One of the ways I spread the word about recycling street litter (at present in Cardiff, it all goes into landfill) is to talk to people who ask me what the hell I'm up to. This usually happens once or twice over the hour or so it takes to fill my green sack with about 10kg of cans, glass and plastic bottles.
Today a man came up to me and we chatted about the state of litter in our city. As it happened I was in a particularly rich ground for my work, a place where many Bulgarian Roma Gypsies congregate. He told me how the council had housed them close to his own residence, and how racism is not confined to indigenous white folk. The Bulgars seem to have their own prejudices, and have taken against the handful of Pakistanis who also live in that area. These Pakistanis, who have lived in Cardiff for more than thirty years, have been targeted for abuse and malicious damage to their properties, abusive graffiti daubed on their walls ("Pakis go home" is one example) and garden fences torn down. And according to my informant, it is the Roma who are responsible.
I am aware that recent immigrants to our city are responsible (though not solely; students also seem to be major offenders) for a lot of the recyclable waste which appears on our streets. The problem is that outside the sophisticated states of western Europe, there is no culture of recycling or even keeping street litter down to a minimum. A programme of education needs to be launched, explaining how we like to do things in Britain. Put a little more bluntly, we could say:
"You're here now, and we do things differently from the way you do at home. If you want to be accepted here, adapt to our ways, just as we would do if were in your country."
But what about those students, and all the other Brits who care little for recycling or litter? To them I would say that littering is a spiritual issue; that your habits on the street say a lot about how much you care for your neighbour- and yourself. If you care for your community you will recycle and you won't drop litter- it may sound odd, but at its core it is a thing of the heart.
Monday, 29 September 2014
Friday, 26 September 2014
Stop Press: doctor doesn't know own job
I was stunned this morning to hear an extraordinary story about medical treatment, or rather the complete lack of it, which happened outside a surgery somewhere in Britain last week. Apparently an 88 year old lady lost her footing just outside a GP's surgery and cut her head. A passer-by went in to the surgery to request assistance but the doctor on duty said he "wasn't a first-aider" and refused to go outside even to look at the lady. The surgery also refused to provide a blanket to cover her while she waited for an ambulance to arrive. The lady is still in hospital a week later.
Can you believe that? Now. I'm a doctor and I too am not a "first-aider". However this did not prevent me giving several courses in first aid to both the British Red Cross and the St John's ambulance organisation. I was deemed competent to do this because I am a doctor and therefore my knowledge and skills, even when newly qualified went well beyond what is required in even advanced first aid courses. Doctors aren't trained in first aid. They don't need to be. They are highly trained in the functioning of the human body in health and illness (as well as when it is traumatised) and are therefore highly skilled in assessing medical situations of all kinds, quickly and effectively. So why didn't this doctor simply do the job he was trained for? One answer could be where he qualified. His name implies he may not have qualified in this country, though that is no excuse. Doctors qualifying abroad have to show they can practice to the standard which is expected here. And here, unless I am seriously mistaken, when a doctor is asked to help a woman with traumatic injuries, they should do it immediately and without question. Probably all he needed to do was check she wasn't bleeding dangerously, that her airway was not compromised, that she wasn't going into shock and that there was someone there to provide comfort and support while waiting for an ambulance, which the doctor should have confirmed had been called. All this would have taken less than five minutes.
So why didn't he? Because he's a fucking twat, that's why. Doubtless he was too busy being all precious about himself and considering himself above the lowly peasants he has to work with to go outside and see if the patient was all right. The surgery involved has said it is "reviewing its procedures". Good for them. I hope that involves the senior partner taking the doctor concerned to one side and saying if he pulls another arrogant little stunt like that he'll have to find somewhere else to work. And he or she may have something to say about his staff refusing to provide such a simple thing as a blanket for the poor woman. As for the patient herself, if what happened is true then the doctor was probably in breach of his contract with his local health authority and that patient would have legitimate grounds to make a complaint. I sincerely hope she does.
