Looks like East Anglian weather these days is as moody as everyone who’s trying to catch up with their latest deadline on the eve of filing an annual report at work: I guess you know the feeling. It started quite cheerfullly, with warmth and sunny intermissions (whilst with a chilly breeze) yet ended up with pouring rain: after brunch in a newish Japanese cafe we listened to the bellringing at Great St Mary’s, anticipating the ceremony of switching on the Christmas lights in the late afternoon, but nope. First it was a drizzle, which quickly turned into a proper shower, and we decided to go home.

Despite the shitty forecast and doom and gloom of the upcoming winter of discontent (poor Shakespeare is rolling in his grave in despair as his descendants abuse his cherished lines so heavily), Cambridge never ceases to look lovely. As the havoc is continuing, we’ve been deprived of a traditional winter fair this year (second time in a row), but the Christmas market slowly but surely building itself up on the Market Square, where folks are walking in circles, sipping their hot chocolates with marshmallows (those abominations should be banned right after Marmite) and, of course, mulled wine has been produced just out of the November air.