Punting on the Cam

Monday's plan was a trip to Cambridge. We climbed Old St. Mary's Church to the observation tower to get the lay of the land. On the way up we heeded the warnings about not trying to climb through the belfry area since, as the sign indicated, to do so was to "invite certain death." Bev and I were less than happy about the steep narrow winding staircase to the top, but we gamely did the climb. Cambridge is a beautiful town along the Cam River, and the buildings of the university are astounding.

Our next stop was the King's College Chapel, a gorgeous and unique church. The stained glass windows which run the entire perimeter tell the Bible story by placing Old Testament episodes on the top level and the corresponding New Testament story on the bottom level. They were used to help those who could not actually read to be able to know the Bible.

Punting on the Cam is a time-honored tradition and on a par with riding a gondola in Venice. It's also similar in the means of locomotion for the flat-bottomed boats. A person stands on the back platform of the punt and poles it up and down the river. It's an art, and we were just marvelling at what a good workout it would be for the core muscles, when our attention was caught by some excitement upstream.

A punt full of people had just started out from the pier when apparently one of the women aboard had decided it just wasn't for her. She had no sea-legs at all, and when she stood up in the punt, John said, "Someone is going to go in the water." No sooner had he uttered these words when she decided her course of action would be to jump into a vacant punt at the pier. Unfortunately, she just didn't know her physics or have good balance and soon she was splashing in the river, pink suit, purse and all.

All watching were just stunned for a minute and stared. Her party started to laugh when someone realized she couldn't swim. A young man in the crowd, who we suspect might be a lifeguard elsewhere, ran down the dock and jumped in to fish her out. Eventually she was laughing in that good-natured embarrassed way, and we were relieved that we hadn't actually witnessed a drowning. It certainly made the prospect of punting less inviting despite the young employees of the company who were hawking along the main streets to drum up business.

We rounded out the day at Cambridge with some shopping at several good outdoor stores. We were restrained, since we knew that our suitcases would only stretch so far, but Bev and John picked up a few last-minute things that will come in handy on their trip to China, which will begin on Sunday.

Although the weather had threatened rain all day, our timing was perfect. As we got back on the bus to the Park and Ride, it rained in earnest and we were glad we hadn't tried to picnic. That meant that our picnic lunch would become supper. Bev's mom Pam and their neighbor Alisa (sp?) joined us for pork pie, ham, boiled new potatoes, salad and a wonderful dessert consisting of gelatin made with Chardonnay and raspberries. (The latter will be my snack at the next card gathering. Get ready, girls!)

After dinner as we enjoyed tea and a second glass of wine, Bev and Alisa provided entertainment. Besides good looks and a sparkling wit, Alisa is also blessed with a fabulous voice. We were treated to several songs with Bev on piano and Alisa singing, but their rendition of Over the Rainbow really did it: fortunately, John's counseling background means that he is observant of such things and was ready with a roll of paper towels when I was reduced to a blubbering mass of jelly. The evening was one of those that we'll be remembering for years to come as a sparkling moment in a good life.

We are now back in Honor Oak Park, packing up and planning dinner. Tomorrow morning Chris will take the day off, take us back up to Stevenage and she, Bev and I will treat ourselves to our traditional manicures and pedicures. Our appointments have been booked and reservations have been made for a farewell dinner, complete with the six of us, Izzie and Steve and Alisa.

It's hard to even write about leaving, so I'm hoping John comes tomorrow night equipped with his paper towels.