God, I am so shit. You don’t have to tell me, because I know. I have no excuse, except for the fact that we’ve been moving house. Even that isn’t much of an excuse as Simon has done the lion’s share of the actual moving, because see above: I am so shit. I’m sorry.
We’ve moved away from Boxworth, a wee little village just north of Cambridge, to St Ives, a not-so-wee market town a bit farther north of Cambridge (no, not the eponymous St Ives of the As I was going to etc poem. That St Ives is in Cornwall. And it is full of bigamists and smells of cats). We’d been in Boxworth for three years, and before that in London. I hadn’t realised quite how much I missed being close to civilisation because I was still coasting on the incredible relief of not being in London anymore. I love London, don’t get me wrong, and I look back very fondly on my time there, but it is far from being the ideal situation for someone with Personal Space Issues, and taking the Tube to and from my (really rather menial though I do love saying:) job in the City was like a daily field trip to the seventh circle of hell. Boxworth by contrast was incredibly quiet and peaceful and there were cows! in the field! who would eat out of our hands!! However, we weren’t within walking distance of ANYTHING except a single awful pub (two words: ceramic dogs) about twenty minutes away, and a motorway services half an hour’s walk in the other direction along a busy road with no pavements or lighting: basically you were taking your life in your hands if you wanted to pop out for a Diet Coke and a pack of fags. One extreme to the other, I guess. We couldn’t even get food delivered, despite being only twenty minutes’ drive from the centre of bloody Cambridge.
Still, I’d have judged myself pretty happy with my locale until we made the move to St Ives and I realised OH MY GOD THEY WILL BRING PIZZA TO MY HOUSE THAT IS SO AWESOME. And I realised that I could walk to not one, but a variety of pubs, and toddle home easily afterwards without worrying about finding someone sober to convey me. It was like a shaft of light piercing the clouds. My dissipate proclivities are no longer hindered by geography! At last!
St Ives is the perfect size: it’s got all the really necessary amenities, a handful of decent pubs, half a dozen restaurants and LOADS of takeaways, but none of the apoplexy-inducing thronginess of proper urban centres. It has a bus station, which means I can take the bus to Cambridge every day rather than drive. This might not seem like a bonus to most of you, but I haaaaaaaaate driving and much prefer spending my commuting time reading a book. There’s a farmer’s market every other Saturday in the town square, which is nice, and a general market every Monday, which is hilarious. Simon calls it the pikey market. Where else can you find discount home electronics, dodgy antiques, airbrushed wolf T-shirts, bras piled up in a heap on a dirty table, gourmet cheeses, novelty toys, holographic prints of your favourite footballers, packs of plastic shoes in baggies, and freshly butchered meat all in one place?
As you may have guessed, St Ives is very working class. Or, in other words, chav-a-lav-a-ling-long! Chav-tacular! There is no shortage of fat folks in tight polyester, nossir. But I will take chainsmoking teenage mums ANY DAY over investment bankers in SUVs.
And it is goshdarn pretty, St Ives. The town centre overlooks a lovely curvy bit of the wonderfully named Great Ouse river, where can always be found many swans gliding around on the smooth water looking picturesquely swanlike. It also has a respectable bit of history, being the home of Oliver ‘I like to party’ Cromwell – he even blew up half the bridge during the Civil War in a fit of cranky republicanism. (It’s all fixed now, thanks.)
We have already made an exhaustive comparison of the local delivery joints (favourites so far are Thai Orchard and Pizza Town) and are familiar faces at the Floods Tavern, which has a garden overlooking the river and a big friendly labrador named Buddy. I am feeling very at home.
More collage sheets soon, I promise! In the meantime here’s a new one of large circles (2.25” diameter), ideal for pocket mirrors.