Can you believe that? Now. I'm a doctor and I too am not a "first-aider". However this did not prevent me giving several courses in first aid to both the British Red Cross and the St John's ambulance organisation. I was deemed competent to do this because I am a doctor and therefore my knowledge and skills, even when newly qualified went well beyond what is required in even advanced first aid courses. Doctors aren't trained in first aid. They don't need to be. They are highly trained in the functioning of the human body in health and illness (as well as when it is traumatised) and are therefore highly skilled in assessing medical situations of all kinds, quickly and effectively. So why didn't this doctor simply do the job he was trained for? One answer could be where he qualified. His name implies he may not have qualified in this country, though that is no excuse. Doctors qualifying abroad have to show they can practice to the standard which is expected here. And here, unless I am seriously mistaken, when a doctor is asked to help a woman with traumatic injuries, they should do it immediately and without question. Probably all he needed to do was check she wasn't bleeding dangerously, that her airway was not compromised, that she wasn't going into shock and that there was someone there to provide comfort and support while waiting for an ambulance, which the doctor should have confirmed had been called. All this would have taken less than five minutes.
So why didn't he? Because he's a fucking twat, that's why. Doubtless he was too busy being all precious about himself and considering himself above the lowly peasants he has to work with to go outside and see if the patient was all right. The surgery involved has said it is "reviewing its procedures". Good for them. I hope that involves the senior partner taking the doctor concerned to one side and saying if he pulls another arrogant little stunt like that he'll have to find somewhere else to work. And he or she may have something to say about his staff refusing to provide such a simple thing as a blanket for the poor woman. As for the patient herself, if what happened is true then the doctor was probably in breach of his contract with his local health authority and that patient would have legitimate grounds to make a complaint. I sincerely hope she does.
Tuesday, 23 September 2014
Shut up mum!
My mother phoned me up three times this morning within a ten minute period. Each call was identical in substance. She wanted to know when her niece was due to arrive today (it is in fact tomorrow she is expected, a fact clearly written in her diary), when I was due to arrive today (once again I had written the time clearly in her diary) and finally when my brother was due to visit. He is not actually due to come down for some time, though has just returned to his home in Canterbury from his gite in France, and it is this fact which is recorded in her diary.
On each occasion I put her right and referred her to her diary, which she duly consulted and confirmed that everything was indeed written there. When I did arrive I had to go through the same dance yet again. On the twenty minute journey to the doctor's for her to have a blood test, she must have asked me where we were going and why at least seven times. But when perhaps after the fifth time of asking I allowed a little hiss of exasperation to escape my lips she spotted it in an instant and, eyes brimming with tears, pleaded with me to "make some excuses for me as I'm just an old woman with a bad memory."
It never ceases to amaze me how some things are preserved perfectly in the functioning of the brain even when the memory is almost completely destroyed. The sense of pain, for instance, remains undiminished to one's dying day (rather cruel of God that, don't you think?). Then, as we have seen above, a person's social sensibility also remains preserved when, seemingly, all around lies in ruins.
The moral would seem to be (and I say this to myself as much as to anyone else): be gentle with the elderly Alzheimer's patient. They know when you're annoyed, even faintly miffed, and they will as upset about it as you'd be if you picked up the same thing in a friend, colleague or lover. They can irritate you, they can hurt your feelings, they can appear to be as selfish as a two-year old on a bad day. But it's not their fault!
On each occasion I put her right and referred her to her diary, which she duly consulted and confirmed that everything was indeed written there. When I did arrive I had to go through the same dance yet again. On the twenty minute journey to the doctor's for her to have a blood test, she must have asked me where we were going and why at least seven times. But when perhaps after the fifth time of asking I allowed a little hiss of exasperation to escape my lips she spotted it in an instant and, eyes brimming with tears, pleaded with me to "make some excuses for me as I'm just an old woman with a bad memory."
It never ceases to amaze me how some things are preserved perfectly in the functioning of the brain even when the memory is almost completely destroyed. The sense of pain, for instance, remains undiminished to one's dying day (rather cruel of God that, don't you think?). Then, as we have seen above, a person's social sensibility also remains preserved when, seemingly, all around lies in ruins.
