Cambridge Saturdays

22nd October, 4.15 pm

Walking through the bustling town centre after another hard day at office on the badminton courts, I hear the pleasing notes a guitar. I look around but cannot locate the source. The corner of my eye catches something unusual - the far end of a guitar sticking out of a garbage can. The guitarist was testing the acoustic properties of a municipal issue garbabge can's interior. I sincerely hope he has had his cholera shots.

15th October, 3.45 pm

I step out of Thornton's disappointed that they don't sell ice-cream's in Winter. Though fate's vicious manoeuvres are quickly forgotten by the sight of a three-mammal band, one man and two dogs that is. The man must be sixty odd years old. He claims to be singer, song-writer and musician all rolled into one. His songs are set to a scottish rhythm, and he uses his feet to play the drums. The most unusual contribution is from the dogs. At the correct moment break into a chorus of three barks each. That is a satisfied man, and it is a peaceful picture.

8th October, 7.30 pm

I step out of The Mitre. I had stepped in to kill some time before the Ceilidh. The evenings are becoming darker. A youngish woman accosts me and asks about my well-being. Small talk ensues for about three minutes. She casually enquires if I would like to get together. I refuse gently, but she appears crestfallen. So, I offer to buy her a pacifier instead. My attempt at humour doesn't go down too well.