Day 44: The Way of the Wimpy Pole

After a day of banging my head against my laptop as part of the writing process for my supervision paper, I decided yesterday on a last-minute trip out to the Cambridge Shakespeare Festival to see Henry V.

I nipped over to St. John's to find all the chair chairs in the garden taken, so I had a seat on the grass, glad I'd brought my towel.

O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend 

The brightest heaven of invention, 

A kingdom for a stage, princes to act 

And monarchs to behold the swelling scene!

I love Shakespeare almost as much as I love Arthur Conan Doyle, which is to say--quite a lot.

It was a bare-bones cast, probably as it had been in Shakespeare's day, with a company of fifteen or so.

At the intermission, I had a quick tour around St. John's, which is (according to King's) the least-favored (and second-richest) college of Cambridge. Someone told me that St. John's is like the Slytherin of Cambridge.

I didn't mind.

The Bridge of Sighs.

Bare bones indeed.

Bum aching, I returned to King's fully satisfied.


This morning, I went on a hike (more of a very long walk than a hike, actually) to Wimpole.

It was glorious.

THEY GROW BEANS HERE.

We came in through the north entry gate thing at around a quarter past one via Wimpole Way to see some fake ruins.

Wimpole's Folly, a bunch of fake ruins apparently built on the order of some rich lady.

And sheep. Because, you know. Sheep.

And cows.

From Wimpole Hall itself, the view was magnificent.

We had a bit of lunch at the on-site restaurant, after which Sir Andy looked rather beat, so we went out and had a kip in the shade.

Yep.

The National Trust: Nationally-Protected Napping Grass.

It'd been a hot (as you can tell by the freakishly blue skies), windy 12 miles out to Wimpole, and Sir Andy looked at me as if I was deranged when I announced my intention to run back to Cambridge.

Nothing new there.

He took the kids back to Pembroke via taxi, and I headed out back across the fields.

It was so. freaking. hot.

(But beautiful.)

I became hopelessly lost at one point near Hardwick Forest, completely overshooting Wimpole Way on the public footpath and ending up at an abandoned farmhouse from Creepy Creepsterville, complete with the groaning corrugated steel roofing and the rusted, rusty car.

But honestly, when you see signs like these, I think the mistake can be forgiven.

Somehow, I wandered back onto Wimpole Way, and off in very far-off distance, I could see King's College Chapel and the prison tower of the UL.

Trees are human.

At mile around mile eight, I fell into a ditch.

I ended up crawling into a pub on the outskirts of Coton for the most massive, expensive bottle of water I have ever encountered in this short life.

I am so very, very tired.