The moral would seem to be (and I say this to myself as much as to anyone else): be gentle with the elderly Alzheimer's patient. They know when you're annoyed, even faintly miffed, and they will as upset about it as you'd be if you picked up the same thing in a friend, colleague or lover. They can irritate you, they can hurt your feelings, they can appear to be as selfish as a two-year old on a bad day. But it's not their fault!
Saturday, 20 September 2014
Rhodes dispatch
Although mildly berated for taking such an "unadventurous" holiday by a dear friend, the fact is that visiting this little tear-drop of an island 12 miles off the coast of southern Turkey has been on my bucket list for a long time. For two reasons: first to see the extraordinary fortifications sheltering the Old Town of Rhodes; second to see the famous Acropolis of Lindos, thirty miles down the coast from Rhodes town. They did not disappoint. In fact I would say if everything else on my bucket list delivers like this, my remaining years on this planet are going to be very happy indeed...
Rhodes has been civilised since the Stone Age, and has been subject to invasion and conquest almost as long. Occupied as long ago as 3000 BCE by the legendary (though very real) "Sea People", the island has been variously occupied by the Greeks, the Romans, a band of crusader knights called the Knights of St John, the Ottoman Turks, the Italians (we are now in 1912), until finally falling to the onslaught of millions of tourists from Britain, France, Germany and, latterly, Russia. I note the Chinese haven't discovered its wonders yet, though this surely can only be a matter of time.
There is evidence to be found of all these occupations, and it was our hugely enjoyable task, conducted under almost unbroken blue skies with temperatures hovering around 30 degrees C to seek out the imprints of all these diverse civilisations.
To this end we hired a car, a small one fortunately, as the roads are often narrow and invariably clogged with an armada of hire cars, to say nothing of the local traffic and pedestrians who seem remarkably casual about the prospect of being squished as they stray onto the streets. But we were able to find some wonderful things during our five day sojourn: These included the 4 kilometres of twenty metre high walls surrounding the old town of Rhodes. Built by the knights of St John when they moved there at the end of the 13th century having been ejected from the Holy Land, they were still not mighty enough to resist the siege of Suleiman the Magnificent who attacked in the 16th century. Once again kicked out of the place they made home, they persuaded the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V to let them set up house in Malta instead. But they left their mark in Rhodes, perhaps most notably in the famous "Street of the Knights" a kind of Belgravia for the wealthier knights to situate their sumptuous residences . Even today, with the thousands of tourists who wander up and down it every day it still retains some of its atmosphere.
As does the ancient site of Lindos down the coast, though here too swarms of tourists (including us of course) who scramble over the site in their thousands every day in high season. Here, atop a forbidding bluff of granite you can find the walls of an imposing crusader castle, a medieval chapel, both set among the remains of the famous Grecian temple to Athena Lindia. originally constructed in the 4th century BC. The whole thing is being slowly and lovingly restored and one day will be a truly astounding place- though in fact it always was, and certainly is today. But let's hope they do a better job of the restoration than the Italians did in the early 20th century when they owned Rhodes. Their hearts were in the right place, but their methods and building materials were often crap. Today much of their restoration work is itself being restored in a hopefully more enlightened era.
On the whole, what can I say? An unforgettable little visit. Thank you Rhodes!
Rhodes has been civilised since the Stone Age, and has been subject to invasion and conquest almost as long. Occupied as long ago as 3000 BCE by the legendary (though very real) "Sea People", the island has been variously occupied by the Greeks, the Romans, a band of crusader knights called the Knights of St John, the Ottoman Turks, the Italians (we are now in 1912), until finally falling to the onslaught of millions of tourists from Britain, France, Germany and, latterly, Russia. I note the Chinese haven't discovered its wonders yet, though this surely can only be a matter of time.
There is evidence to be found of all these occupations, and it was our hugely enjoyable task, conducted under almost unbroken blue skies with temperatures hovering around 30 degrees C to seek out the imprints of all these diverse civilisations.
