Last night’s party was a riot and Nathan got incredibly drunk. I couldn’t believe how seriously people took the P party theme. There were pirates, Phantoms, Pocahonti, and a plethora of princesses, but top marks HAVE to go to the prophylactic dressed from head to toe in rubber! There was a quiz. There was great food, and there was manic dancing in the kitchen.
I turned in at about 3am. Unfortunately, as I lay down on the bed, it collapsed underneath my weight and I ended up in a crumpled heap in the middle of a pile of splintered wooden slats and a torn douvet. The night was spent on a mattress on the floor, feeling slightly embarrassed and guilty that I’d ruined Lisa and Mark’s spare bed.
We woke up at midday, and by the time we’d got up, the entire house had been cleaned from tip to toe and looked exactly as it had done before 50 Spaldwick residents rushed through it like migrating wildebeest. The magic of people who have children is that they have to get up very early, though I genuinely felt guilty for not doing any tidying up.
We decided to go for lunch - in Brampton of all places - which Pepys fans will recognise as the location of the country seat of the Pepys clan. Purely by chance we passed the house itself, and I sincerely wish I’d been able to stop and have a bit of a gawk.
We ate at a watermill in the village, which was situated in the middle of a campsite on the water meadows. It was a hugely depressing sight to see a bunch of caravans and tents occupied by holiday-makers. Who would go to a campsite on the outskirts of Huntingdon to bring in the New Year? All sorts of sad possibilities entered my mind.
On our way out of the building, we stopped to admire the static water wheel, which we’d heard was in the process of being renovated. Mark leant over the railings, gave it a little push, and it ground very slowly into activity, which we all thought was incredibly exciting. As we walked away, however, a flood of staff came rushing out of the restaurant and were trying to stop the wheel from turning. By the time we passed them again, there were all sorts of people standing around holding buckets and scratching their heads, worriedly. I sincerely hope we haven’t done something really silly...
January 1st 1661, and Pepys summed up his situation and that of the State in an almost direct mirror of this very first entry.
“At the end of the last and the beginning of this year, I do live in one of the houses belonging to the Navy Office, as one of the principal officers, and have done now about half a year. After much trouble with workmen I am now almost settled; my family being, myself, my wife, Jane, Will. Hewer, and Wayneman,1 my girle’s brother. Myself in constant good health, and in a most handsome and thriving condition. Blessed be Almighty God for it. I am now taking of my sister to come and live with me.”
He went on to point out that the King was settled and loved by all, and that the King's sister had recently died, and that the country was in mourning for her. He was now worth 300l.
January 1st was obviously the date on which people celebrated the New Year. Pepys spent much of the day in the company of his extended family. There was a lazy breakfast at his house followed by lunch at his cousin, Thomas', which was attended, by amongst others, Pepys’ cousin Anthony, who had lost a child that morning, "yet he was so civil to come, and was pretty merry" - an indication of how regularly children died in infancy. 50% of children born in the 17th Century were not expected to live into their adult lives.
Saturday, 1 January 2011
Friday, 31 December 2010
£20 of Summerfield vouchers
It’s New Year’s Eve and we’re in a car on the A1 heading up to Cambridgeshire. We’re going to bring in 2011 with our friends Lisa and Mark, who live in a little village rather close to where I was brought up. It was Lisa who suggested I write this blog when we went to visit her exactly a year ago today. Her daughter (Nathan’s goddaughter) was rather miserably born on December 31st, so we often pop in at some point during the day to celebrate.
Two years ago, on our way up, I ate a pasty from Summerfield in Biggleswade which was labelled "vegetarian cheese and onion." Unfotunately, it was actually some horrendous meat-filled catastrophe. I realised after about two mouthfuls and looked down to see pink blobs hanging out in the cheesey nastiness. I vomited, rather dramatically, by the side of the road. When I 'phoned Summerfield to complain, they offered me £20 worth of vouchers, which made me want to vomit all over again. In the end I threatened to take them to court, and settled for £200 in real money. It was more the principal of the thing. I wanted to give Summerfield an incentive to encourage their staff to package goods more carefully. I hate to sound like a whinging hippy veggie, but when you’ve made a decision at the age of 7 not to eat meat, you kind of want that decision to remain in your hands. What if the pasty had had nuts in it by mistake and I was one of those freaks who die when they so much smell a cashew?
