Insanity

I was reminded of Einstein's definition of insanity this morning: "The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results”.

As the train and I passed through Royston and Baldock and Letchworth as we have done for some sixteen years now, I was wondering how we can really change the things we probably need to change without altering those things we simultaneously desire to stay the same.

I can't change the train, nor its route from Cambridge, nor its London destination, but perhaps I can change my perception of the journey I'm making through life and remind myself that there are any number of intermediate points where I can step off if I really wanted to. It might slow me down but, on the other hand, it just might speed things up?

The carnival is far from over

I've just been watching the floats go by here in Burwell. We missed the first carnival when we moved here and then again last year because our eldest son was graduating from The Royal Ballet School on the same day.

Our daughter goes to Burwell Guides, who this year celebrated the Suffragette movement as part of the overal theme of 'Ages in History.' It's good to witness such innocent fun in the Cambridgeshire sunshine especially when you remember those dark before female emancipation.

Midsommer in Midsummer

Living in a chocolate box village like Burwell in Cambridgeshire, we often think about the TV programme Midsommer Murders where unexpected murders pile up from the most unlikely sources - all in beautiful, quintessentially English villages like ours.
We thought about this again this afternoon when we went to the vicarage for the annual church summer fete.
The garden was populated with the usual plant sellers, book and cake stalls and games for the children - all washed down with copious amounts of strong, sweet tea. The raffle was drawn by a large but befuddled gentleman who consistently messed things up and applauded loudly by knitted ladies in twin sets and men of a certain age with bulging stomachs over bulging legs, exposed below bulging shorts.
All in all a collection of suspicious characters that could have appeared in Agatha Christie's 'Murder at the Vicarage' all those years ago. In fact not much has really changed since then and I love Burwell all the more for it.

Opening old lines of communication

My son and I have been trying to work out where the station between Bottisham and Lode in Cambridgeshire was located. It's obviously hidden away in fen farmland somewhere and we plan to walk over there next weekend to try and find out.

When the children were younger, our holidays and weekends often took in old or disused railway lines or windmills, as well as recreating the scenes through the model railway in the loft room. Those happy days always took me back to my own youth, watching the trains on the main line at Woodcroft or from the apple tree at the bottom of the garden, just managing to glimpse the trains away to the south-west where only houses can now be viewed.

I saw a story suggesting old lines of communication might be restored. I'm not a subscriber so can't get the full detail but the links that trains offer me with the past will always be there, however hazy.

Reach out

After a day of gardening and generally rushing around yesterday we had a relaxing day in our Burwell garden this morning. We devoured the Sunday newspaper, coffee and cheese and cucumber sandwiches, all to the backdrop of Michael Ball's radio programme and in glorious sunshine.

This afternoon I went for a walk with my eldest son over Devil's Dyke and and round a series of leafy footpaths to Reach and then back again for an evening barbecue. It's all been there for us this weekend and was just a case of reaching out to touch it

Rod of iron

I read Rod Liddle's piece in the Sunday Times yesterday about thuggery in the Metropolitan Police. Strangely, the night before, the boys and I had watched The Changeling on DVD. The film, stars Angelina Jolie and is set against the backdrop of police corruption and thuggery in late 1920's Los Angeles. Given the Wall Street Crash was just around the corner and the 'Crunch' affecting economies today, I found the symmetry interesting. Unfortunately - and because it affects us all closer to home - I found the alarming burglary statistics in the same paper more of a concern: the county of Cambridgeshire is witnessing one of the steepest rates of increase in the country.

However, as we are informed or entertained by the media, real life may paint a different picture. Our son got attacked in Cambridge City Centre recently but I have to say the police follow-up was fantastic and I couldn't fault it.

What matters most is each of us

I was walking down Newmarket Road towards the medical centre in Burwell this afternoon when I heard a siren behind me. Away in the distance an ambulance with flashing lights was racing towards and eventually past me, heading towards the centre of the village. My first thought was to pray for the poor person or person(s) it had been called out for and my second was 'thank goodness it wasn't for me.'

