Here are my sport-inflected welfare bonne-bouches from Easter Term ‘24, as first seen by the readers of my weekly email among the Cambridge University Hare and Hounds. I have separated the wisdom into cantos for readerly accessibility. I hope they provide, if not wellbeing wisdom, then mild divertissement.
Official welfare playlist available here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0IE8Qxc0xsMF0xPCPKyQoF?si=MgCEedXhTNuQ6wo58EPS7Q&pi=e-Qsh0j2oTSI62
Canto 1:
Welfare intro, by way of an appalling limerick:
There is a Harey called Bea
Music taste pretentious, even extreme
She likes to run,
And to have fun –
Which means Smiths karaoke.
Would quite like to be a farmer,
Loves a pub quiz and a BBC drama,
Celeb crush is Schubert,
First aider too, so don’t get hurt!
Your welfare reps – we hope we’ve charmed yer.
Bea’s Welfare Advice
A brief advice column today, written as far as is humanly and ethically possible in Meatloaf quotes.
In order that we can enjoy hot summer nights on and off the track, it’s crucial that we don’t hit the imminent highway like a battering ram. Yes, the metal is hot and the engine is hungry from a gruelling and exciting term, but downtime is vital, and that includes a little training pitstop in whatever way best suits you. And I gotta let you know, no you’re never gonna regret it: You got to do what you can, to rest as best as you can, and let Mother Nature do the rest. It’ll never feel so good, it’ll never feel so right!
I gave myself a week of easy running and riding, and although the unaccustomed rest can make one feel a bit revved up with no place to go and stranded in the middle of nowhere, you’ve got to remember we’ve still got a tankful of time until races kick off, and it’s a long season.
Even if you’ve pulled off a miracle and feel super great after a busy Lent, don’t give up on the higher thing, and ease off even if just for the sake of keeping your motivation levels stable, or to change up the routine a bit. Then you can go back to feeling that you weren’t built for comfort, but for speed; back to going out on the prowl down by the edge of the track; back to racing around Eddington like the leader of a pack; back to giving off sparks; back to making the canyons rock, etc etc… (Meatloaf has ample lyrical material on that sort of thing, far less in terms of advice on resting; I clearly didn’t think this combo through particularly sagaciously).
So let’s please try to refrain from tearing up the road faster than any one has ever gone, let’s take a vow and seal the pact to have a brief interlude from intense training, and rest up a bit. That way we can prevent it all turning to dust and all falling down; we’ve got everything to gain so we mustn’t lose it all before it’s even begun.
Song of the week:
Is It Really So Strange? – The Smiths. a) a great song, b) fulfils the 1980s Manchester promise of Poppy’s email, and c) addresses the eternal question of running lore: ‘Why is the last mile the hardest mile?’, albeit unable to provide an answer.
Word of the week:
Tantivy – a rapid gallop or ride; as in, ‘I’ll be going for a brisk tantivy today, leaving SJP @ 5pm iaiktj’.
Photo of the week:
My rabbit (whose main name is Josie) exemplifying the rest and recovery strategies we mentioned above, albeit in a far more articulate and concise manner:
Canto 2:
Bea’s Welfare Advice
Twenty One Pilots wrote a cool ‘Ode To Sleep’, a great wattbike song, but the lyrics thereof aren’t really in the spirit of things. Similarly, The Smiths’s ‘Asleep’ is a hauntingly beautiful song, but again, far too angsty for this advice column, so we must sweep away these cathartic works of art in favour of some good old pragmatism. Let us instead consider the melancholy serenity of The Beatles’s (or, indeed Elbow’s cover of) Golden Slumbers, as we draw the curtains, plump the pillows, hail Morpheus, and set our somnolent scene.
As the Medics, Vets, Natscis (I assume – your course seems to include the entire global history of human knowledge), and fans of the BBC’s favourite Dr Matthew Walker among us know, sleep is crucial. Not because it saves us energy, but because it maintains our physical and cognitive abilities.