I spent the afternoon writing in the Tabard Pub whilst Nathan did his matinee. I’ve finally managed to bash the Metro musical down to 7 minutes. Ideally I’d like to clip another minute off its length, but am not going to bust a gut trying to make that happen. Writing in the pub was a fairly unpleasant experience today. Not only was the music really loud, but it was really bad; a sort of riot of New Jack Swing rubbing shoulders with sub-Witney Houston tripe from the 1980s. There were songs I hadn’t heard for decades; none of which I can remember, all of which were deeply distracting.
The party tonight has a "P" theme. I’ve no idea why. Perhaps it’s because their daughter is called Poppy, or because Lisa (like all the world right now) is pregnant. I am going as a purple pimp, simply because I only had 5 minutes to think of something whilst peering into my wardrobe this morning. Fiona has just texted to say I should have gone as Pepys – and I’m kicking myself - But where would I have sourced Pepysian garb, for no money and with no time? Maybe I'll just tell everyone I'm Pepys.
Monday 31st December 1660 and Pepys went to see Henry the Fourth. He stopped en route to the theatre at St Paul’s churchyard to buy a copy of the play to read and professed to be disappointed with the production, claiming that his expectations were too high and that having the book in front of him “did spoil it a little”. God, I hate Shakespeare.
Pepys then called in on Lord Sandwich, who was playing cards. A woman called Sarah, whom I can only assume was some kind of housekeeper, gave Pepys’ lad, Wayneman, a cat to take home to Elizabeth. It seems the Pepys residence had been plagued by mice.
Pepys’ final paragraph is worth quoting in full; “At Whitehall inquiring for a coach, there was a Frenchman with one eye that was going my way, so he and I hired a coach between us and he set me down in Fenchurch Street. Strange how the fellow, without asking, did tell me all what he was, and how he had ran away from his father and come into England to serve the King, and now going back again. Home and to bed.” So no partying to bring in the New Year, then?
Two years ago, on our way up, I ate a pasty from Summerfield in Biggleswade which was labelled "vegetarian cheese and onion." Unfotunately, it was actually some horrendous meat-filled catastrophe. I realised after about two mouthfuls and looked down to see pink blobs hanging out in the cheesey nastiness. I vomited, rather dramatically, by the side of the road. When I 'phoned Summerfield to complain, they offered me £20 worth of vouchers, which made me want to vomit all over again. In the end I threatened to take them to court, and settled for £200 in real money. It was more the principal of the thing. I wanted to give Summerfield an incentive to encourage their staff to package goods more carefully. I hate to sound like a whinging hippy veggie, but when you’ve made a decision at the age of 7 not to eat meat, you kind of want that decision to remain in your hands. What if the pasty had had nuts in it by mistake and I was one of those freaks who die when they so much smell a cashew?
I spent the afternoon writing in the Tabard Pub whilst Nathan did his matinee. I’ve finally managed to bash the Metro musical down to 7 minutes. Ideally I’d like to clip another minute off its length, but am not going to bust a gut trying to make that happen. Writing in the pub was a fairly unpleasant experience today. Not only was the music really loud, but it was really bad; a sort of riot of New Jack Swing rubbing shoulders with sub-Witney Houston tripe from the 1980s. There were songs I hadn’t heard for decades; none of which I can remember, all of which were deeply distracting.
The party tonight has a "P" theme. I’ve no idea why. Perhaps it’s because their daughter is called Poppy, or because Lisa (like all the world right now) is pregnant. I am going as a purple pimp, simply because I only had 5 minutes to think of something whilst peering into my wardrobe this morning. Fiona has just texted to say I should have gone as Pepys – and I’m kicking myself - But where would I have sourced Pepysian garb, for no money and with no time? Maybe I'll just tell everyone I'm Pepys.
Monday 31st December 1660 and Pepys went to see Henry the Fourth. He stopped en route to the theatre at St Paul’s churchyard to buy a copy of the play to read and professed to be disappointed with the production, claiming that his expectations were too high and that having the book in front of him “did spoil it a little”. God, I hate Shakespeare.
Pepys then called in on Lord Sandwich, who was playing cards. A woman called Sarah, whom I can only assume was some kind of housekeeper, gave Pepys’ lad, Wayneman, a cat to take home to Elizabeth. It seems the Pepys residence had been plagued by mice.
Pepys’ final paragraph is worth quoting in full; “At Whitehall inquiring for a coach, there was a Frenchman with one eye that was going my way, so he and I hired a coach between us and he set me down in Fenchurch Street. Strange how the fellow, without asking, did tell me all what he was, and how he had ran away from his father and come into England to serve the King, and now going back again. Home and to bed.” So no partying to bring in the New Year, then?