To this end we hired a car, a small one fortunately, as the roads are often narrow and invariably clogged with an armada of hire cars, to say nothing of the local traffic and pedestrians who seem remarkably casual about the prospect of being squished as they stray onto the streets. But we were able to find some wonderful things during our five day sojourn: These included the 4 kilometres of twenty metre high walls surrounding the old town of Rhodes. Built by the knights of St John when they moved there at the end of the 13th century having been ejected from the Holy Land, they were still not mighty enough to resist the siege of Suleiman the Magnificent who attacked in the 16th century. Once again kicked out of the place they made home, they persuaded the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V to let them set up house in Malta instead. But they left their mark in Rhodes, perhaps most notably in the famous "Street of the Knights" a kind of Belgravia for the wealthier knights to situate their sumptuous residences . Even today, with the thousands of tourists who wander up and down it every day it still retains some of its atmosphere.
As does the ancient site of Lindos down the coast, though here too swarms of tourists (including us of course) who scramble over the site in their thousands every day in high season. Here, atop a forbidding bluff of granite you can find the walls of an imposing crusader castle, a medieval chapel, both set among the remains of the famous Grecian temple to Athena Lindia. originally constructed in the 4th century BC. The whole thing is being slowly and lovingly restored and one day will be a truly astounding place- though in fact it always was, and certainly is today. But let's hope they do a better job of the restoration than the Italians did in the early 20th century when they owned Rhodes. Their hearts were in the right place, but their methods and building materials were often crap. Today much of their restoration work is itself being restored in a hopefully more enlightened era.
On the whole, what can I say? An unforgettable little visit. Thank you Rhodes!
Friday, 12 September 2014
Now England begins to sweat
Until last week a cosy air of complacency hung over the English regarding the preposterous idea that Scotland might actually secede from the U.K. Surely not! we cried. But as a classically educated friend once pointed out to me: "As soon as you use the word 'surely' you're losing the argument."
Then that Ugov poll appeared and changed everything.
Now the opinion polls north of the border are poised on a knife edge. Good God! we started thinking. We could actually lose this!
My head tells me that the SNP has a far better range of arguments for independence than their opponents; I mean, they've even got the better word: Yes! means Yes I can! and Yes I will! No on the other hand sounds like a petulant child refusing to co-operate with its parents: NO I can't! No I won't! So if I were a Scot I would most definitely vote Yes. But then I am an Englishman, and my heart says I want them to vote No.
It is a strange day indeed when I find myself in full agreement with David Cameron, but it was himself who pointed out that this was in essence a contest between the head and the heart. And in my English heart I can see what the consequences to the U.K. around the world might be. There could be a spectacular run on the pound (doubtless organised by George Soros, who made £1 billion in a single day the last time that happened). Shares in British blue chip companies could plummet, costing thousands of jobs. And be in no doubt: we would be a laughing-stock from Beijing to Rio. Can't even hold their own little country together? What's wrong with them? Next thing we'd lose our seat on the Security Council, in fact it would only take UKIP winning the next election and pulling us out of the EU and we really would be some obscure offshore island of little consequence.
So, if I may quote David Bowie, Scotland, stay with us. We need you for fuck's sake!
Then that Ugov poll appeared and changed everything.
Now the opinion polls north of the border are poised on a knife edge. Good God! we started thinking. We could actually lose this!
My head tells me that the SNP has a far better range of arguments for independence than their opponents; I mean, they've even got the better word: Yes! means Yes I can! and Yes I will! No on the other hand sounds like a petulant child refusing to co-operate with its parents: NO I can't! No I won't! So if I were a Scot I would most definitely vote Yes. But then I am an Englishman, and my heart says I want them to vote No.
It is a strange day indeed when I find myself in full agreement with David Cameron, but it was himself who pointed out that this was in essence a contest between the head and the heart. And in my English heart I can see what the consequences to the U.K. around the world might be. There could be a spectacular run on the pound (doubtless organised by George Soros, who made £1 billion in a single day the last time that happened). Shares in British blue chip companies could plummet, costing thousands of jobs. And be in no doubt: we would be a laughing-stock from Beijing to Rio. Can't even hold their own little country together? What's wrong with them? Next thing we'd lose our seat on the Security Council, in fact it would only take UKIP winning the next election and pulling us out of the EU and we really would be some obscure offshore island of little consequence.