17 hours of solid wakefulness leads to a drop in cognitive ability equivalent to drinking two glasses of wine – a phenomenon that explains the Wood Family’s rather outlandish, hallucinogenic swing by Parma, Italy in 2021: activities included going for a 3am run, playing manhunt in the confines of one singular hedgerow, pacing the same 40m stretch of walkway, and trying to sleep on a brick wall.
The non-REM (involving light, true and deep sleep) and REM (sets of 70-90 minutes of brain activity during sleep) science is all worthy stuff, but a bit redundant to the actual sleeper. The main message we want to convey here is essentially one of common sense: to use the holidays as best as possible to catch up on sleep, but to try and maintain a vaguely viable, sociable and sustainable sleep schedule – and to try and resolve not to abandon that aforementioned schedule upon returning to Cambridge.
An important thing to consider is to resist comparison to others – a python enjoys a whopping 18 hours of sleep a day; although if said python is anything like Kaa in The Jungle Book, this is perhaps a tactic more akin to crocodile tears than anything else – designed to deceive and swindle unsuspecting victims.
By contrast, the giraffe requires a measly 1.9 hours of sleep a day. Let us thus take a leaf from the animal kingdom’s book (but not a real leaf please, let’s not hasten on Doomsday), and go forth – pythons and giraffes side by side, singing hup 2, 3, 4, keep it up, 2, 3, 4. Sleep after all, is one of the bare necessities of life, just trusssst in me.
The rest we know, but I’ll reiterate briefly: trying to remove electronic devices from the room, and keeping it dark, quiet and a comfortable temperature are all productive methods to ameliorate the sleeping process.
Finally, I shall leave you with a fun sleeping fact: in 1965, Randy Gardner set the world record for sleeplessness – 11 days, 4 days into which he began hallucinating, believing himself a famous footballer.
So with that my dear pythons and giraffes, let us take one final animal’s advice – The Beatles’s, and take our time, stay in bed, float upstream, and don’t worry about everyone runnin' everywhere at such a speed, 'til they find there's no need. Although actually, over here at Welfare, we can vouch for the great benefits of runnin’ everywhere at such a speed as suits you.
Song of the week:
Mendelssohn’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream – actually this is a whole symphony, not a song. But it’s wonderful. And he was 17 when he wrote it, so mega kudos to my guy Felix.
Word of the week:
Verblendungszusammenhang – a wonderful German word meaning ‘total system of delusion’, though hopefully one that will never need to apply to my Welfare emails. I throw down my glove on the field of honour, and challenge you to get that in a strava caption.
Canto 3:
Bea’s Welfare Advice
I have been spending this week editing my diss, so the fourteenth century English verse work Sir Gawain and the Green Knight has been on the mind. It is in this spirit that I intend to impart some welfare wisdom about appreciating the great outdoors™ – and how our mediaeval ancestors exhibit surprising degrees of environmental admiration.
For those unacquainted with this Old English tale of sorcery and seduction, it’s pretty much an extended hallucination. King Arthur of Camelot is holding a feast when a green man barges in and demands someone chop off his head, promising that in a year he will return the favour. So plucky Gawain jumps up, thinking “well no problemo, clearly G hasn’t read the t’s and c’s bc this is sounding like an easy dub”.
However. The green man somehow survives, picks up his head, stonks off, and that’s it. But NOT for long – as Bob Hale would enthusiastically yelp. A year whirls by and poor old Gawain has to go on a voyage to seek out the green man and receive his retribution; but fear not, I won’t spoil the rest, because I’ve sold it so well I can literally hear your fingers tapping away on Gutenberg, desperate to delve into what I can promise is a rip-roaring read.
