Welcome to Washington

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?

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

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"

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

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

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.