After the warm museum the outside world seemed particularly cold so I hot footed it to the Arts Picture House Cafe where Grahame was ensconced and indulged in a warming beverage. Nice though that was the real excitement came about 7pm when the snow that was promised arrived. Wearing heels and skirts Lucy and I set off to the Punter and arrived without any problems. We sat all evening our noses pressed against the glass watching the layers of powdery snow building up amazed that the weather forecast was so right. We were confident that this would present no problems for our return journey. We stayed. We had another drink. We were the last to leave. Our baskets were full of snow and the wheels half buried. Cycling it transpired was nigh on impossible. We pushed our bikes through the snow along the river for 100 yards then gave up and when onto the road. It was simply impossible to stay up on the bikes. We gave up and tottering on inappropriate shoes made it all the way home but only just. There is something about snow that makes you gleeful and so fuelled with wine generally snowy joy we half dragged ourselves half praded home in what we believed was the spirit of Dionysus on Scott’s expedition.

Sunday dawned and the memory of our heroic feats seemed somewhat dimmed so Lucy and I set off for the Fort St George for nourishment and company and a good look at all the snow fun. Snowmen abounded, snow balls whizzed around and there was liberal sprinkling of bonhomie. Outside the Fort someone has painstaking constructed an igloo. Everyone was keen to get inside and have a look but being British we were all content to wait in line patiently. Another group had built a wall out of snow bricks and my favourite was a snow man perched on a bench a pipe in his mouth and his feet swinging nonchalant.

Perhaps it wasn’t a good sign that I managed to get us lost on the way to St Ives – well those motorway signs just sort of creep up don’t they – and then you miss one little turning and suddenly everything becomes really complicated. I decided I would blame men as it was probably a man who put up the signs. We spent a happy 10 minutes abusing men and then realised we were still lost. We concentrated. We succeeded. We got to St Ives. But alas alak the walking group keen as mustard had gone.

‘They can’t have gone far’ we panted to each other as we raced through the centre of St Ives towards the church and along the peaceful country path to the village of Houghton. Certain we would catch up with them and make witty jokes about being delayed by polygamists and sacks of cats, we hurried on shouting at scared cyclists for directions. We did not catch anyone up. We decided they would be waiting for us in the pub. The pub was empty. Possibly even closed. Crazed we called out for more directions and found ourselves at the old mill. We spent 10 minutes walking around a circular path that took us round and round the adjoining camp site until we realised our mistake. We got back to the mill and headed across the meadows towards some houses. I think it was Lucy who took control at this point and managed to get us all the way to Hemingford Grey and back to St Ives. What a girl!

As we had done the six mile walk in just over 2 hours we justifiably decided to reward ourself with a nice cup of coffee. But bother it the River Tea Rooms were crammed with a whole bunch of 20 to 30 somethings dressed in waterproofs and muddy boots. Clearly they had only just arrived and were availing themselves of slices of lemon drizzle cake and steaming mugs of tea. In the warm steamy teashop it gradually dawned on us that we’d spent the entire walk about five minutes behind our quarry the whole way.

As I was going to St Ives
(Kindly letting Lucy drive)
I lost the map and missed the way
And sadly led us both astray
In circles round I had us drive
And late as late we did arrive

‘Alas!’ I thought
(I was distraught)
‘I’ve lost us good, I’ve lost us true’
‘What oh what can I do?’

And so I spent some happy time
Making up this little rhyme
If you’re going to St Ives
And really want to arrive
I think I see, I think the key
Is not to travel there with me

After such a sleepy start to the day you can’t really be expected to leave the house much before 2pm and several cups of hot strong tea. It was, I admit, a nice day when I finally left the house and the cycle ride into town was marred only by the constant rattle of my dilapidated bike. This spurred me into action and I made my way straight to Station Cycles to get it fixed. Two weeks is long enough to put up with any such persistent clattering. Such nice people in there – a few moments and a few quid later and the bike has stopped groaning and moaning and was good to go again. Ahh it was so peacefully riding after that.