The dissenters among you are piping up, and I hear you. No, this doesn’t currently sound like it will smoothly translate into welfare advice, and yes, perhaps this is the interior monologue of an over-caffeinated, under-socialised drowning diss writer gone rogue, BUT there are some specks of wisdom in the poem! And I am going to outline them now, here. These are the nature-related welfare teachings of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.
‘Forþi þis Ȝol ouerȝede, and þe ȝere after,/ And vche sesoun serlepes sued after oþer’ = this is a beautiful alliterative sentence which demonstrates the poet’s absolute faith in nature’s unwavering capacity for regeneration. As we slide into spring, it can be nice to embrace our inner Romantic poet, and just marvel at the stunning greens, golds, blues and pinks which flower and blossom around us. The airy clouds floating quietly across the sky, the rustling leaves, the jewel-like flowers peeping out from shrubbery, etc etc ad nauseam. Nature is the only element with the power to come back from the dead – it’s pretty miraculous, and we are granted the absolute joy of being able to witness it every single year! Admittedly, the same can be said for BBC Sherlock, or really any series, film or documentary existent on a streaming platform - but my point still stands.
‘Wela wynne is þe wort þat waxes þeroute,/ When þe donkande dewe dropez of þe leuez,/ To bide a blysful blusch of þe bryȝt sunne’ = how lovely and quaint that little Gawain, he who is travelling to his ominous fate, still takes the time to appreciate the tiny dew-studded plant which sits patiently waiting for the sun’s ‘blushing rays’. If he can compartmentalise like this, we can too!
‘With roȝe raged mosse rayled aywhere,/ With mony bryddez vnblyþe vpon bare twyges,/ Þat pitosly þer piped for pyne of þe colde’ = the natural world is not all sun and roses though, as us XC runners are all too aware. Here we have plaintive birds, singing just to keep warm, rough moss, freezing streams, mountains and icicles. At this point Gawain is in a pretty bad way; BUT he is able to see his plight echoed in the nature which is all around him, a source of power and comfort, if not exactly physically palliative.
So what exactly am I trying to say by this? Well, I am absolutely not going to Goop you and waffle about wellness, feeling grounded, rooted and present – after all, I am vehemently team Chris Martin. But the real welfare takeaway here is to get outside for more than just running purposes; listen to Earth Song or Im Frühling, hear David Attenborough’s dulcet tones, work outside, breathe in that nice clean air, enjoy the greens and (hopefully) blues as the weather starts to improve, and try to understand why our rich global heritage of literature, music, art, philosophy and humankind has been so obsessed with nature for so long, because there must be something in it, innit. A happy hakuna matata to you all.
Song of the week:
Everybody’s on the Run – Noel Gallagher. I will maintain through thick and thin and obnoxiousness aside, he is a great songwriter. Did you know I saw him live with Johnny Marr… Noel way! What a lucky gal-lagher; two Manchester musical marr-sterminds in one afternoon!
Word of the week:
Paludal – living or occurring in a marshy habitat. As in, most cross country runners.
Extra word of the week, suggested by Dubes: Bucolic – relating to the pleasant aspects of the countryside or country life. As in, that with which today’s welfare advice column deals.
Canto 4:
Bea’s Welfare Advice
As we head into a brave new term, especially an academically hefty one, it is going to be super important not to contract knockout illnesses or bugs, which can really set one back and scupper up that beautifully colour-coded revision schedule. So here are a few brief tips on staying as healthy as possible as we re-enter, or feel the populus influx into, the Cambridge bubble. POD’s magic hat – one of the more memorable acrostic mnemonics of recent human invention for you to enjoy here.
Pace yourself in academic work and running: do not
Overload yourself and risk burnout.
D’rink plenty, 6-8 glasses/cups per day
Supplements – Vit C/D/Iron as you wish, but do seek specific advice from a medical pro!
Move! We all do as runners, but even just a quick stretch in between big desk shifts will reinvigorate you and keep the blood flowing
Ample food – refuel within 30 mins of a run or session, with a snack or meal constituting a 3:1 ratio of carbs to protein
Greens – fruit and veg, it’s not just fodder!
