East Anglia Tour - Day 1

Cambridge instinctively feels nicer than Oxford and it is not surprising that I should say that as a lifelong light blue – in the boat race that is, as I was not educated there. It looked pretty stunning in late afternoon sunshine but became the inevitable traffic nightmare as the evening rush built. Cambridge is an eclectic mix of students and sandal munchers; I am not liberally disposed towards cycling as a means of transport and when it is quite as prolific as it is there, any last vestige of liberalism rapidly evaporates. This is an awkward moment in my blog because several of my colleagues are avid cyclists and one at least I (not very secretly) worship. I can just about grasp cycling as a delightful leisure activity especially when conducted well away from motorists but my friends and half the population of Cambridge cycle to and from work or whatever it is that students do. Frankly, even body hugging lycra is not compensation enough for being stuck behind a wobbly obstruction especially when it is wired to a Muse Live album (or whatever it is that students listen to).

Cambridge came towards the end of a protracted itinerary today, driven in beautiful weather. It was deeply relaxing to have no specific timetable especially right at the start of the journey when we were trying to escape from Newgate Lane. The airport disappointed and seemed on a brief foray to be all but inaccessible – a Marshall’s compound. The station disappointed too as any kind of access was behind barriers and, as often is the case these days, so was the buffet. The striking Carter Bridge was some compensation; it carries pedestrians and cyclists () across the railway. I had two observations about the city’s traffic management. There are several confusing juxtapositions of red and green lights and the bus lanes, which I presume they wish you to observe, are very poorly marked with the road markings nearly obliterated by wear.
Before we crossed the Thames at the still anarchic Dartford Tunnel, we explored Gravesend and its environs. When you stare into the mists of time, sometimes something stares back but is indistinct, slightly out of focus. I first got the feeling on the M25 which I have driven thousands of times towards Gravesend. We looked around Ebbsfleet, a name which seemed simply to emerge when I was living in the area and is now appended to football club and, of course, International and domestic rail stations. We checked the ‘new’ alignment of the A2 completed since we moved south and processed through the town without, as it turned out, stopping. I realised that I could not photograph everything. We had lunch at Bluewater. There have been detail changes there mainly in franchises. It truly is a regional shopping centre now. This is the only rational explanation for the substantial crowds on an unexceptional term-time Wednesday. Lunch at Chopstix was served sloppily in a box but was delicious. The vending machine for Ben & Jerry’s ice cream was fascinating. Quite apart from the contents, the mechanism was wonderful. The casing essentially houses a chest freezer whose lid lifts after money is inserted and a selection made. Then a vacuum cleaner hose comes down and sucks out the correct carton before depositing it in the delivery chute. Delightful.

Back on the M25 at Clacket Lane services, I had been especially assertive. We were playing the £500 machines and I won a substantial amount of money. The machine failed during payout and slow to respond staff were not very keen on giving me my winnings. They wanted me to take a refund slip and wait for post that would probably never come. I told them that they would pay me before I left or I would call the police. They paid.

We arrived in Huntingdon a bit late and more than a little tired. The Marriott was fine; at least we’ll be earning more points. Wednesday must be a bit of a night in Huntingdon unless The Darjeeling in High Street has no other competition. It was, basically, full but thankfully only after we arrived. The food was unexceptional – Aloo Chat does not benefit from being served on a puri making it the Indian equivalent of a potato sandwich, but they certainly got top marks for speed of service. It nearly took me longer to get my breakfast McMuffin in McDonalds yesterday.......but then The Darjeeling did not have waterless urinal.