A Free Weekend

After a few days of being back in the real world I decided it was time to reacquaint myself with London. Fadia and John's son, Fred, has an apartment just off Liverpool St Station and right near where Jack the Ripper took his first victim, and since Fred was holidaying for the weekend I was offered the key.

With my Youth Rail Card I managed to procure a first class ticket for twenty pence more than a general seat, which meant I could stretch my legs as far as they would go, which isn't very far but it's nice when nothing obstructs them.

I had in mind a holiday of free activities and was determined to see how far I could take this. Of course, since I'd planned to see Dirty Dancing on the West End, this didn't start till the weekend: I thoroughly enjoyed it but I wouldn't recommend it to anyone but the biggest movie fans as there is better to see.

Saturday morning I made my way to the Portobello Markets with every other tourist who had a copy of Timeout's When in London (it's not really called that but you get the gist). Two miles of shuffling near did me in – and only a almond croissant could revive me – not free, I know, but at one pound you can't go wrong. I did see some shiny silver spoons but they were four lanes of bodies to the left and there was no going near if I wanted to get out alive.

I toured the Tate Modern in the afternoon (discovered under free activities in my When in London), found a lot to enjoy, a lot to puzzle over, and a space on the wall to hang my stick figures.

Sunday I popped over to the Spittlefield Markets since they were just round the corner and decided that the days of unearthing a treasure for a bargain seem to be long gone since the prices there were more hefty than in the neighbouring shops.

The British Museum was next on my list, a place too big and full with artefacts to attempt in one day so I set about tackling the ground floor. Two hours later I was exhausted so made a note to come back one day and attempt the left wing of the second floor, and moved on. I'd read about the Serpentine Gallery in Hyde Park and decided to walk in that direction but was rather disappointed with the current display. Half the photographs were stuck to the walls with sticky-tape; I've progressed beyond sticky-tape when decorating walls so I really feel that galleries should too.

Monday I wound up at Victoria Bus Station where I bought a ticket to Cambridge. This sounds quite spur of the moment but it was always part of the plan.

I arrived in Cambridge just as the rain did and hid under my umbrella while it barrelled down causing the relocation of many ants. I was staying in Jesus College but as I knew only that it was within the town's borders I made for the tourist information centre to see what I could unearth. As a rule, tourist centres are the most useful places for the new kid in town, and it's where I go first, but like with everything else here, it was set up to relieve you of your money. Sixty pence later I had a map and vague directions to the college and a supermarket, where I stopped for dinner supplies. I also ducked into an Oxfam shop and came out with a Harry Potter – the rain had let up briefly but the weather looked rather dicey so it was likely I'd be staying in for the night and frankly Harry never fails to entertain.

Jesus College sits off Jesus Lane, behind a red brick wall of defence. I called in at the porter's lodge to collect my key and ducked in and out of two courtyards to my room. Just before going inside, the skies cleared of cloud and the sun threw a bewitching light on the grounds making me want to dump my stuff as quickly as possible to explore. In my haste I locked my keys inside so had to shuffle back to the lodge in hope that they had a spare.

By the time I'd done a circuit of the college the rain was back in fury so I retreated to my room and by morning was determined that what I needed was to live in a place like this, either that or in a Harry Potter-type school.

The weather was mostly agreeable in the sense that it declined to rain. Since I had no intention of parting with money to take a tour, I removed the route map from the 20-pound-per-person bus tour pamphlet and set out on foot.

Cambridge is a town full with bikes, to the point that there are signs everywhere warning cyclists that they may not park their bikes in that particular spot. Since bicycles don't tend to be put in the eye-sore category I can only deduce that when students are allowed to leave the bicycles in places they do so in such great numbers to obstruct access.

My favourite college is Trinity because they let me wander around the grounds for free, not on the grass mind you, but since everywhere else is charging an access fee I didn't mind sticking to the paths in the slightest. I delighted in doing so and took not one but three turns around the lawns.

Even the Botanical Gardens charged an entry fee of four pounds, money I refused to part with even though I trekked halfway around the earth to get there. I made my displeasure known, eyeing the information board with distaste, and shunning the ticket girl, and then decided to poke my head in people's front yards and view their flowers since I wouldn't have to hand over any money to do so.

This took me up till 4 when I boarded the train back to Lowestoft. My determination to be stingy mostly defeated by pesky little necessities like transport, food and reading material.

p.s. Only a week until I meet up with Ella!

p.p.s. I know this is late coming, and I've since met up with Ella so I have some adventures to share with you but it'll have to wait a week because we're heading up to the Scottish highlands where such things as wireless Internet don't reach.

xxx