Thursday, 30 December 2010
A significant year
Fiona and Paul popped into Costa today on their way for a stroll around Highgate Cemetery. They left almost immediately because, even though it was only lunchtime, Fiona was worried that the light would go. I don't blame her. This is how it must feel to live in the North of Sweden. I haven't seen sunlight for at least three days; just a misty, moisty murkiness which I'm sure will be making most Londoners feel horribly depressed.
It's strange to think that the year is almost over and more curiously that I’ve written this blog every single day. I shall keep it going for the time being, not least because of something an astrologist told me ten years ago. His name was Dr Morse and he was a gift from Philippa's Mum. His flat in Swiss Cottage seemed to be evaporating into a cloud of melancholic tobacco smoke and his hacking cough made me wonder whether the session might need to be concluded in an ambulance. Nevertheless, he’d carefully charted my stars and pointed out that almost all my planets were in Leo, and those that weren't were hanging about in other fire signs, which will come as no surprise to those who know me. He took me through everything in great detail, which I’ve subsequently forgotten, but I do remember that my significant year was supposedly 2011. At the time I was bitterly disappointed. It seemed like forever away. I thought I’d be grey and wrinkly at the age of 36, and unable to enjoy or deal with whatever the significance brought. I even wondered if "significant" meant I was going to die in the year. We'll have to wait and see. Anyway, if you're at all interested in cosmology, you might want to keep following this blog to see how a “significant year” develops!
I've just had my ears syringed by a nurse. During the party two nights ago I absentmindedly stuck a pen lid in my left ear to see if I could find any wax to play with. Unfortunately, I managed to dislodge enough to completely cover my eardrum and make me go deaf. A very valuable lesson was learnt at that moment. It felt like the nurse was pushing some kind of pneumatic drill into my eardrum, but it seems to have done the trick. We ended up with a sink full of crazy blobs of glistening wax, all of which had come out of my ear. She seemed surprised and fairly horrified when I picked a piece up to smell it. Some people are so squeamish!
I now have a whole new register of soundwaves to listen to. Everything has more of a sheen to it. It suddenly feels like the world has been digitally remastered by someone from the 1980s. As I walked away from the surgery, I could hear a crazy titter-tattering, which I realised was a woman in stilettos at least 30 metres away.
350 years ago, Pepys spent the day, a Sunday, visiting various churches, which was one of his favourite pastimes. Most of the people he called in on were either taking physic (ie taking medicine which would purge their system, and lead to them needing to stay indoors for a day) or sulking and locked away in various chambers. It seems the world was winding down for the end of the year in 1660 as well. Pepys ended up at Westminter Abbey; “seeing the great confusion of people that come there to hear the organs.” Organs, of course, hadn’t been seen in churches for many years, so they'd became something of a tourist attraction.
It's strange to think that the year is almost over and more curiously that I’ve written this blog every single day. I shall keep it going for the time being, not least because of something an astrologist told me ten years ago. His name was Dr Morse and he was a gift from Philippa's Mum. His flat in Swiss Cottage seemed to be evaporating into a cloud of melancholic tobacco smoke and his hacking cough made me wonder whether the session might need to be concluded in an ambulance. Nevertheless, he’d carefully charted my stars and pointed out that almost all my planets were in Leo, and those that weren't were hanging about in other fire signs, which will come as no surprise to those who know me. He took me through everything in great detail, which I’ve subsequently forgotten, but I do remember that my significant year was supposedly 2011. At the time I was bitterly disappointed. It seemed like forever away. I thought I’d be grey and wrinkly at the age of 36, and unable to enjoy or deal with whatever the significance brought. I even wondered if "significant" meant I was going to die in the year. We'll have to wait and see. Anyway, if you're at all interested in cosmology, you might want to keep following this blog to see how a “significant year” develops!
I've just had my ears syringed by a nurse. During the party two nights ago I absentmindedly stuck a pen lid in my left ear to see if I could find any wax to play with. Unfortunately, I managed to dislodge enough to completely cover my eardrum and make me go deaf. A very valuable lesson was learnt at that moment. It felt like the nurse was pushing some kind of pneumatic drill into my eardrum, but it seems to have done the trick. We ended up with a sink full of crazy blobs of glistening wax, all of which had come out of my ear. She seemed surprised and fairly horrified when I picked a piece up to smell it. Some people are so squeamish!
