Ely: Norwegian Trouser Folding, Fosilised Otters and Peruvian Nose Twangers

Ely - a small city to the north of Cambridge - is actually a huge fragment of intergalactic debris. Apparently it was somehow dislodged from the host planet by the cosmic perambulations of the slug-like Oglanaut Foozlepoop. The etymology of the name is disputed, (Ely that is, not Foozlepoop) but it has often been referenced by astronomers and sci—fi glossaries as originating from the word Elisied (pronounced Ee-liss-eyed) meaning rejected or excreted.  In fact even the venerable Bede in his Historia ecclesiastica gentis Anglorum, spelt it “Elge,” which derives from the Anglo Saxon for ‘bilge.’ However, despite the city actually being the result of some cosmic blunder, it represents a frighteningly innovative form of intergalactic fusing. It all began with the construction of the Pallaca Medulus in 673, which cunningly masqueraded as an Abby for many years. This construct, instead of being some medieval place of devotional worship, was actually a portal or conduit for an interstellar breading programme to populate the whole of East Anglia. It is also thought that a futuristic cloning system was also initiated to create a new form of cultural-sub-human entity to populate the Fenland areas and Peterborough. However, Crow-land Man has never actually been scientifically verified.

         It is a well-guarded secret that the inhabitants of Ely are in fact androgynous and amphibious in nature. Anthropologists now believe that the current townsfolk have evolved from the original fish-like creatures that slithered forth from the intergalactic splodge. Also, coincidentally, one of the sources for the city’s name is actually ēlġē, which is old Northumbrian for basket of Eels. In fact many believe that all these fishy, cultural resonances explain why Ely has now become conjoined or twinned with Ribe* - a Danish town famous for sardines, leather shorts and various types of suspicious-looking custards.  It is thought that the Danes are naturally drawn to the piscine linage of the townsfolk; also their itinerant, Viking heritage ensures a deeper, psychological connection with the culturally displaced.

      As communication technologies between solar systems advanced, it was eventually deemed necessary to destroy the aforementioned Abby (or conduit) in order to erect a new and significantly more menacing cosmic orifice. Subsequently the Abby was destroyed by the Danes in 870 and the current Cathedral was erected in its place.  However, the building’s construction was actually halted during the Reformation, due to an enormous piece of sausage-like iconography found buried beneath the old transcript. The aforementioned relic was believed to be some form of demonic manifestation, but in fact turned out to be a fossilised otter. This revelation, however, didn’t prevent industrial strikes from the overtly superstitious lute tuners and wangle weavers causing cultural grid-lock. However, interestingly, the Tudor records for the area present an alternative reason for the delay in the construction of the Cathedral. Apparently, a confluence of several rivers including Witham, Welland, Nene and Great Ouse culminated in a deluge of crayfish, which then subsequently began to nip and pinch indiscriminately at the workmen’s trussocks. This prompted an urgent draining of the Fens until the crustaceous hoards were sent packing. Nevertheless, the Cathedral stood as a work-in-progress until its completion in 1845.

       The Cathedral now stands innocuously like a huge Cornish pasty on the village green, but nightly emits powerful brain-munching uber rays. As a result,  numerous strange and mysterious goings on have been reported over the years including soul- shifting, necromancy, Norwegian trouser folding, and rituals involving livestock, Angora Sweaters and Peruvian nose twangers. The great Pink Floyd tried to warn the inhabitants of the adjacent towns and villages by placing the Cathedral on the cover of their The Division Bell album as a tiny morsel being consumed by the machinations of misrule. 

        Despite the brain-munching uber-rays, there are many activities to engage the casual traveller or passer-by. These include a local fair that stretches for seven days and comprise all sorts of activities from face-painting, baby-eating to the sale of local produce.  There is also the Eel Day carnival procession which involves lots of people dressing up as large fish and shouting “wibbit!” in feigned Scandinavian accents. And if one’s appetite is not stimulated by this, there is always the folk festival with lots of men in goatees with blunt spoons warbling about love unrequited amid May morning perambulations.  Folk dancing is also popular, and is part of that great English tradition (as is madness and syphilis) and involves the erecting of poles, whirling hankies and thigh-slapping. However, many have noted that this is actually a highly suspect form of cosmic semaphore emblazoning "Høste kosmiske pålegg fra elg av fløyel bukse!” across the night sky.

