Oxbridge

T and I departed for Cambridge on Thursday, heading up through West Wycombe for lunch at a pub that has an Old Skool White Lady as its resident ghost (unglimpsed) and a visit to Dashwood's caves: always entertaining. Thus lunched, we drove through heavy rain to Cambridge, arriving barely unscathed due a somewhat alarming brake and skid on the M25: we stopped about a foot from the bumper of the car in front, and the Merc behind stopped a foot behind us. Glad I'd just had the car MOT'd and a new tyre in place.

The purpose of the Cambridge leg of the visit was the Cambridge Beer Festival: this was very civilised it a little wet. T stuck to stouts and porters and I stuck to anything whose name I liked - a very good lavender honey beer stands out, but they were all pretty good. There were a lot of local breweries whose products we just don't see in the West Country.

We also did the Folklore Museum, and went to an exceptionally good Chinese restaurant. And it is always good to spend time with La M, Le M, and K's beautiful cats, who are cats of great catness.

Yesterday, we all got up hideously early and drove to Oxford, arriving in time for the Write Fantastic's annual get-together at St Hilda's. Apologies to Ian Watson who had to channel me on the first panel (didn't realise I was on it, and went for breakfast). Trevor and I spent some of the afternoon wandering around Oxford and got sucked into an exhibition on eccentricity, as you do. This was mainly devoted to Oxford's scientific luminaries and featured one Ellen Willmott, IIRC, who as well as devising a turning device for wooden implements practised a form of guerilla gardening in her declining years and used to seed friends' flower beds with giant thistles. After a pleasant dinner at the Chutney Brasserie, we got back to Glastonbury about midnight.