So, if I may quote David Bowie, Scotland, stay with us. We need you for fuck's sake!
Tuesday, 9 September 2014
Ashya: a happy ending (kind of)
Now Ashya King is in a hospital in Prague awaiting proton beam radiotherapy, everyone has had time to digest the extraordinary sequence of events that brought him to where his parents wanted him to be in the first place. Let us examine those events.
First, a clear breakdown of communication and worse, trust, between Ashya's parents and the doctors who were caring for him in Britain. This explains why they did a bunk from the hospital in the first place. They were worried that if they simply announced their intention to decamp for Prague and defy their doctor's wishes, they ran the risk of Ashya being made a ward of court and all decision making power being taken out of their hands. And indeed, this is more or less exactly what happened when the hospital staff noticed Ashya was missing.
Next, they had to raise the money for their son's treatment and hence travelled to Spain to effect a sale of their holiday home. And it soon emerged that, despite media stories to the contrary (disseminated by hospital staff), the parents had taken steps to protect him on the journey.
Finally, when the facts emerged, the complex process of unravelling the arrest warrants was enacted. Thank God.
But what does it all mean for the rest of us? Defy your doctors at your peril seems to the most important moral. And this has profound implications for us all. Is it really the case now that if you disagree with your doctors about your child's treatment, they have the ultimate power to force you to comply? This case suggests that it is. For a few days it seemed parental responsibility had disappeared overnight, to be replaced by a patriarchal system where they know best, and you don't. And this has profound implications for all parents of sick children (or the elderly, should they have granted lasting power of attorney to someone else). Thank heaven facts came to light which set the situation to rights remarkably quickly. If they hadn't, we would all be afraid for our freedom right now.
Finally, did Ashya's parents do anything wrong? I think possibly they did. Maybe if they'd left a letter underneath Ashya's pillow explaining exactly what they were doing and why, the hospital doctors then could not have argued that Ashya's interests were not being served- indeed the whole situation may never have developed into the nightmare it did. Then again, maybe even that wouldn't have worked. Having been a doctor for 40 years I know perfectly well what arrogant dicks doctors can be: even today, some doctors see themselves as less expert advisors and more almighty bloody God- and there's your problem.
First, a clear breakdown of communication and worse, trust, between Ashya's parents and the doctors who were caring for him in Britain. This explains why they did a bunk from the hospital in the first place. They were worried that if they simply announced their intention to decamp for Prague and defy their doctor's wishes, they ran the risk of Ashya being made a ward of court and all decision making power being taken out of their hands. And indeed, this is more or less exactly what happened when the hospital staff noticed Ashya was missing.
Next, they had to raise the money for their son's treatment and hence travelled to Spain to effect a sale of their holiday home. And it soon emerged that, despite media stories to the contrary (disseminated by hospital staff), the parents had taken steps to protect him on the journey.
Finally, when the facts emerged, the complex process of unravelling the arrest warrants was enacted. Thank God.
But what does it all mean for the rest of us? Defy your doctors at your peril seems to the most important moral. And this has profound implications for us all. Is it really the case now that if you disagree with your doctors about your child's treatment, they have the ultimate power to force you to comply? This case suggests that it is. For a few days it seemed parental responsibility had disappeared overnight, to be replaced by a patriarchal system where they know best, and you don't. And this has profound implications for all parents of sick children (or the elderly, should they have granted lasting power of attorney to someone else). Thank heaven facts came to light which set the situation to rights remarkably quickly. If they hadn't, we would all be afraid for our freedom right now.
Finally, did Ashya's parents do anything wrong? I think possibly they did. Maybe if they'd left a letter underneath Ashya's pillow explaining exactly what they were doing and why, the hospital doctors then could not have argued that Ashya's interests were not being served- indeed the whole situation may never have developed into the nightmare it did. Then again, maybe even that wouldn't have worked. Having been a doctor for 40 years I know perfectly well what arrogant dicks doctors can be: even today, some doctors see themselves as less expert advisors and more almighty bloody God- and there's your problem.
Friday, 5 September 2014
NATO: a useful role at last?
