Happy St George’s day to all you English people out there!

It was our first wedding anniversary on Saturday, so I took The Hubster away for the weekend. He got himself into a grump because I wouldn’t tell him where we were going. Well, it was supposed to be a surprise! I packed him some clothes and stuff surreptitiously, and loaded up the car when he went for an afternoon nap on the Friday. He’d taken that day off work - when I asked him to do that, I couldn’t tell him why, or it’d ruin the surprise. He grumped about that, too. Anyway, when I was ready to go, I woke him up, and told him to get up, or we’d be late. That was true - I’d wanted to leave much earlier than half past three, which it was by the time we did leave. We had to get there between 5 and 6 p.m., so we should have been ok, but then the traffic intervened, as it so often does. A three-lorry pile-up on the M40 meant that motorway was closed for ages, then another accident as it was opened didn’t help matters. We were on the A46 approaching the roundabout with the M40, so we got help up no end. I knew we wouldn’t make it in time, so I had to spill the beans and get Colin to phone up the wifey. I’d booked us in for B&B accommodation in a farm in the middle of nowhere in the Cotswolds. I know for next time not to book somewhere in the middle of nowhere because it means you have to drive everywhere, so you can’t drink. Most annoying. Still, it didn’t stop us going to the pub—well, we needed feeding! We went to one pub just because we both needed the loo. I forget its name, but I think it was in Broadway. I noticed some pictures on the wall, and had a good look at them. This was one of them:

Make of it what you will!

Hmm, for once the 11th actually falls on a Sunday.

I had a supervision today. It made up for the one I missed last week because of Henry breaking down. My supervisor was in Cambridge today anyway, so he came to my house. That was weird, and I tidied up specially!

He said last time we actually had a supervision, I was a particularly funny colour- because of having been ill - and clearly still being a bit ill! At least it shows I wasn’t making being ill up, anyway.

I’ve been to the pub this evening because it was John’s birthday. There was only me, the Hubster and Spider out, but there was good crack. Aye, lots of it.

I believe it’s now past my bedtime.

I went to First-Cousin-Twice-Removed Maddie’s first birthday party on Saturday in a place near, but not, Middlesbrough (so that makes her not be a Smogmonster, which is just as well). The Hubster and I drove up on Friday evening, staying at my mam’s, who was also going, along with my brother.

We had a lovely time, drinking beer and eating party food and playing guess the relative. It’s much harder with that side of the family, than it is the other. As the evening drew on, it was suggested that me, my brother and the Hubster go out in Sunderland, so after an hour or two of dithering, for no apparent reason, we set off with Possibly-First-Cousin-Once-Removed Alan and his wife, Sandi, to Sunderland. We had a good night out, playing pool and becoming very drunk, and blethering on about whatever.

Next day, we all went to visit my sister, whose birthday it was, and who’s just got engaged (hooray!), then me and The Hubster went home. Before we got there, I was most poorly and had to stop at many service stations. The Hubster kept saying it was just a hangover, until we got home, when a little while later, he started feeling all poorly bad too. We had a dreadful night, then spent the next two and a half days being ill, with my mam phoning up and saying her and Anth were poorly-bad too, and it was gastroenteritis. Don’t know how we all caught it though, because the only thing we all ate was party food, and no-one else who had it was ill. Anyway, Hubbie perked up enough to go to the shop, which was just as well, because we had nothing in. He went back to work today, all mended, and I drove to Colchester with a splitting headache for a supervision. Luckily, my supervisor was sympathetic.

“Are you going to Strawberry Fair?” I sang tunelessly to The Hubster yesterday.

“If I must,” he grumped, “but they don’t sell strawberries.”

When we got there, around 11.30 a.m. via a trip to Tesco for Irn Bru for The Hubster and Jamaican Ginger Beer, which appears to come in handy small bottles now, for so fewer pennies than other pop, the first thing we noticed when we got onto the common proper were loads and loads of food stalls. As we meandered, they became more interspersed with clothes stalls selling your usual tie-dye, hippy, grungy-type stuff. There was also jewellery, which was also of the same style, which was perfect because I finally managed to successfully replace my earrings, one of which I lost whilst on honeymoon. I tried to get some from the normal Cambridge Market, but, although I did buy three pairs, none were the right ones. I’ve worn the same style for over ten years now.

We decided upon goat curry to eat for dinner (aka lunch) from one of the Caribbean stalls. Very tasty, it was, although there was far too much food for my tiny tum. (I’m serious - it’s like a reverse TARDIS in there.) We also found a bed-spread stall, which was good because I wanted a new one for the bed-sofa in the living room. We got a black one with some sort of crazy psychedelic mushroom and snakes (but no badgers) and another one which is tie-dyed blue and has elephants on it. Maybe snakes as well.

We went to the beer tent, which had some interesting-looking bitters, but it was far too hot for bitter, so we had lager instead. (Lager-drinkers!) The other end of the beer tent was being called the acoustic tent, where we listened to the tail end of of a song at the tail end of an act. We wandered off when they’d finished to sit on the grass near what appeared to be the main stage to drink our beer.

A bit more wandering brought us to the lost kids tent; we weren’t sure if the lost kids went in the tent or in the nearby cage with a boingy floor, which some may have called mini trampolines.

I saw a sign on the grass advertising strawberries and cream, which I couldn’t resist pointing out to The Hubsicle:

“See,” I said pointing to the strawberries and cream sign,” you can get strawberries.”

“Hmph,” he said, and I didn’t dare ask if we could get some!

Around 2.30, The Hubster’s whinging became unbearable, so we headed home, via the Old Spring, for refreshments because it was really very hot, and some of us were getting sunburnt. As ever.

Timmy had left by the time I had the ginger beer. It was very nice indeed. Very gingery.

Yes, it’s that time of year again, when Jesus Green hosts yet another Cambridge Beer Festival. I had some Golden n’ Eye, which was nice - golden, as the name suggests, light and summery; something else; possibly something else; then some French perry (Uren Foxwhelp; John said it was what it sounded like) with an unknown ABV; some Norfolk Cider Company cider, which I believe is what we had on our honeymoon, in Norfolk, purchased at the Humpty Dumpty brewery shop; then Malcolm told me about the ginger beer: Ginger, from the Marble brewery. I might try the Sly Fox next time - that’s more subtly gingery.

Not that I have a thing about ginger at the moment, of course