Getting lost on the way to Ely

Being a record of our journey to Ely last week.

Started by checking whether my DART account was alive and well, which it was, although I failed in my effort to check whether the automatic top up was connected to my current credit card. Sent off an enquiry through the contact form.

On the day, sailed through the tunnel without a problem but nearly got lost on exit from the M25 and nearly got lost again while getting into the service area at Birchanger Green Services, a trick repeated a few days later on our return journey, as noticed at reference 1. The loss of exit from the M25 was the result of the motorway management team attempting to separate out the M11 north from the M11 south traffic well before the junction, which meant that I found it easy to be in the wrong lane at the wrong time. There is a similar problem with the exit from the M3 onto the M25, on the other side of London, but I am getting more used to that one.

We then thought we might go to the giant Waitrose at Trumpington, but found ourselves in the giant click-and-collect depot next door instead. But at least there were comfort break facilities, so we parked up next to the blue boxes snapped above, seemingly left luggage lockers for bicycles, although we did not see anyone actually using one. Perhaps another of those rather too clever road management wheezes that the people at Cambridge like to come up with from time to time.

We did eventually make it to the Waitrose proper, but there we could find no space in the car park and moved onto towards Granchester - the place where the ITV3 unwatched-by-us detective drama of that name is set - to find ourselves in the church at next door Trumpington, a church which seemed very large for its village. The church of St. Mary and St. Michael.

It also seemed old, cold, damp and in rather good condition for a church of its apparent age. Perhaps the Victorians did a careful restoration.

The star attraction was a brass of a knight in armour, one Sir Roger de Trumpington, who died towards the end of the 13th century, that is to say in the second half of the reign of Edward I. Seemingly the second oldest such brass in the country, and given its raised position, in very good condition, although one would not have known that from looking.

The view from the rather rickety wooden stairs up to the organ.

We chickened out of giving the bell pull a pull, in the absence of a trusty to give us cover. So no repeat of the life-time-first noticed at reference 2.

Picnic'd on a bench in the new graveyard round the back. A grave yard with policy as all the grave stones were much the same size, that is to say about half the regular size of 100 years ago. The large red house might have once been the vicarage, but we thought probably not. A bit too grand, even for a rich parish of old.

Abandoned Granchester and drove through Cambridge instead. Lots of pretty autumn leaves and lots of old memories stirred.

A second pit-stop at Emmaus on the A10, a little north of Cambridge, a place we had known of old as a place which took in white goods for refurbishment and recycling, but did not know much about it otherwise. It turned out to be quite a large operation, including a lot of what looked like fairly new, single storey residential blocks and a large shed beyond given over to second hand furniture and other stuff. The point being to provide support and haven for the homeless - of which there have always seemed to have been a lot in Cambridge - for what, after all, is not a very big town. There was also a rather good café which sold me a rather good cake, a sort of flat version of a Chelsea bun (or perhaps a Bath bun), with the fruit, but without the goo. See reference 3.

Echoes of the Camphill operation which we visit in Devon, with such echo being that the staff at Emmaus are called companions, while those at Camphill are called co-workers. A worthy attempt to keep barriers down between the staff and their customers, some of whom are going to be both fragile and prickly.

And so onto Travelodge, already reported on at reference 4.

Walked into town to dine at the Lamb, where we were given a menu in the form of a piece of double sided A3 card, an increasingly common format, possibly invented by Wetherspoons. Picpoul to drink, Ham Hock to eat - and they managed to put the gravy in a jug, gravy which is otherwise, to my mind, rather apt to spoil the dish. As it was, both Picpoul and Ham good. Finished off with something described as Bakewell tart - and they managed the same trick again, putting the cream in a jug for me. Service good.

Rather overweight chap trying to impress his lady with a lot of fancy wine chatter a couple of tables to my right. Hopefully it served.

All very satisfactory.

Home to check my DART account again, to find that it had managed to deduct the £2 or so without any fuss or problem. And so to sleep.

Reference 1: https://psmv4.blogspot.com/2018/11/life-on-m11.html.

Reference 2: https://psmv3.blogspot.com/2018/10/portland.html.

Reference 3: https://www.emmaus.org.uk/cambridge.

Reference 4: https://psmv4.blogspot.com/2018/11/travelodge.html.

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