South Wales has come under martial law in the last few days. As you drive the motorways police cars are to be seen on every bridge. On busy urban roads police with smart pale blue caps are monitoring every junction: on one I counted four cars and twelve officers standing at strategic points. Watching out, I presume, for any sign of threat. I wanted to ask them what they were watching for specifically but knew I wouldn't get an answer. And this was just Cardiff. Over in Newport, twelve miles down the road, a security fence eight feet high and nearly thirteen miles long has been built around the Celtic Manor hotel where the bigwigs are gathering. A colleague of my wife happens to live within the cordon. She has to pass through three separate checkpoints to reach her cottage, and at each one she has her car thoroughly searched.
In the heart of our own city, a steel cordon has been erected around Cardiff Castle, which last night hosted a banquet for the NATO players. Indeed, so total has been the security surrounding this great event that it seems almost as if it has overwhelmed any desire to protest- some did, to be fair, but their numbers were strangely few.
When I heard that NATO was coming to South Wales I considered being part of the protest, but as events have moved so quickly in recent months I in turn have found myself needing to reconsider my position on what NATO stands for at its most fundamental level.
NATO came into being after the end of World War II in order to counter the Soviet threat, whatever that was. As I understand it there never was a serious threat to the West from the Soviet Union. But nourished by a number of right wing nutters in the U.S. the Cold War was created, becoming a kind of self fulfilling prophecy. The U.S.S.R. had no option but to balance the threat they faced from NATO, and what followed was an increasingly insane arms race which gradually sapped the strength of the "Evil Empire". And when the Soviet Union finally fell apart, NATO looked even more like a solution looking for a problem. So for a long time and indeed until very recently, I have been in the "why doesn't it just go away?" camp. However, there is one situation looming in the Middle East at this moment which may require the commitment of all of NATO to address.
I have been looking at the Qur'an recently, and in the introduction I found this:
Often taken out of context is the famous "Sword Sura" (9:5), though the word sword does not appear anywhere in the Qur'an. The contentious line is:
"Wherever you find the polytheists, kill them, seize them, besiege them, ambush them".
The term "polytheists" refers to the religion that obtained in Arabia prior to the rise of Islam. And it is certainly true that followers of the old faith and the new often engaged in bloody conflict as Mohammed fought to cast aside the old Gods and instate the one true God: Allah.. Apparently it is this line, above all others in the Holy Book, which is the one seized upon by members of IS to justify their atrocities. To them, "Polytheists" now means all of us, if we don't subscribe to their brand of religion.
If NATO has been a solution looking for a problem in the past, looks to me like they've found one right now. And this time it isn't the absurd notions of a few rabid conservatives. This time it's the real deal. Maybe we need NATO right now like we've never needed her before.
In the heart of our own city, a steel cordon has been erected around Cardiff Castle, which last night hosted a banquet for the NATO players. Indeed, so total has been the security surrounding this great event that it seems almost as if it has overwhelmed any desire to protest- some did, to be fair, but their numbers were strangely few.
When I heard that NATO was coming to South Wales I considered being part of the protest, but as events have moved so quickly in recent months I in turn have found myself needing to reconsider my position on what NATO stands for at its most fundamental level.
NATO came into being after the end of World War II in order to counter the Soviet threat, whatever that was. As I understand it there never was a serious threat to the West from the Soviet Union. But nourished by a number of right wing nutters in the U.S. the Cold War was created, becoming a kind of self fulfilling prophecy. The U.S.S.R. had no option but to balance the threat they faced from NATO, and what followed was an increasingly insane arms race which gradually sapped the strength of the "Evil Empire". And when the Soviet Union finally fell apart, NATO looked even more like a solution looking for a problem. So for a long time and indeed until very recently, I have been in the "why doesn't it just go away?" camp. However, there is one situation looming in the Middle East at this moment which may require the commitment of all of NATO to address.
I have been looking at the Qur'an recently, and in the introduction I found this:
Often taken out of context is the famous "Sword Sura" (9:5), though the word sword does not appear anywhere in the Qur'an. The contentious line is:
"Wherever you find the polytheists, kill them, seize them, besiege them, ambush them".