Include socialising in your schedule – it mustn’t be overlooked; on that note, welfare social info is pending
Cleanliness and hygiene: hand gel is your friend
High fibre foods and starchy carbs, eg bread, cereals, potatoes, rice, pasta
Ask friends, tutors, families, fellow hareys, nature, 1980s Manchester music, your poetic muse (etc) for help or advice if you’re struggling.
Take rest, recovery and down time – listen to your body and mind.
Song of the week:
Heaven – Mitski. ‘Something set free is running through the night’ apparently – looks like a chasing pack of our very own luminous Eddington attendees to me.
Word of the week:
Hebdomadal – weekly. As in, a) the long run, b) tea run, c) the captain’s email, d) the possibility of an occurrence which sees me staying out past 9 pm.
Photo of the week:
A very sun-kissed and regal-looking bunce, kindly submitted by Niamh T. Cue Zadok the Priest for a fitting fanfaronade.
Canto 5:
Sending you week 1 well wishes! Just a couple of early exam term tips for you all here in this email. Don’t do a Wordsworth in Tintern Abbey and perform a subdued retreat into antisocial, poetic interiority in the face of academic hardship – pace yourself, keep fuelling and let yourself relax. You don’t need to be hitting the highway like a proverbial battering ram 24/7/52/365/ ad nauseam.
Bea’s Welfare advice:
Keep plugging away wherever you are folks; exam term can be a bit fraught but we will be rewarded with a frenzied two weeks of delirium, all-nighters and fever dreams once it’s all over, so hang in there.
This is the term when the imposter syndrome can hit hardest so STAY GROUNDED. You will hear people discussing the fourteen hour shift they just spent glued to UL bookshelves. You will see people’s glossy, highlighted sheets and folders and compare them to your own ink-sodden, stringy rags of school exercise books. You will hear someone in hall erupting into spontaneous periodic table recitation. You will enter your college library, and then exit it twenty minutes later looking like a victim of the Careers in the Quarter Quell. You will have rigorous academic discipline shoved into every corner of your world view for the next 6 weeks.
But do not let it vex you. Hard work is about the aggregation of marginal gains, not just about pure hours spent sitting in front of a laptop. All our degrees are different, but more importantly, all our working ways are different: some of us only need 1 or 2 hours a day to consolidate topics, whereas others will opt for a more intimate relationship with the library. Don’t let the dundridges drag you down, stick to your guns; you know which techniques work for you, and it’s still very early days to be sweating away.
Try not to compare yourself too fiercely to others, take some days off, and enjoy spending time with your friends: life is too short not to. And remember, for every morning you feel you wasted, for every study session you accidentally let slip into procrastination – those same nebulous, deeply feared and yet non-existent 'proper Cambridge student' people you’re worried about will be doing the exact same thing, just in different ways, on different days!
Song of the week:
Streets of Philadelphia – Bruce Springsteen. We know the feeling of ‘legs feeling like stone’ all too well.
Bonus song of the week, suggested by Hywel: 100 Days, 100 Nights by Sharon Jones & The Dap-Kings – because we are roughly 100 days out from the Olympics! Ich bin stoked!
Word of the week:
Acnestis – the area between your shoulder blades which is out of reach. Let us all strive for our metaphorical acnestes this track season, whatever they may be, from lofty running goals and academic ambitions to little daily wins and Poole dubs.
Photo of the week:
Our kid a-nesting because she thinks she is pregnant (courtesy of the Wood babes gc). Alas, Tonio Kröger Wood is neutered, so no dice Josie. She has been more recently re-dubbed Mr Darcy, following the aforementioned family P&P rewatch, and she captures his moody nonchalance and brooding stares in a way Macfadyen simply could not.
