Grantchester

After a Saturday when I was asking myself where I had stashed my winter gloves, today the temp rose to 23.5 degrees and, having dashed out of work pretty promptly at the end of the school day to catch up with plumber Sarah, I made time for a walk to Grantchester wearing only a t-shirt. Well, more than that but you know what I mean. 
Grantchester, that of Rupert Brooke's 1912 poem 'The Old Vicarage, Grantchester' (But Grantchester! ah, Grantchester! There's peace and holy quiet there...), and the setting for James Runcies' sleuth novels (The Grantchester Mysteries), the TV adaptation of which is filmed in the village, is said to have the world's highest concentration of Nobel Prize winners. This is remarkable when you consider that Grantchester has a population of around 500. 
This evening I walked past the swans and their cygnets preening themselves on the bank, around the corner past the Old Vicarage (where Mary & Jeffery Archer now reside), through The Orchard tearoom, where a few stragglers were reclining in their deckchairs under the fruit trees well after the 5pm closing time, and ambled across the cricket pitch to the meadows and the river - aah, the river - then up past two of the four village pubs (not counting the gin distillery and tasting room), the church and back home. 
The stillness was only spoiled when my sis arrived home and berated me for using nail polish downstairs (last night!), as she appears to have a nose worthy of a freakin' sniffer dog. Really, life is too short.
ps Nails looking good :)