I then thought how great a thing it is that potentially one person's need can lead to the emergency services being called out to attend, potentially causing many other road journeys to be delayed. I've also had this fault when a train has been delayed or held in the station while a passenger has been attended to. Yes, it can cause timetable chaos and yes we often raise our eyes and curse inwardly that this has happened on our journeys, but in our increasingly sophisticated and networked global village, I think it's great that an individual's needs can still have such an impact.

The church at Quy

I wrote a poem a couple of days ago about the church at Quy. I pass it on my journey from Burwell to Cambridge whenever I'm commuting to London and admit that I say a cheery hello to it each evening when I'm on my way home again. In a funny way its clock face always conjures up the Rupert Brooke poem: The Old Vicarage, Grantchester.

Swaffham Bulbeck

Swaffham Bulbeck is a small Cambridgeshire village, about five minutes away from our home in Burwell and yesterday our son, Sam, played his last 'home' match of the season there for Burwell Tigers. It was a close game against Great Paxton who went into a 2.0 lead, but Tigers came back to win a thriller 3.2 with just two minutes remaining.

They play on the village green at Swaffham Bulbeck, which is an idyllic setting in which to play football, though the ball does keep running off the side of the green and over the road, necessitating frequent halts in the road traffic - something even Premiership players can't claim when their shots go wide!

For a long time I've thought about putting together some pages on Cambridgeshire and other parts of East Anglia that I've visited or which mean something to me. I saw it as a kind of personal map in words and pictures. I've put the first page together this morning, featuring Swaffham Bulbeck.

I've also loaded a different image of St Mary's church on my photoblog

Purely water

A water main burst in our area yesterday, meaning that the supply was cut off in Burwell and Newmarket for about four hours in the afternoon. Michelle and I wrote Post-it notes and stuck them on taps and toilets around the house so as to remind the children not to use any water (apart from one flush each in the upstairs toilets) in case we drained the central heating system and damaged the boiler. I spent every 30 minutes or so dialing Anglian Water for updates (they were very good and kept telling me they knew there was a problem, as did I). Eventually the water came on and the children and I breathed sighs of relief and turned taps on and used the toilets as if under the insane illusion that it could go off again at any minute.

In the evening we watched the Comic Relief programmes on TV and witnessed children in Africa suffering and dying through malaria bites - often through being too close to stagnant water swamps where mosquitoes bred - or through water-borne cholera epidemics. There was no proper water supply to begin with and most likely won't be in the lifetimes of those who survive the very real dangers of childhood. There was nobody to 'phone for updates or help and no sense that there would be pure water today, tomorrow or ever.

Purely water but it won't ever cleanse the impurities in our minds - apart from perhaps once or twice a year when we 'phone help in on their behalf's.

Wash your hands

we had a beautiful, sunny morning here in Burwell today and my wife and I went for a walk through the village. It's lovely to be able to call on all of the local traders and reminds us what a traditional village Burwell still is.

We always have to queue at the butcher's on Saturday mornings and it gives us the chance to observe and listen to the local news and stories, often from older people. However, Peter, the butcher, told us today that he'd just had a young boy in his shop, entrusted with buying some sausages for his mother. Apparently he had a really bad cold and, when asked how he caught it, he replied in a serious voice: "because I didn't wash my hands after going to the toilet!"

Snow, snow, quick, quick...

I got up at my normal weekday time of 5.25 this morning and immediately noticed the quiet. I'm not aware of a lot of traffic at that time of day but the silence spoke volumes. The snowfall wasn't massive but I could see that it had snowed, frozen and then snowed again. Much too treacherous to travel so I sent my apologetic e-mails. Shortly afterwards, on my sterling meteorological advice, it was decided that all company employees should work from home today wherever possible.

The snow has been coming down heavily since then and this part of Cambridgeshire is fast disappearing below a vast white blanket. Trains and boats and planes may be struggling but we're not even trying to speed up; no need to try to stay ahead or even on level terms today because the natural weather conditions have stolen a march on all of us

Passing trade

I took our motorhome out for a run today. We've had battery/starter problems over Christmas and, especially because of the freezing temperatures recently, it seemed like a good time to check things out.

