble, the former could apply here, but not the latter, but that doesn't make it seem overwrought. It's impressively open as well, with the glass dome and roof being open free of charge, from where you can look down into the debating chamber.

One thing that Germany does well very are railway stations. I mentioned a little in my Cologne entry, but they're more than just places where the train stops, you could practically live in most of the German stations I've used, and you could spend a day in most just wandering around. Take the new Berlin central station, they moved the river, landscaped a whole swath of land and held a grand opening ceremony for it. I can't quite see us doing the same when they finally takes the wraps off St Pancras.

I hadn't really expected to eat that well while I was there, but apart from having more wurst than can possibly be good for me, I was (un)lucky to visit on the same day as the final of the German football championship, so there were stalls all over the city selling all manner of things. I even popped into the German version of Harrods where I had the pleasure of sitting next to one of the most obnoxious 'I've more money than braincells' Englishman I think I've come across - I even apologised to the waitress on his behalf. That was also the only time when my German badly let me down. I tried to ask for something in German, which didn't fly, so I said it in English and asked how to say it in German, this just confused things more, until even asking in plain English didn't work. Alas, still some work to do there.

Unfortunately the weather decided to play cat and mouse with me on both days with me finding myself caught in two rather impressive thunderstorms on both evenings - the first time without an umbrella or jacket - despite it being bright sunshine in the day at 32C. On the second day I was slightly more prepared, but not for the length of the downpour (I spent 45 minutes under a window sill waiting for it to 'blow over'. But at least the light after a thunderstorm is always impressive enough to make up for the storm itself.

Another day would have been perfect, and it was a shame that I had to get back on the bus (although getting to whisper-sing 'happy birthday' to a Canadian at midnight was quite entertaining).

It's odd, but being in Berlin for two days made me more passionate about learning German properly, than being in the Netherlands for nine months has made me want to learn Dutch. There's something about being able to try and talk to people in their own language, and it can be pretty fun as well, and there's a good feeling of achievement whether it works or not. I won't come away from this year speaking Dutch, or even better German than I did at the start, but perhaps I've sown some seeds. But I do know for sure that I'm not done with Germany.

A life on the enclosed sea

2007-05-20T11:15:00.000+02:00

Until yesterday, the last time I set foot in a sailing boat was ten years ago when I was an eleven year-old participant on my school's Year 6 activities camp. There was a very good reason for this decade long hiatus; the fact that it left me petrified of sailing. It's impossible to convey how much I hated the experience, but it meant that I restricted myself to rather larger vessels of the ferry variety, which I still find bad enough. But after yesterday I have to say that I'm wondering what I've been missing out on.

This ESN activity proved a little more popular than the last, and Sophie, Chloe and I, plus 28 others boarded the bus to the Loosdrechtse Plassen, a collection of lakes and waterways halfway between Amsterdam and Utrecht to spend the day sailing around the area. Ironically it turned out that this place was the same place where I took the wrong turn on my cycle to Amsterdam, leading to an odd sense of deja-vu until it clicked. We started off the day in little motorised boats which were pretty fun and quite nippy considering their size.

Luckily we had someone who knew where they were going, and we motored through the waterways for a couple of hours, through a couple of locks and had a few games of cat and mouse with some rather larger yachts. Despite a few minor collisions here and there (both with other boats and the riverbank) we found the island that had been set aside for our picnic lunch and recuperated before swapping over to a sailing boat.

I had considered offering to stay in the motorboat as there were a few too many of us, but I'm oh-so glad that I didn't, for the sailing boat was just fantastic. It was larger than the one that scarred me when I was eleven, and it was just so relaxing to be on it out in the lake.

Obviously it helped having someone who knew what they were doing on board, but everyone took part in steering and rope puling etc and yes, I was a little disappointed not to have been able to spend longer out there (although on returning home and seeing my delightful sunburn, it's probably a good job it ended when it did!). For €9 for the day, I don't think I could have asked for more.

The Loosdrechtse Plassen is a lovely area, and it was a beautiful day for it. There were hundreds of people out and about, sailing, rowing, fishing, sunbathing etc and everything just felt so peaceful.

It's safe to say that I've well and truly put the last ten years behind me!