Met up with Kate and popped into Fitzbillies for a nice cup of hot choc. So great to see the place back in business and given a nice brush up! Read more about the revamp here.

After Fitzbillies you feel almost honour bound to pop to the Fitzwilliam so I did nip in to have a quick gawp at the Lacemaker. Very nice it is to on the third viewing.

As the Church of St Mary the Less was open I stuck my head round the door and then walked out of town past the evensong at Church of St Mary the Great. For some extraordinary reason it started raining unexpectedly on the way home and I was only just in time to save my washing and get myself inside before it pelted it down.

There is nothing as good as the smug feeling of getting out of the rain after a cycle ride home. It’s almost as good as a lie-in.

We had the second ever meeting of the Bookends at the Elm Tree on the 14th where we talked long and hard about Island by Aldous Huxley.

The Christmas lights were switched on on the 20th which did seem a little early but as Michaelmas Term finishes on the 2nd of December I guess it wasn’t. They were accompanied by all sorts of singing and dancing which included Mam’s little girl and a small boy who was very good on the sax. The music drifted all over the marketplace. Lion’s Yard was full of tap dancing, choirs and proud parents holding up phones trying to store the memories. Andy and I escaped the excitement to sit on a tree trunk near the Mill Pond with a couple of coffees and some great conversation.

On the 26th Tim graduated. There was much wearing of gowns, lunch at Churchill and leaning over the balcony in the Senate House and then after all that Tim was no longer just Tim but Doctor Tim. Many congratulations and celebrations! Jon spent the whole day taking photos and Mum was so proud she couldn’t speak. As it was graduation day we all got to walk around on the Senate House lawn which we made the most of as I guess it will be the only time I will be allowed. Such fun!

All in all November has whished by smoothly in a blaze of easy weather and fun. I’ve even managed to get a lot of work done and a couple of poems written!

The current exhibitions at the Fitzwilliam are a must – Vermeer’s Women: Secrets and Silence and Flower Drawings: Redouté and his Pupils. The Vermeer exhibition has the The Lacemaker on loan to the UK for the first time ever. The painting has a dream like quality to it – so clear and yet when you look again it seems the lines and features are elusively slipping from distinctness.

Designed by the architects, Bernard Tschumi and Michael Photiadis, the building is a rather clever feat of engineering. Not only is it a very modern building using light and motion cleverly, it is also built in an earthquake zone and on top of that it wasn’t possible to allow it to have normal foundations.

When clearing the site, ancient ruins were uncovered. It would have been a sad state of affairs if these had just been concreted over, so they were incorporated into the building. This led to the tricky problem of foundations. Huge pillars were sunk into areas that archaeologists had excavated to ensure there were no remains. I guess it was lucky that part of the site had previously had military bunkers on, so no remains were found there, and this area at least offered a solid base for the foundations.

The museum is an interesting synthesis of the ancient and modern. It sits on an ancient road that led up to, affords wonderful views of and houses priceless ancient sculpture from the Acropolis. But it is a state-of-the-art modern building with a modern take on museology. As the Makrygianni excavations so elegantly demonstrate – its foundations are ancient but its approach is modern.

And like many modern things it’s controversial. Perhaps the most controversy it has caused is that it is a monument to a request the Greek government has been making for many years. They haven’t just built the museum to house their collection but also to try to convince the British government to return the Elgin Marbles – portions of a sculptured frieze that comes from the Parthenon temple. The top floor of the new museum, the part with the giant glass walls that give you the most fantastic views of the Acropolis, is home to an exact replica of the 160m-long frieze. 36 panels are originals – the rest are paster casts – a glaring challenge to the British government. The panels that the British Government have now have an interesting new home. The only question is will they get to see it?

I feel like everyone I know is now up on Amazon living the self-publishing dream! Well alright only Adam and myself!