        Definitely worth a visit...

*And, as a point of interest, the common Slavonic word for “fish” is actually ‘ryba.’ ... Suspicious or what?

Cambridge: Psychedelic Penguins, Dung Heaps and Punts on the Cam

The following day I decided to take a train back into Cambridgeshire and visit that fusty old cultural mishmash, which is of course, Cambridge itself.  The city is well known across the world for its academic standing, but it actually took its name from the river Cam.  In fact the name “Cambridge” is a conflation of two words Granta-brycge which simply means to cross or to pass water, which countless generations of students have being doing ever since. In fact many, even today, have to utilise the city’s countless bridges to access the castle-likes Halls on the other side of the river. The Cam actually serves as a huge moat, now populated with students taxiing tourists past the many colleges. An elderly gentleman informed me that at this time of year there are a lot of “punts on the Cam”.... or at least that’s what I hope he said.  

        The history of Cambridge obviously pre-dates the University as it was once occupied, like much of the UK, by the Romans. The Romans, however, were not happy with the area mainly because of the marsh lands that surround it. Apparently in the summer lots of midges used to skate across the Fens and look for dark crevices in which to nuzzle, and for wearers of togas this presents certain predicaments. Although, it is recorded that the main reason they left is that they found the winters insufferable; especially those sub-zero winds that circulate around the Baltics, not to mention the frost off the Fens.  However, frosty gales and itinerant midges didn’t deter the hairier and more robust Anglo Saxons from muscling in, who came equipped with furs and lagged sporrans.

        Trade flourished, especially in the sale of Roman souvenirs and artefacts; a cottage industry was founded selling land-fill to passers-by (a tradition which still continues to this day). Stalls would be spread with all sorts of potions and ointments left over from the Roman occupation, as well as sentimental bric-a-brac like Roman noses, miniature togas, gladiatorial cod-pieces and Coliseum snow-globes.  However, opportunities to make a buck diminished as many of the neighbouring areas rose in prominence establishing fresh competition in terms of trade. Also many tourists were deterred by rumours spread about of the marshlands being unsafe, due to poisonous fungi and carnivorous fish that were reputed to nibble at a gentleman’s unguarded areas. As a result the local economy went into decline, as did the standard of life in Cambridge, prompting Bede to describe the city as “a bit of a turd” in his   Historia ecclesiastica gentis Anglorum (C.731).

        Nevertheless undeterred by the economic slump the Vikings took full advantage of all the vacant properties, empty taverns and unfrequented bordellos. The Norseman brought with them many new fangled ideas, lots of pointy hats and accents that resembled someone drowning in porridge.  They were also quick to impose Dane Law in 878 which dictated that nobody was permitted to drop litter, speak Welsh, gargle with animal urine, or eat sausages on Tuesdays.  However, all these restrictions proved far too draconian for the people of Cambridge, who subsequently expelled their Norse taskmasters. This of course was followed by a welcoming in 1066 of the French after their victory at Hastings. William the Conqueror, known as “the bastard” by those who loved him, showed his gratitude by building extensively and erecting all sorts of Frenchy type things. He even built yet another castle, conveniently I may add, on knoll already called “Castle Hill” which of course rendered the Norman occupation somehow fated and inevitable.  

         In 1209 Cambridge University was established by a group of students who had been thrown out of Oxford, apparently for interfering with geese and smelling like puréed hogs’ farts. These noisome individuals (who have set the standard for students across the UK ever since) were actually honoured by having the first Cambridge College named after them. Peterhouse or Potus Housen (n: “tiny closet”) established the teaching of the core subjects for that time, which were basically: rhetoric, theology, history, mathematics, cottaging and taxidermy.