Thankfully it started straight away and I whispered a prayer of thanks. We went up to Soham and then across to Wicken. It was a beautiful drive across the fen in the mid-day sunshine. On the edge of Wicken village stands the church. As usual, it is a triumph of architecture from the outside but I suspect often empty within as there is usually little sign of life in the surroundings (and no, the surrounding area isn't a cemetery).

Today, as I whizzed past, I spotted a little ticket on a gantry overhanging the path - rather like those tickets you get at the deli in Tesco (the customer is central to everything we do, which is why we just consider them to be a series of numbers!) - with the number 8 on it. Just below, was some writing saying 'Time of next service.'

Is this the ultimate passing trade?

The Fenland Sea

I often consider The Cambridgeshire Fens to be a vast sea, stretching out for as far as the eye can see. This is especially so at night when the horizon is dotted by the yellow of street lamps and the welcoming lights of homes. Because it is so flat you could be looking at tiny specks of light from miles and miles away.

The headlights of cars and lorries moving around the edge of this black hole could just as easily be coming from ships out at sea; churches, lit up a universe away, could be beacons or harbour lights welcoming travellors home from their voyages.

I took our daughter to her dance class in stretham tonight and our way across the causeway from Soham via Wicken Fen was aided by a huge moon. Though waning now, I wonder how many others it has helped save from drowning in this dry ocean

DAB

We have a DAB radio in the bedroom. Our son had a portable DAB radio when he was away at school but found that he couldn't pick up that many stations and some of those that he did seemed to disappear into the stratosphere with amazing regularity.

I often listen to BBC Radio 6 Music in the late evenings. It reminds me a bit of how Virgin FM used to be and, vaguely, of John Peel's format on Radio 1. I used to love the John Peel show in the late 1970's and it was essential Sixth Form and College listening. I don't feel that's quite the same with Radio 6 Music because I assumed that not that many people had digital radios or listened to that channel.

In fact the latest RAJAR figures show that while the channel only has a 0.4% share of the total listening audience, DAB radios are now in 28% of all UK households and listening hours on digital platforms are up 22% year on year.

So, DAB and digital in general do seem to be doing well but I don't hear people talking about it and I still find the number of channels I can receive in Cambridgeshire very limited - perhaps that's why? I enjoy the sound quality (especially Radio 5 Live for the sport when Medium Wave seems to prefer surfing to riding the waves) but even though figures prove that I'm not alone, it still feels like it.

Turning

We drove into Cambridge yesterday as our eldest son had guitar practice with some new mates from Hill's Road Sixth Form College. All of the talk was about amps and the rhythm section. He was excited and looking forward to being part of a group of friends who were sharing the same voyage of discovery.

As we passed through Swaffham Bulbeck the windmill's sails were racing round quietly in the wind. I thought back then to how we'd set out on our expeditions, when he was so much younger, eagerly looking forward to discovering windmills or watermills or lighthouses. We travelled throughout Cambridgeshire, Norfolk and Suffolk and the first sightings of these lovely buildings never, ever failed to satisfy.

The sails will keep on turning and we will always have the memories of those quieter times.

Off the beaten tracks

Not sure if you've been following the story of two boys placing a concrete slab and metal bar on the railway tracks at Stanground near Peterborough? The Peterborough Evening Telegraph carried a story that supplemented what I'd seen on BBC Look East.

Apparently a train travelling from Peterborough to Stansted Airport last October was derailed and came dangerously close to plunging into the River Nene off Black Bridge. Two boys, aged 16 and 17, are currently on trial over the incident and it appears that they've made similar, previous attempts to cause train disruption. Thankfully nobody was killed on this occasion but think of the fame and notoriety they'd have achievied if the train had plunged into the river. I often travel this route and, believe me, if you came off Black Bridge, there's going to be little chance of survival.

What makes people do this? Is it just the danger gene that some people have in greater abundance than others or the same gene that is stimulated by circumstance and environment?

Nomophobia

I was reading last week about words which have been so well-used in the last year that they're to be included in the new edition of the Oxford English Dictionary. One of them is 'nomophobia' which apparently refers to the fear of being out of mobile contact.