Canto 6:
Bea’s Welfare Advice
Today I bring you a mere – but age-old – reminder to listen to your body; I had to exercise this very wisdom just this Saturday hence when I’d planned to race BUCS, but was sadly wrong-footed (for the full pun, please do refer to my strava). It is always mightily frustrating, infuriating and disappointing to have to take the back foot, especially in a sport like running which is so high risk:reward, but it was in this case, quite clearly the right, wise, and apt decision.
The essence of my advice is pretty much to try to pit sense and sensibility above more immediate rewards – within the scope of reason. If you’re in pain, or feeling really drained/ washed/ fatigued/ extra-DOMSy, switch up the run for some cross-training, or just take a rest. It is rarely worth pushing through feelings of actual illness and injury, and longevity is the sweet nectar and holy grail of endurance sport!
A wise friend once told me that the body is a treacherous friend – and this is a pertinent maxim which we can adopt as a guide on our voyage to welfare Elysian Fields. Especially during exams we need to look out for ourselves and others!
Obviously running is a sport which will make you tired, but keeping things varied and in perspective will be the safest route to ease of mind. You don’t need to be scoring a 4.0 every single session; it’s all hay in the barn, diamonds in the mine, scales on the fish, grains in the Pret grain bowl, stripes on the breton marinière and wind in the willows. So, please do reach out if you’re struggling with anything, and in return keep checking up on those around you.
Song of the week:
The Tourist – Radiohead. Because, when ‘they ask you where the hell you’re going at a thousand feet per second’, it can be important to ‘slow down, slow down’ and take it easy for a bit…
Word of the week:
Exulansis – the tendency to give up trying to talk about an experience because people are unable to relate to it. As in, when splits, beetroot juice, vaporflys, short shorts, strava and Harey chat meet non-running friends.
Photo of the week:
Three members of Chesterton the Besterton sporting their free t-shirts, courtesy of the esteemed Lucy Cavendish Running Club (aka the Lucy Cavendish FLAMES #UTFC) – presided over by the right honourable yours truly. I have recently added a Latin motto to our rich nexus of perks: it runs as follows: ‘Luciani de mundo, surgite e compedibus vestris. Ardentes calles gloriae Currimus’.
Canto 7:
Bea’s Welfare Advice
Okey-dokey, another week rolls around and here I am (running up the 7th floor, knocking the 11th door, yeahh banger), with a mind full of D. H. Lawrence, Wattbike stats, Lido brain-freeze, a new JGreen Lido swimming hat (huzzah for the fluorescent pink!) and not much else. It is in this spirit that I’ll keep it short and snappy, unlike this week’s gargantuan quest of subsuming my very skeleton with T. S. Eliot’s poetry.
So, as glossed over there, I re-read a Lawrence novel this week, The Rainbow - a brilliant book, but perhaps not advisable to plug away at with nothing but a soundtrack of Beethoven symphonies to accompany such a solitary pursuit. Natheless, I enjoyed it greatly; I mean, get a whiff of this!
The dim blue-and-gold of a hot, sweet autumn saw the close of the corn-harvest. To Ursula, it was as if the world had opened its softest purest flower, its chicory flower, its meadow saffron. The sky was blue and sweet, the yellow leaves down the lane seemed like free, wandering flowers as they chittered round the feet, making a keen, poignant, almost unbearable music to her heart. And the scents of autumn were like a summer madness to her. She fled away from the little, purple-red button-chrysanthemums like a frightened dryad, the bright yellow little chrysanthemums smelled so strong, her feet seemed to dither in a drunken dance.
*
The light grew stronger, gushing up against the dark sapphire of the transparent night. The light grew stronger, whiter, then over it hovered a flush of rose. A flush of rose, and then yellow, pale, new-created yellow, the whole quivering and poising momentarily over the fountain on the sky’s rim.
The rose hovered and quivered, burned, fused to flame, to a transient red, while the yellow urged out in great waves, thrown from the ever-increasing fountain, great waves of yellow flinging into the sky, scattering its spray over the darkness, which became bluer and bluer, paler, till soon it would itself be a radiance, which had been darkness.
