Reunions and anniversaries

It's obviously incredibly late and I'm only just arriving in London at the end of a day which seems to have lasted forever. In fact the only thing which has flown by was my journey from Thaxted (where I had a quick loo break) to London, which I did in a world record time of 51 minutes. Ah! The joys of motorway driving in the wee smalls. And in London every single traffic light was on my side. 

I am, however, tired to a point of panic! It may well be that I have to post this blog without any conclusion or any form of proof-reading. Apologies in advance for grammatastrophies! 

I spent the afternoon lazing in Soho Square; a sort of impromptu, and rather magical reunion of the cast of a play I was in for a couple of lazy Edinburgh festivals back in the mid-90s. We've stayed in touch over the years which meant the conversation was a pleasing mix of catch-up, nostalgia and planning for the future. There was always something very special about the group. We bonded like no cast I've ever been part of since. Four of the six of us present have now got children, but children and partners were left at home across the board... I think subconsciously we all wanted to feel like twenty year-olds again. We laughed a lot. And vowed not to leave it so long next time.

I hot-footed it back to Highgate on a series of rail replacement buses, jumped in a bath, grabbed my DJ, threw myself into the car and drove to Norwich, or more specifically the strangely-named town of Wymondham, where I attended the silver wedding of my first ever mentor. Catherine Stratford taught me from the age of 12 to the age of 18; history, mainly, before she became my sixth form tutor. She was a huge influence on me and a massive part of my formative years. We used to go and do her garden and she'd give us ginger bread and cloudy lemonade. She lent me my very first Charleston record and co-taught me GCSE history with my father. Urban myth has it that I got the highest mark in the country for that particular subject, so between them they must have done something right! That said, when you're the son of a history teacher, you tend to discover that you've been learning the syllabus from within the womb. I could never understand why the other kids couldn't date churches!  

Catherine is also the reason I went to York university, so without her, heaven knows who I'd now be. Her daughter has just finished her first year at Oxford, so is probably not dissimilar to the age Catherine was when I met her. They're identical. It was like talking to a memory! 

She came up to me half way though the dinner, flung her arms around me and announced that I was the only former student in the room. What an honour. 

I genuinely don't have the energy to write much else. As I drove through it, Thetford Forest looked extraordinary in the early evening orange sunlight. That place is incredibly atmospheric. There's something about it which is both sinister and alluring. Something to do with witchcraft, which I can't put my finger on. The trees are odd, somehow. It's almost as if they're watching you... 

And on that spooky bombshell, I'll hit the sack!