I have to say that I rarely go out without taking my mobile phone and charge it religiously whenever it and I are alone together. However, if I suffered from nomophobia I'd be a nervous wrech if I lived anywhere near Royston. Ever since I've been commuting between Cambridgeshire and London I've always experienced a blackout whenever we've approached Royston. Either this is some kind of deep-seated psychological trauma or Vodafone just haven't got it sorted out.

"I'm 'phoning you now because we're approaching Royston" has become a regular opening line in my mobile conversations, which other passengers have interpreted as some kind of danger-zone prediction. Perhaps there's something in nomophobia after all?

Alarmed

I was in Tesco in Ely earlier today, browsing CDs and stationery when I passed a glass double door with the sign on it "This door is alarmed."

What was it alarmed by? Choice? Price? Slow-moving stock?

First Capital Connect - Top of the league

I read about First Capital Connect in a Department of Transport survey in the londonpaper last night where commuter trains with the worst overcrowding records were listed.

First Capital Connect can proudly boast to top the league and, indeed, occupy four of the top six positions for trains running along my line from King's Cross to Cambridge and up to Ely and King's Lynn. Worst offender is the 07.15 from Cambridge to King's Cross, with 76% of the trains above capacity, quickly(!) followed by the 07.45. Two of the evening trains back - the 17.45 and the 18.15 are similarly appalling to travel on - officially.

It's been well-known to us Cambridge commuters for a long time that these trains are especially bad - you often have to turn up for the 17.45 in order to have any chance of getting a seat on the 18.15 - but great to see that First Capital Connect are finally getting the public recognition they deserve.

Landwade

I had a day off today and, though overcast, Nathan and I decided to go on a short walk. There is a disused railway line which used to run from Cambridge to Mildenhall. I wrote about it in a previous post.

We decided to explore and headed across the Suffolk border just to the south east of Burwell. Following a track adjacent to the old route we eventually became intrigued by footpaths running alongside vast cornfields which eventually led us to the wooded area of Landwade. In a clearing we came across the mid fifteenth century church and plan to revisit it one evening this week. Landwade was once effectively an 'island' of Suffolk within Cambridgeshire but is now fully within the Suffolk county. Because of it's disputed border, writers from Cambridgeshire and Suffolk have written about it.

I'll take some photos and post them after our next visit but, we eventually walked for about two miles through some lovely woods before crossing the Newmarket to Ely railway line and joining up with the tail end of the disused railway line we had originally intended to explore.

From Bedford to March

I was travelling back to Ely yesterday by train from Leicester. At one point, just past Stamford, I heard a can being crushed - seemingly in soneone's teeth - in the seat behind me. Peeping through the gap in the seats I spotted a shaven-headed, heavily-tattoed muscleman with teeth like rivets and bruises in his eyes.

It transpired that he had 'been away' in Bedford and was travelling to meet his mother who had moved up from London's East End and who now lived in Wisbech. To the horror of my fellow passengers, we shared a conversation about the local area, buses he would need to take etc. We shook hands as he disembarked amid much eye raising and body shuffles from suits and executive skirts all around us. He told me nobody had been prepared to offer him any travel advice. It reminded me of the series of Guardian ads featuring a young skinhead who, quite apart from looking to attack a besuited gentleman was actually seeking to protect them.

So many times, especially when travelling, my and others' perception has been proven to be quite wrong about other people - yet still we default to it.

Cottage made beautiful

Michelle and I went up to the cottage this morning to prepare for our next round of guests. It looked beautiful in the June sunshine and we sat outside in the garden for a little while before leaving for our new home in Burwell.

On a day when mortgage application acceptances are reported at being lower than ever and property prices are tumbling, we feel very lucky to have been able to hang on to the cottage and hopefully use it to provide for holidays and short breaks for visitors to The Fens and further afield in Cambridgeshire and Norfolk.

Full details are available from the

Gardener's Cottage Site

Bat and ball

Our son, Sam, used to like nothing better than to play in the garden with a bat and a ball. It didn't matter whether it was baseball, rounders or football, providing he had a ball to play with. When we lived at the he had a big garden to play in but here in Burwell he has relied on the local parks which he frequents with an increasing number of friends.