I mean, wowee - absolutely sublime, beautiful prose. BUT. I found the whole process of such intense reading really quite draining, and so instead of being a silly goose and sticking myself to the library seats for a hefty push on Saturday, I had a lie-in, did a bit of chill work and called it quits for the day.
So essentially via this rainbow anecdote, I bring you a reminder that if you are just yawning away and the work is dribbling on lethargically/ you’re just generally mooching around unproductively… a REST will help. Indeed, I woke up fresh and blythe on Sunday, and was far more productive and well-recovered than if I’d attempted to traverse a lofty, Sisyphean academic clime the day prior. Welfare takes precedence over work, just as my brother informed me that clan war takes precedence over GCSE Physics paper 2 (right?). Yes, time is of the essence, but #smarternotharder is the credo to stick to.
Song of the week:
Implicit Demand for Proof – Twenty One Pilots. Very cool, Brechtian sound world here. I’m sure that when our non-running friends laugh at our Harey lingo, they ‘mean no disrespect, [but are] simply very perplexed by our ways’.
Word of the week:
Descry – to catch sight of. As in, ‘I can descry a harey from a mile off’.
Photo of the week:
Yes, it’s the rabbits again: Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley, enjoying their little canoodling sesh at Netherfield. Tonio and Josie are faring well I am told, reminding us that connection and affection are crucial aspects of humanity – and indeed, as the right honourable Mr Corrigan memorably said ‘I suppose that’s what I want to ask you today, if anything: where is the humanity?’ Let’s keep distributing that good old fashioned humanity (checking up on others and yourself); we don’t want to neglect it in the hurly-burly of exams!
Canto 8:
Bea’s Welfare Advice
I have been having quite a few conversations this week with friends about the glories of the 2012 Olympics – and generally the more jocund, amiable days of lore, when the country and world were in better array (or at least so our childhood selves believed). Now obviously there is a degree of aureate retrospection and rose-tinted profusion going on here; but the general takeaway of our fond memorialisation of the past is that yesteryears were sunnier and funnier.
They were the glorious days of the big three at Wimbledon, of GB’s incredible cycling domination, of Brad Wiggins, of Vicky P, of Super Saturday, of the diamond jubilee (if you’re into that sort of thing), of the gangnam style, of the first Hunger Games film’s release, of Obama’s re-election, of Mr Bean playing Chariots of Fire, of Dave Brailsford’s ‘marginal gains’, of Daniel Craig’s scene with the Queen, of the announcement of more Star Wars films, of the end (get IN!) of the Twilight Saga.
And, amidst all our ‘wow, no way was that 2012’-ing, not a single person mentioned SATS (or equivalent pedagogical metrics), school-work or academic discipline. Now this may seem a stretch. And indeed, perhaps it is – it’s about as best as I can muster for you today. But the prevailing message is quite striking: when forced to recall, I do remember receiving quite lengthy spiels on the importance of SATS, the 11+, secondary school options and whatnot.
But what abides of the year 2012 is its joyful exuberance, its innocent caperings, my first foray into athletics, cricket matches, playgrounds, beach trips, Coldplay’s ‘Paradise’ and lots of Victoria sponge.
THAT is what I – and everyone I have spoken to – remembers. It’s the nice stuff that has lasted. And although in other areas of life it can be the measly things that you remember – the bad race, the cold baths, the awkward social blunders, the broken headphones, the snarky comments, the weak cups of tea, the death stares, the stubbed toes and the mistakes – a remembrance of the bad need not preclude one of the good.
So what I am trying to communicate here, in quintessentially (and, indeed, essentially) verbose form, is that what you will likely remember of Cambridge will be the joyful days, the fun, the balls, the friends. And if that feels unlikely now then have faith that it will! Exams do not define your time here; it’s the connections and experiences, outside of the exam hall, that do.