       However the sanitation and general perfume of the city were improved with the onset of the Black Death in 1349. The plague claimed the lives of many students and academics and even lead to many of the city’s pubs, greasy-spoons and brothels to close, albeit momentarily. Unfortunately, countless records regarding the spread of the epidemic are now lost, but it is known that many of the colleges did suffer considerably. In fact 1349’s “Fresher Fair” saw many of the usual popular student societies hit quite hard in terms of recruitment.  For example, over twenty scholars at one college died wiping out the Men’s Tiddly-Winkers in one fell swoop and other societies also fell by the wayside due to loss of key personnel. The Girton College Gurning Society, (lost all 12 members) the Universty Men’s Flatulists, (known affectionately by the townsfolk as the “Fitzwilliam Farters”) and the Queen’s College Origamists all folded.

       The city’s fortunes rallied somewhat, historically at least, when it was established as one of the most important centres during the Civil War, as well as Oxford of course.  Cromwell fortified the town against any Royalist incursion, destroying many bridges and closing numerous haberdasheries and pie-shops. He also amassed huge dung heaps to fester in the mid-day sun in the hope the stench would deter any incursions by Royalist forces. In 1644 the King’s army came within two miles of the city, but the aroma was so pungent that many fled with their silk hankies pressed securely to their faces for fear of fainting.  However, Cambridge, being a university town, suffered little from the excremental heaps as it had become fairly anaesthetized to the yearly influx of the pungent into its midst.    

         Perhaps the trippiest event in the history of the city was the influx of multi-coloured penguins in the mid 18^th century. These had decided to leap off a Norwegian schooner, carelessly parked on Arbury Road (after heavy rains no doubt), and generally left the city covered in an oily residue and smelling of fish-heads.  Apparently the penguins took on a psychedelic sheen due to certain spillages and the reflection of the sun on their oil-replete plumage. It’s a little known fact that the college of Pembrook was established to commemorate this event, deriving its name from the Latin Pingus Fabula which simply means Penguin breech.

        Today, however, the city is a renowned tourist centre with undoubtedly a world famous University. The list of academic luminaries is certainly impressive, attended by some strange anecdotes which I’ve unearthed or “unarchived” from the College annals. For example, John Milton (1608-74) was a student of Christ’s College and was a prominent member of the Ukulele Appreciation Society. Charles Darwin (1809-1882) was also a student of Christ’s College and apparently spent much of his time alone just observing his fellow students, which some say inspired his seminal work On the Origin of Species. Christopher Marlowe (1564-1593) attended Corpus Christi College had an enormous collection of Swedish porn and used to entertain his tutors with humorous bird impressions. William Pitt (1759-1806) was often drunk, inappropriate, lewd and ill-treated his servants which earmarked him for a career in the Tory party from the outset. Isaac Newton (1642-1727) was a student at Trinity College and would annoy his fellow students by dropping the content of his fruit basket from his dormitory window and making strange whooping sounds in the night. He also drank heavily with the Real Ale Society and whilst compiling his Philsosphiae Naturalis Principia Mathematica would often enjoy the company of the Trinty Tumblers and the Buckingham Belchers.  

        As regards tourist attractions and distractions, the city boasts of many opportunities for the visitor to while away an hour or two.  It is awash with restaurants, cafés, snorkelling clubs, angling opportunities and cream teas.  And for the more discerning visitor there are museums aplenty, all open to the public: the Cambridge Museum of Belgian Lithographs, The Fitzwilliam Collection of Flemish Tapestries and the Pembrook Collection of Feminist Abstract Crochet and Needlepoint. Although the pierce de résistance has to be the wonderful Museum of Natural History which houses a collection of many exotic fauna and creatures, all from Darwin’s voyage to South America;  these include the oozle fish, the woogle-plumed tum-tum bird and the lesser-spotted-kok-wobler.