He has recently joined Burwell Cricket Club and played in their Under-13 side for the first time on Thursday of this week. He didn't get to bat (it was a 15-overs a side cup tie) but fielded well and bowled his first ever over. The over conceded only a single run so a pretty good start. When I first saw him in his full cricket whites, I thought of those days in the garden and felt both happy and proud.

Burwell Railway Station

We're lucky to be living in such a pretty and active village as Burwell in Cambridgeshire. That may sound odd when I tell you that this afternoon I visited the unveiling of a plaque signifying the entrance to the former Burwell Railway Station on Reach road. The railway line was built in the 1880's from Cambridge to Fordham originally and then extended to Mildenhall. It was mainly used for freight - expecially the transport of coal and animal feedstuffs, but the general public also used it - the US airmen at the Mildenhall Air Force base in particular. The line closed to passengers in 1962 and to freight in 1965. There is nothing left of it now but, examining some old photographs of the scene, I can picture it much more clearly and the course of the original line. I also wasn't aware of a road bridge over the tracks - which has completely disappeared. When I commute in to Cambridge tomorrow morning at 6.00, via car rather than train, I'll remember the railway and the links it brought to this part of Cambridgeshire. Maybe I'll wish I could do my whole commute to London via rail?

White Lodge days nearly over

Michelle and I took our eldest son, Nathan, back to the Royal Ballet School today. This is the beginning of his fifteenth and final term at White Lodge and he's been associated with the school since joining as a weekend Junior Associate (JA) since he was eight years old.

We have driven down so many times from Cambridgeshire or taken the train that it's become a very familiar journey at the start, middle and end of school terms. Although the M25 and M11 jointly behaved today, we have had some horrendously long trips and often wondered what it would be like when they came to an end. We had mixed feelings today, though, as the reality of July looks a lot nearer than at any other time.

Because of Nathan's change of physique hr does not wish to continue with dance as a career and is now looking forward to attending sixth form college in Cambridge. That journey is only about twenty minutes away and I wonder if we'll all miss the much longer days when he was heading in a quite different direction.

Lucas the snowman

As in many parts of Cambridgeshire today, we awoke to snow falling silently outside our windows. I never get used to the deadening silence that accompanies these gentle flakes. They don't look capable of deadening anything as they float on the wind, like gliders seeking safe landings.

Our daughter Hayley has been running to her bedroom window each morning for the last few days after we've given her the previous night's weather forecast - but to no avail until today. She stood for hours, quite transfixed by the gentle white flakes. I ran downstairs with her and out into the garden where we spent a happy hour building Lucas the snowman.

The sunshine melted his home but Lucas is still out there, even as it grows darker He no longer has eyes but he can still see the joy he brought to both of us today.

Devil's Dyke

Very near to Burwell is a giant, ancient rampart called Devil's Dyke or Devil's Ditch. It stretches from the village of Burwell, just to the north-west of us and then down for seven and a half miles, beyond Newmarket to Ditton Green to the south. There is a really good information site: Devil's Dyke Restoration Project.

As to its name, one historical legend suggests it comes from the belief that landforms like this must be of supernatural origin. 'One local legend is that the Devil came uninvited to a wedding perhaps at Reach church and was chased away by the guests. In anger the devil ran away and formed the groove of the Dyke with his fiery tail.'

I've been on the stretch of Dyke towards Reach before, but never to the south so I went for a walk up there this afternoon. At one point I was at the top of 'Gallow's Hill' which is thirty four feet above the dyke floor - it's highest point. It seems strange to be elevated anywhere in Cambridgeshire, especially givent The Fens nearby, but you really can see for miles. I took a couple of quick shots and have loaded them up in my Fen Creative photoblog.

Skylarks accompanied me throughout my walk and I'm looking forward to seeing the wild orchids that populate the area when they come into bloom in June.

Charlotte

My wife runs a ballet school as a community venture. She has done so in Cambridgeshire and Norfolk for the past fourteen and a half years.