I now have a whole new register of soundwaves to listen to. Everything has more of a sheen to it. It suddenly feels like the world has been digitally remastered by someone from the 1980s. As I walked away from the surgery, I could hear a crazy titter-tattering, which I realised was a woman in stilettos at least 30 metres away.
350 years ago, Pepys spent the day, a Sunday, visiting various churches, which was one of his favourite pastimes. Most of the people he called in on were either taking physic (ie taking medicine which would purge their system, and lead to them needing to stay indoors for a day) or sulking and locked away in various chambers. It seems the world was winding down for the end of the year in 1660 as well. Pepys ended up at Westminter Abbey; “seeing the great confusion of people that come there to hear the organs.” Organs, of course, hadn’t been seen in churches for many years, so they'd became something of a tourist attraction.
Wednesday, 29 December 2010
Hovering like UFOs
Highgate seems to be bedecked in an incredibly spooky and damp fog tonight. Street lamps are hovering like UFOs in the sky. The mist is so intense that you can't see their posts. I always wonder whether this part of town has officially opted to become the 21st Century's embodiment of Dickensian London. I thought the same in the snow. When the rest of the capital had thawed, Highgate remained like a picture on the top of a chocolate box dusted in icing sugar.
I'm easing myself back into work after the Christmas hiatus and spent the afternoon in Costa Coffee, working on the Metro musical, which is probably already a third longer than it should be. It occurs to me that I might be suffering from end of year blues, because I’m obsessing that I’ve not got any work lined up later than March this year. I'm also worried that there's very little in my bank account to protect me during a period of unemployment. These projects don’t just materialise out of nowhere and they take a great deal of time and a lot of planning before coming to fruition.
Last night’s party went splendidly well. I didn’t think it was going to, as the afternoon was plagued by phonecalls and texts from people, most of whom had bugs and colds, some of whom had decided to stay up North, or with family miles away from London for another day.
By 8pm, only my brother, Sascha and Meriel had arrived and I was beginning to think the whole thing was going to be a disaster, to the extent that I texted Nathan secretly to tell him not to rush home. Fortunately at about 8.15, people started to arrive – and by 10 there were 16 of us, which was exactly the number I'd hoped for. We played games, and chatted, and danced and got drunk, and it was only at 3am that the last people left, which I think is the sign of a very good party. I went to bed feeling rather relieved and slept soundly.
Pepys was a busy bloke 350 years ago on this day. There were various meetings, and various visits to various people to brownnose them with various post-Christmas gifts. He called in on his father, who told him that his two female cousins on the Joyce side were making really bad wives! It’s not said why they were so useless. Pepys also talked to his father about his sister Pall, who was coming to live with them as a servant the following week, which is still a situation I find difficult to get my head around!
I'm easing myself back into work after the Christmas hiatus and spent the afternoon in Costa Coffee, working on the Metro musical, which is probably already a third longer than it should be. It occurs to me that I might be suffering from end of year blues, because I’m obsessing that I’ve not got any work lined up later than March this year. I'm also worried that there's very little in my bank account to protect me during a period of unemployment. These projects don’t just materialise out of nowhere and they take a great deal of time and a lot of planning before coming to fruition.
Last night’s party went splendidly well. I didn’t think it was going to, as the afternoon was plagued by phonecalls and texts from people, most of whom had bugs and colds, some of whom had decided to stay up North, or with family miles away from London for another day.
By 8pm, only my brother, Sascha and Meriel had arrived and I was beginning to think the whole thing was going to be a disaster, to the extent that I texted Nathan secretly to tell him not to rush home. Fortunately at about 8.15, people started to arrive – and by 10 there were 16 of us, which was exactly the number I'd hoped for. We played games, and chatted, and danced and got drunk, and it was only at 3am that the last people left, which I think is the sign of a very good party. I went to bed feeling rather relieved and slept soundly.
Pepys was a busy bloke 350 years ago on this day. There were various meetings, and various visits to various people to brownnose them with various post-Christmas gifts. He called in on his father, who told him that his two female cousins on the Joyce side were making really bad wives! It’s not said why they were so useless. Pepys also talked to his father about his sister Pall, who was coming to live with them as a servant the following week, which is still a situation I find difficult to get my head around!
Tuesday, 28 December 2010
The most expensive shop
I'm in my sitting room, waiting for my post-Christmas party to begin. Rather foolishly, I told everyone just to turn up if they wanted to come, which means I’ve no idea how many are coming, or what we’ll do with them when they arrive. I've been through my book of party games, and picked a few out in case we need to break some ice with people who don't know each other! The tradition of having a party on December 28th was something that started when I was a young teenager, and lasted into my early 20s. This is the first time I've resurrected the concept in 12 years.