       Enough excitement for one day methinks...

Norwich: Nasal Rot, Papist Spies and the Great Turkey Influx

Norwich is a city that languishes at the very heart of East Anglia situated on the river Wensum. The name itself is derived from the Medieval French word “Noserre-itch” (n: nasal grate) no doubt inspired by a rare kind of aquatic fungus which was prevalent in the area from about 864 to 1341 AD. This unfortunate malady caused an acute form of nostril rot which resulted in the unmanageable sniffing and insufferable twang that came to define the region’s dialect. Even the Pope (Gregory X) appalled by the incessant droning of the inhabitants, felt he had no choice but to excommunicate the whole city. Legend has it that Queen Mary on a visit to the area (enjoying a brief respite from toasting Protestants no doubt) was so appalled by incessant twangle of the voices, that she filled her court with Madagascan whooping monkeys to help render her environment more agreeable.

      The Romans had previously booted and thrust their way through East Anglia, establishing the settlement of Venta Icenorum (which simply means “frosted orifice”) not far from the current situation Norwich now enjoys. In fact many of the place names throughout Norfolk were in fact coined as the Romans marched through the area. There villages and towns were christened after months of sandal-rubbing traipses as the legions marched from the coast to the in-land areas. In fact much of Norfolk bears the titles of various maladies that afflicted the soldiers as they marched. For example Attleborough is derived from the Latin Ataanus Boosafus (n: musty fundament), Cromer, Cronomous (adj: throbbing knee), Lowestoft, Lowes-Pedditus (n: stubbed toe) and Gorleston, Gorluss-Spirimus (adj: sweaty gusset). And the less said about Beccles the better.

      The Normans took control of the area after the invasion of 1066 bringing with them a wealth of ideas to superimpose themselves upon local area and populace.  This included the construction of a castle which was erected to provide an ideal vantage point from which they could gaze over the Wash, no doubt in anticipation of the great turkey influx. The turkey of course replaced the French* in Norfolk whose strange gobblings and warblings were unfathomable to the indigenous population. However the turkeys proved equally as befuddling but at least they didn’t reek of garlic and eat malodorous cheese. These “bootiful” buxom, American birds not only helped get Norfolk on the telly but also provided a thriving industry and gave the denizens of Norwich something to stuff of an evening. Nevertheless despite the incessant gobbling and strutting of meleagris gallopavo, the Normans still managed to erect the wonderfully Gothic cathedral which serves as an emblem of the once dominant power in the region (pre-turkey of course).

      The city has seen many strange comings and goings over the last five hundred or so years, including the Belgian Walloon communities who brought with them the waffle and the Norwich Canary. The aforementioned bird however was considered far too colourful and ornate for the then puritans. The result was many were ensnared, accused of being papist spies, and publically barbecued by the then Protestant weavers. However, canaries generally chirped beautifully and eventually adorned the parlours of many a household where they were quite literally required to sing for their supper rather than contribute to it. Subsequently, the canary population thrived until drastic bombing during the Second World War saw a serious decline in the little yellow songster’s fortunes. Many returned to the Aegean Islands where they were customarily skewered and kebabbed by the indigenous population and sold to British tourists as feathery trinkets.

       Norwich is undoubtedly a beautiful city and is a must visit if one is traveling across East Anglia. It is full of yarns and anecdotal splendour. In fact the region actually takes its full name from the mythological giant Orientalus Anglos, who delighted in dipping his toes into the Wash in the hope of a nibble or two. However, legend has it that he keeled over and drowned leaving only his posterior sticking out of the water which subsequently became known as the Magnus Gigas Cimex or Great Yarmouth as it is known in English.

   The region and indeed Norwich itself is undoubtedly appealing. And being somewhat geographically remote, boasts numerous religious retreats and monasteries which provide well-needed respite from all those Madagascan whoopers. Thoroughly enjoyed my visit...

*An unusual race of people that inhabit a large-ish land mass just off the coast of the UK. They eat snails as well...