It doesn't make any money and often leaves us out of pocket in both cash and time. But the Samara Ballet School gives opportunities to children in our rural area which they might not otherwise enjoy. It gives them a glimpse of a colourful life beyond the flatness of our Fen landscape.

Three weeks ago the school held its biennial show at Witchford Village College. A pretty little nine-year old called Charlotte Walker played a leading role and, in fact, was just full of life and laughter and all the attributes that Samara represents. A week ago she drowned in a car accident near Chatteris. Today she was buried in the same blue ballet dress she had danced in so beautifully and so recently.

Charlotte was a happy child for whom life knew no boundaries. Words failed me at the service today but I wrote this poem when we returned home.

I hope it expresses what we are all feeling at this time.

Candles

As I drove up the rise to Devil's Dyke yesterday, the sky was dark and foreboding, almost in keeping with the history of this part of Cambridgeshire. However, on my descent into Swaffham Prior, the streetlights twinkled like candles on cakes. I have a lot of work pressure on my shoulders at the moment but they were like signs of hope - little beacons of reassurance.

The same thing happened approaching Lode and Stow-cum-Quy until Cambridge itself rose up in the west and pronounced that faith and knowledge would be lights through any darkness, however impenetrable it may at first seem.

Shopping in Cambridge

Michelle and Hayley have gone to a concert in Peterborough and left earlier this morning so it's just been the three boys today.

We've had a really nice day together. We went shopping in Cambridge, including a trip to my favourite hifi shop: Richer Sounds where we bought a pair of new Tannoy speakers for the music room. The guys there are so helpful and just a little off the wall - I highly recommend it.

We then hit the new car park in Lion Yard. What a difference! The entrance ramp felt like we'd sped on to the set of Oceans 11, 12 and 13 all in one go. We then sorted Sam's 'phone out in O2 and then bought some new posters for him and Sam in WH Smith, via HMV.

After pasties and sausage rolls we headed home for Nathan to sort out iTunes on his new Mac and Sam to deal with the world on his PS2. Then, with half an eye on the Sky Sports programme to ensure Leeds United won again, we had tea and are now going out into the village for a drink before watching 'Road to Perdition' and then 'Match of the Day.'

Our team will be back in the Premiership one day, but it's felt all day as though we already are.

Gulliver's Family Diner

In a world of either poor or just disinterested management, it was a joy today to discover a family restaurant that really did cater for families and made them feel good about themselves.

Gulliver's Family Diner is situated in East Cambridgeshire on the A10, just below Stretham and about twenty minutes north of Cambridge. It is located on a former Little Chef site which, in turn, replaced AJ's.

My wife and I frequently called in at AJ's - often on cold and wintry afternoons - when we first house hunting in the area some fourteen years ago. The manager then was very hands-on with both staff and clients and fussed around us all to make sure 'his' restaurant delivered good food and good service. The Little Chef management was non-existent and visitors waited for the wrong food, poorly prepared and thrown on to dirty plates.

Gulliver's Family Diner is relatively new and run by a local man - Tom Robson - who decided against his original plan to just refurbish and re-let the site and turn it into a proper family diner. Our family visited it today and were welcomed like old family friends who weren't looking at us as part of their future inheritances. There is a fun atmosphere, with menu copy including: "Gammon: not some naff watery lump of processed ham..." and "If you have a favourite dinner, just let us know and we might well add it to our menu - with your name against it." Add in reasonable prices across the board and it makes for a feel-good offer. I also had the best cup of diner coffee since visiting a diner in Michigan some five years ago.

Tom regularly leaves the kitchen to walk around the diner. If there is a problem (and we had one with cheese!) he appears to sort it out instantly and personally checks that it has been sorted out. Not only that, his staff are mortified if anything should spoil their customers' experiences in any way.

You may well say that this is relatively early days and that the special customer service may wane and the site struggle as others have done. That may happen but I suspect it won't. People in our area value quality but also value for money; they also want to have fun. Tom Robson and his willing staff treated us like kings not little people: I've been in the company of enough Gullivers to know how easy it is to make customers feel very small in their giant Lilliputian sense of their own importance.