Unsurprisingly, today has all been about preparations. We did a frighteningly expensive shop in Budgens in Crouch End, and don’t seem to have very much to show for it. A party at this time of year is difficult. People probably won’t want to eat very much... but I should definitely have food around, in case they do.
I went for a run, or more like a skate, along the old railway track towards Finsbury Park. The snow has now mostly thawed in North London, but for some reason the Parkland Walk was still extremely slippery and I managed to lose my grip almost every time I ran past a group of teenagers, which was highly embarrassing.
Brother Edward is here, and we’re waiting for people to arrive (or not). Sadly Nathan won’t be here until his show finishes, which is upsetting. It feels highly dishonourable to have a party in his house in his absence.
I'm not sure all the text message and emails I sent out to people about this party have got through. So if anyone is reading this and fancies coming along, just show up!!
350 years ago, Pepys was having a quiet day within his house. He dined with Elizabeth and then spent the evening playing his lute “with great pleasure.” He went to bed with great content and doesn't write a great deal more!!
Unsurprisingly, today has all been about preparations. We did a frighteningly expensive shop in Budgens in Crouch End, and don’t seem to have very much to show for it. A party at this time of year is difficult. People probably won’t want to eat very much... but I should definitely have food around, in case they do.
I went for a run, or more like a skate, along the old railway track towards Finsbury Park. The snow has now mostly thawed in North London, but for some reason the Parkland Walk was still extremely slippery and I managed to lose my grip almost every time I ran past a group of teenagers, which was highly embarrassing.
Brother Edward is here, and we’re waiting for people to arrive (or not). Sadly Nathan won’t be here until his show finishes, which is upsetting. It feels highly dishonourable to have a party in his house in his absence.
I'm not sure all the text message and emails I sent out to people about this party have got through. So if anyone is reading this and fancies coming along, just show up!!
350 years ago, Pepys was having a quiet day within his house. He dined with Elizabeth and then spent the evening playing his lute “with great pleasure.” He went to bed with great content and doesn't write a great deal more!!
Monday, 27 December 2010
Reverting to type
It's my mother's birthday, and we've come down to London to celebrate. We had to get up at a ridiculously early time in order to facilitate meeting my extended family for breakfast in a hotel near the London Eye. It's astonishing how some of my cousin's children have grown. I feel like one of those elderly aunts who smells of butterscotch and wee and usually points out such things.
My family all seemed well, and I enjoyed chatting to Boo, who married my cousin about 18 years ago when I was a student. I think, because she never knew me as a precocious child, she was always able to judge me as a proper human being. I feel my other cousins, all of whom are a great deal older, still look at me and see a lunatic 8 year-old, which makes me feel painfully shy when I'm with them!
We walked en masse to Trafalgar Square before group inertia took over and everyone went their separate ways. We ended up eating cake in the cafe at the National Gallery before popping in to the Portrait Gallery to pay homage to Pepys et al.
My mother's birthday treat was a visit to the matinee of When We Are Married at the Garrick Theatre. It's one of those plays with everyone you can think of of a certain age in the cast. Well, after you've listed the cast of Calendar Girls! Maureen Lipman was there, Roy Hudd, her off of Frank Spencer, him off of Allo Allo, Nurse Gladys Emmanuel and the one that did the TV announcements in Victoria Wood who knows my mate, Nat. It was all very beautifully acted but my God it was dull. On the bright side, the theatre was wonderfully warm and dark, and I had a lovely sleep during act one!
350 years ago, and Pepys and his wife went for lunch with Sir William Penn. Elizabeth felt ill and went home leaving Pepys to consume copious quantities of alcohol, so much, in fact, that he spent the night vomiting and was forced to call on his maid, Jane. Hungover, he may have been, but he still felt able to compliment her on her appearance as she ran "up and down so innocently in her smock." He woke up the following day and had trouble weeing, which made him fear that the dreaded stones were returning.
My family all seemed well, and I enjoyed chatting to Boo, who married my cousin about 18 years ago when I was a student. I think, because she never knew me as a precocious child, she was always able to judge me as a proper human being. I feel my other cousins, all of whom are a great deal older, still look at me and see a lunatic 8 year-old, which makes me feel painfully shy when I'm with them!
We walked en masse to Trafalgar Square before group inertia took over and everyone went their separate ways. We ended up eating cake in the cafe at the National Gallery before popping in to the Portrait Gallery to pay homage to Pepys et al.