Keep working hard, keep in balance, and look forward to filling your summer with some of the joy of former days of glory. As Wordsworth, ever the sagacious bard, aptly said, although we perhaps cannot enjoy the same entirely stress-free, naive, childish ‘glad animal movements’, ‘aching joys’ and ‘dizzy raptures’ of youth, ‘other gifts have followed’: amidst the ‘still, sad music of humanity’ our job is to forge for ourselves and others a ‘cheerful faith’ in the fact ‘that all that which we behold is full of blessings’.
Song of the week:
Survival – Muse. One of the most hysterical, bombastic songs ever written, but magnificent. A live performance thereof, featured, quite rightly, in the 2012 Opening Ceremony. Something I will be doing post-exams is a rewatch of THAT Opening Ceremony documentary – you know, the one with the narrator with the lovely mellifluous voice – wonderful, prime 2012 golden days stuff. Simply a better era wasn’t it…
Word of the week:
Auriferous – bearing or yielding gold. As in, our impressive streak of Varsity runs this week.
Photo of the week:
I apologise in advance, because I took this picture whilst descending Dante’s various rings of infernal damnation – but, ngl, Oxford kinda slayed. AND this little passageway – although obviously incomparable to our Senate House Passage – struck a particular chord in me, a fallibility upon which my companion seized, knowing all too well the legend would fill me with glee. On the left hand side, if you look closely, you can see two carved satyrs, or fauns, and in the centre is a lamppost; and it is said that this provided C S Lewis with the visual inspiration for Narnia’s portal – in the shape of Mr Tumnus and, well, the lamppost.
Canto 9:
Well done to everyone who has finished their exams, and good luck to those still toiling away. You are all STARS; enjoy (or in a few days, enjoy) the happy freedom as you unclip your academic harness and abseil down the slope into summer!
Bea’s Welfare Advice
As I mentioned in my intro, you are all stars. In keeping with this evocation of shimmering, lambent, eventide light, I enclose a poem by Robert Frost - ‘Fireflies in the Garden’. To me, this is a lovely vignette of those flickering summer evenings (pending, pending), and I like it very much. You may not. And that is also ok.
Consider it either a) a little humanities-inflected welfare-running revision-break, b) an aid in the fundamental cultivation of poetic sensibility, c) a linguistic present from me to you, d) a pretty moment of respite from post-exam revelry, or e) simply some waffle to ignore.
Fireflies in the Garden
BY ROBERT FROST
Here come real stars to fill the upper skies,
And here on earth come emulating flies,
That though they never equal stars in size,
(And they were never really stars at heart)
Achieve at times a very star-like start.
Only, of course, they can't sustain the part.
Song of the week:
Våren – Edvard Grieg. Literally means ‘last spring’, and is a stunning piece, sounds oddly nostalgic and always makes me think of our beautiful, flowery Cambridge colleges in spring and summer time. Now picture that with a kodak straw boater hat, a punt and a collection of Keats, and we’re getting close to paradise.
Word of the week:
Howff – an old Scots word for a favourite meeting place or haunt. Goes without saying, it’s a toss-up between SJP, Churchill, West Cam or Eddington for most of us. Like and comment to cast your vote.
Photo of the week:
SWood and SWood^2 channelling their inner Adonis/ Pan/ Apollo/ Dionysus/ unidentified cherubim at Anglesey Abbey - because, actually Miranda, life membership to the National Trust is simply a sine qua non of fundamental human experience. English Heritage can wholeheartedly get in the bin. And I say that as a #topfan and denizen of Stonehenge, so believe me when I say I’m an authority on this matter, and only this matter.
I can’t promise much in life, but I can promise you three M’s, available here in the near to distant future: a Michaelmas compilation of welfare pearls, more linguistic dross, and magniloquence. Goodbye and goodnight.
Comments