Not Thames nor Teme

Back from another trip to Cambridge. It appears to alternate between Chucking It Down and Beautiful But Absobloodylutely Freezing. I managed to take my phone charger but forget my phone - which ran out of battery entirely. If that happens then that charger doesn't work (don't ask me why - it's not the original one, which I've lost) so I had to pop into the office and swipe my Blackberry charger, confusing all my colleagues in the process.

I discovered over the course of the week that I do not hate Cambridge at all; I just have an inner fourteen year old who is still upset that no one gave her any choice in the matter of moving to the Isle of Wight. (This may explain the Housman stuck in my head; see title, and the old Knighton/Niton confusion.) So I am being very gentle with myself, and remembering that this move is not that move, and these jobs are not like those schools, and particularly that this marriage is not that marriage. We are agreed that moving in the winter is a terrible idea, and I'm not going to do it.

I have bought a pair of burgundy velvet boots. I needed some outrageous boots.