My mother's birthday treat was a visit to the matinee of When We Are Married at the Garrick Theatre. It's one of those plays with everyone you can think of of a certain age in the cast. Well, after you've listed the cast of Calendar Girls! Maureen Lipman was there, Roy Hudd, her off of Frank Spencer, him off of Allo Allo, Nurse Gladys Emmanuel and the one that did the TV announcements in Victoria Wood who knows my mate, Nat. It was all very beautifully acted but my God it was dull. On the bright side, the theatre was wonderfully warm and dark, and I had a lovely sleep during act one!
350 years ago, and Pepys and his wife went for lunch with Sir William Penn. Elizabeth felt ill and went home leaving Pepys to consume copious quantities of alcohol, so much, in fact, that he spent the night vomiting and was forced to call on his maid, Jane. Hungover, he may have been, but he still felt able to compliment her on her appearance as she ran "up and down so innocently in her smock." He woke up the following day and had trouble weeing, which made him fear that the dreaded stones were returning.
Sunday, 26 December 2010
And as the shadows lengthen over Cambridge...
It’s Boxing Day, and the family have just sat down to watch the new version of Upstairs Downstairs. My parents were both enormous fans of the original series and are hugely excited that
everything looks exactly the same; right down to the cupboards and wall friezes... or so they say.
We went to Cambridge today to do some shopping in the sales. The place was freezing cold and half empty, which was surprising, particularly when we saw the news reports from Birmingham and London, where the crowds are large and rowdy and women are apparently scrapping in the shop aisles over cheap bikinis.
John Lewis, which is Cambridge’s flagship department store, was closed, as were many of the smaller shops, but I did splash out on some patent leather shoes. I’ve always wanted a pair for posh events, and Fiona always told me she thought I ought to have some from one of the old Northamptonshire cobblers. A pair of Barkers jumped out at me. Barkers shoes were made in Earls Barton, which was just down the road from where I lived in Higham Ferrers. They were too expensive, but I had to buy them. They will henceforth be for special occasions only, and I will try very desperately not to wreck them, like all my other shoes!
On the way home, we walked past Edward’s old college, King’s, which looked stunning as a silhouette cutting into the electric blue early evening sky. Today is apparently the last day of proper winter weather, and we can expect the temperatures to rise towards the double figures later in the week, which I find, for same strange reason, slightly disappointing.
Wednesday 26th December 1660, and Pepys got drenched whilst passing underneath London Bridge. In those days, the narrow arches beneath London's only bridge, created dangerous rapids in the river. Taking a boat through it, could often mean risking life and limb, so much that boatmen would often deposit their passengers one side of the bridge to walk to the other whilst they got on with negotiating the fast-flowing water.
Gossip in the upper society echelons was all about the death of the Princess Royal. The blame had been put rather squarely on the shoulders of her doctors.
everything looks exactly the same; right down to the cupboards and wall friezes... or so they say.
We went to Cambridge today to do some shopping in the sales. The place was freezing cold and half empty, which was surprising, particularly when we saw the news reports from Birmingham and London, where the crowds are large and rowdy and women are apparently scrapping in the shop aisles over cheap bikinis.
John Lewis, which is Cambridge’s flagship department store, was closed, as were many of the smaller shops, but I did splash out on some patent leather shoes. I’ve always wanted a pair for posh events, and Fiona always told me she thought I ought to have some from one of the old Northamptonshire cobblers. A pair of Barkers jumped out at me. Barkers shoes were made in Earls Barton, which was just down the road from where I lived in Higham Ferrers. They were too expensive, but I had to buy them. They will henceforth be for special occasions only, and I will try very desperately not to wreck them, like all my other shoes!
On the way home, we walked past Edward’s old college, King’s, which looked stunning as a silhouette cutting into the electric blue early evening sky. Today is apparently the last day of proper winter weather, and we can expect the temperatures to rise towards the double figures later in the week, which I find, for same strange reason, slightly disappointing.
Edward and Sascha... More blue shadows in the snow
Wednesday 26th December 1660, and Pepys got drenched whilst passing underneath London Bridge. In those days, the narrow arches beneath London's only bridge, created dangerous rapids in the river. Taking a boat through it, could often mean risking life and limb, so much that boatmen would often deposit their passengers one side of the bridge to walk to the other whilst they got on with negotiating the fast-flowing water.
Gossip in the upper society echelons was all about the death of the Princess Royal. The blame had been put rather squarely on the shoulders of her doctors.
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