The term "polytheists" refers to the religion that obtained in Arabia prior to the rise of Islam. And it is certainly true that followers of the old faith and the new often engaged in bloody conflict as Mohammed fought to cast aside the old Gods and instate the one true God: Allah.. Apparently it is this line, above all others in the Holy Book, which is the one seized upon by members of IS to justify their atrocities. To them, "Polytheists" now means all of us, if we don't subscribe to their brand of religion.
If NATO has been a solution looking for a problem in the past, looks to me like they've found one right now. And this time it isn't the absurd notions of a few rabid conservatives. This time it's the real deal. Maybe we need NATO right now like we've never needed her before.
Tuesday, 2 September 2014
Cambridge dispatch
Have you been to Cambridge? Not the university; only 1 in 500 of us is lucky enough to achieve that. No, I mean the town itself. I had never been there hitherto, but I soon realised this has been a grievous oversight. Perhaps even more so than its twin Oxford, it is redolent of history and its buildings reflect that in a quite stunningly gorgeous way. Each of the colleges differ markedly from one another: some are built in European Gothic, others in British high Renaissance, still others in neo-classical Georgian. The result is an extraordinary architectural wonder. and it is easy to see why our two great university towns are on the A list for foreign visitors, especially for those from the far east. They have nothing like it at home, in fact, let's face it, no one does.
Cambridge is one of our greatest treasures, from its oldest building, a Saxon church in the heart of the city centre, through a round church built in the 13th century which is based on the famous Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, to the great chapel at Kings College, started by Henry VI and finished by Henry VIII. Apparently Henry VI had seen the great church of St Chapelle in Paris and the finished article does indeed resemble it quite strongly- though KC chapel is better.
The atmosphere was friendly, though we were put under some pressure to buy a punt tour from the profusion of touts which throng around the chapel at Kings, which is a sort of focal point for the city. And these tours aren't cheap: £18 per head for a 45 minute cruise, so a couple will be paying almost £1 a minute for their excursion. We resisted, though every single day, hundreds do not. We counted upwards of ten people in some punts, so you can see this is a lucrative business. So much so in fact, that the local rag ran an item on "Punt Wars" in the city; with tales of sabotage and fisticuffs between the rival boatmen. Sounds like the ice cream wars of Glasgow back in the 80s.
For me though, perhaps the highlight was a visit to Magdalene College to see the Pepys library and the famous diary with my own eyes. I read the great diary in 2003, and still regard it as one of the greatest reading experiences of my life. Now at last I was able to see the diaries for myself: there are six volumes, all lovingly bound in soft leather, every page covered in his adapted shorthand scrawl, only proper nouns are spelled out in a way legible to the untrained eye.
All in all, an unforgettable experience. Cambridge, I love you!
Cambridge is one of our greatest treasures, from its oldest building, a Saxon church in the heart of the city centre, through a round church built in the 13th century which is based on the famous Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, to the great chapel at Kings College, started by Henry VI and finished by Henry VIII. Apparently Henry VI had seen the great church of St Chapelle in Paris and the finished article does indeed resemble it quite strongly- though KC chapel is better.
The atmosphere was friendly, though we were put under some pressure to buy a punt tour from the profusion of touts which throng around the chapel at Kings, which is a sort of focal point for the city. And these tours aren't cheap: £18 per head for a 45 minute cruise, so a couple will be paying almost £1 a minute for their excursion. We resisted, though every single day, hundreds do not. We counted upwards of ten people in some punts, so you can see this is a lucrative business. So much so in fact, that the local rag ran an item on "Punt Wars" in the city; with tales of sabotage and fisticuffs between the rival boatmen. Sounds like the ice cream wars of Glasgow back in the 80s.
For me though, perhaps the highlight was a visit to Magdalene College to see the Pepys library and the famous diary with my own eyes. I read the great diary in 2003, and still regard it as one of the greatest reading experiences of my life. Now at last I was able to see the diaries for myself: there are six volumes, all lovingly bound in soft leather, every page covered in his adapted shorthand scrawl, only proper nouns are spelled out in a way legible to the untrained eye.
All in all, an unforgettable experience. Cambridge, I love you!
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