The fens are pretty at this time of year, very green, with plenty of cows and water birds. Ely Cathedral and environs are especially noteworthy on the Cambridge run.
At Ely, too, there was a minute's silence because of the Manchester bombing.
When I arrived in Cambridge, the weather was still very fine and I saw lots of Labour and Lib dem banners in people's gardens. This is a refreshing change from Lincolnshire's unremitting conservatism, but Cambridge is a bit of a bubble.
When I arrived, Kari told me that Labour had suspended campaigning because of Manchester and anyway, she had a cold. We had a good long chat about politics and the science fiction scene. This was morale boosting for both of us. I've been feeling very depressed and powerless lately, and it's just good to catch up with someone who is on the same wavelength.
Later that afternoon, Liz Williams and Trevor arrived from Glastonbury. Our simultaneous visit was pretty much a coincidence, and a pleasant surprise. I know Liz from Brighton, and we rarely see each other these days. Trevor I have got to know via the Milford writer's conferences, which Liz helps run. She normally brings Trevor and several dogs along to the conference, including the infamous postmodern artist Lilypup.
Liz competed her doctorate at Cambridge a while back, and was there for Friday night's annual dinner. Trevor, who has membership number 12 at CAMRA, just wanted to go the beer festival.
So we went to the beer festival, queued and got mildly pissed on good quality booze. This was fun and I bought a cowboy hat for professional reasons.
We also met up with some more friends of Liz, Trevor and Kari, and I got chatting to a pair of guys, one of whom was doing a doctorate in wheat and the other who did programming for a special effects company. Cambridge is a bit like this. It's a hub for interesting (and frighteningly clever) people.
Later, we had the compulsory curry and Kari's partner also joined us.
The next day, not feeling too rough, we continued chats about life in Glastonbury, etc. Liz and Trevor are big on the pagan /occult scene there and run a witchcraft supply shop, a little like the one in Buffy.
This has resulted in the hilarious Diary of a Witchcraft Shop. I'm currently midway through volume two which has various anecdotes about witty/psychotic/delusional employees and witty/psychotic/delusional customers, as well as stories about the town and their interesting life there.
Partly inspired by this, I'm planning to make this blog less of a lecture and more of a diary. Although my life is generally less eventful than Liz and Trevor's sounds, it will be more fun for me and the wild Hebridean and his goat who form my readership. (I'm especially grateful to the goat!)
Monday, 29 May 2017
Tuesday, 9 May 2017
King's LynnFlying, for me, is an almost shamanic experience. My occasional flights on commercial airliners have often brought home to me the tiny scale of our globe. In 2014, for example, I flew from England to Egypt, via the Mediterranean. The experience of flying over the vast patchwork of continental Europe, the Alps, the Albanian and Greek coasts, and the Greek Islands triggered a shift to a wider consciousness. I fully understand, then, why so many astronauts experience what Frank White terms an 'overview effect,' or cognitive shift in awareness that comes from seeing the whole Earth in space.
This April, I was lucky enough to be taken up in a Cessna for a more modest flight, by a friend who's just received his pilot's license. The flight was from Rutland to Norfolk, but it was enough to get the same sense of this shift in consciousness. I hope that the accompanying photographs are enough to convey some of the wonder of the experience.
Our flight path was over Spalding, Wisbech, King's Lynn and the Norfolk coast, to Wells-Next-the-Sea. Wells was once the home of my Grandparents, and very familiar to me from childhood holidays. It's a different experience from the Air.
The Norfolk beaches are wide, and fringed by mudflats that have many arterial river channels carved in them, and they go on for miles.
Viewing the Holkham estate from the air was also a novel experience, very different from the beach and pinewood rambles of my childhood. Afterwards, we followed the Norfolk coast, over the wildlife reserves and past the RAF bombing range over the North Sea.
Wells channel showing the caravan park,
pinewoods and beach.
The Lifeboat station at Wells
Mud flats and meanders
Flight is a nice example of what philosopher Mario Costa called the 'technological sublime.' Suddenly, you're working on a larger scale, as the houses, fields, woods, streets, towns and roads below dwindle in scale and individual people become almost invisible. Because of your increased speed, the cars and trucks on the roads crawl along at a much slower pace, almost as if you're on a relativistic flight.
It's so easy, living inland in England, to forget that you're living on a tiny island in the Atlantic. I think that the wider value of flight is to remind us, subtly, of the larger background on which our little lives play out, of which we are still largely unconscious.