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Arrived at the Sutton Hoo site half an hour before the museum opened, so walked across to the burial ground – and around. Skies gloriously blue. Looking all the while for the perspective that Ramsay Gibb used when doing a painting of the area that hangs in our home. And found it.

Delightful place, despite the history of gibbets and executions nearby. Had seen the Sutton Hoo Hoard in the British Museum a number of times, so had long wanted to visit the site.

Also read The Dig, by John Preston, some years ago. Interesting to see that Cate Blanchett, one of my favourite actresses, has been interested in playing Edith Pretty in a possible film. I live in hope …

Loved the evidence of the Landgirls who stayed in the house during WWII, including carved declarations of love on one of the fireplaces and woodworm-like holes in the wooden panelling, apparently from games of darts.

The Sutton Hoo museum itself is brilliantly done, centred around a reproduction of part of the main ship burial. While the exhibits on sword-making and the world-famous helmet were a joy, the piece that really connected with me was the reconstruction of a maple lyre, with its case lined in beaver fur.

Would love to have heard – and understood – the songs of the time, at the time. On the strength of that, I bought the book A Departed Music: Old English Poetry, by Walter Nash. Something to read as winter draws in.

Arrived in Woodbridge to stay at Melton Hall B&B, but decided to visit the tide mill en route. Stunningly beautiful weather and delightful volunteers showed us around the mill. Have been interested in tide mills since I wrote Sun Traps: The Renewable Energy Forecast for Pelican Books in the early 1980s. At the time, we visited the tide mill at Carew, Pembrokeshire.

Have wanted to see to the Imperial War Museum sites both in London and Duxford for years, decades even, so Duxford today was a (great) start. The airfield has a long and glorious history, including taking delivery of the first operational Spitfire, in 1938.

Apart from seeing aircraft like the Dragon Rapide airborne, a highlight was the experience of being inside a German fighter pursuing several Spitfires over the White Cliffs. Expected something of the fairground, but it stirred an even deeper appreciation of those who took to the skies during that teeter-totter moment in our history.

Then, as we were walking back to the exit, guarded by a Hurricane on a stand (according to Wikipedia, the ‘gate guard’ aircraft is a Hawker Hurricane II, squadron code WX-E of No.302 (Polish) Squadron, Serial No. P2954, flown by Flight Lieutenant Tadeusz Pawel Chlopik), I heard the unmistakable sound of a Merlin engine in  the distance – and a Spitfire shot by, doing a roll up into the heavens.

Heading back to Cambridge from Ely, we spotted a sign to Wicken Fen National Nature Reserve. Ever since reading about Hereward the Wake as a child, I had been fascinated by fenland environments. (At the time, I sided with Hereward, little realising that my genome has a powerful Viking and Norman signal.)

Later, when I was on advisory boards for the old Nature Conservancy Council and, later still, for Anglian Water, I heard a good deal about Wicken Fen, without ever quite finding my way there.

So we were initially disappointed, having found our way there as the day wound down, to see a sign saying that the reserve closed at 17.00. We had arrived at 16.59. But the women manning the visitor centre said that, while the centre itself was closing, we could wander at our heart’s pleasure (or is it leisure?) through the fens. So we did, with dazzling cloud displays all the while.

Joy.

Across to Ely for the first time, where we visited the Cathedral. Perhaps it was the mood I was in, or the glorious weather, but – despite my deep-seated mistrust of religions – I felt profoundly welcome here.

The building is exquisite, particularly the Lady Chapel, where the historical damage (including great windows that would once have featured stained glass and friezes of headless figures) enhanced the effect.

Was moved by the Bomber Command window, with its depiction of the geodesic-framed Vickers Wellington bombers – and, further around and from some 950 years earlier, by the tomb of another long-ago hero, Byrhtnoth.

After the Cathedral, we wondered into Topping & Co’s wonderful bookstore, on three floors. On the top floor, we were offered a tray of coffee and biscuits an, browsing still more seriously, came away with almost more books than we could carry – including a 2-volume Taschen work on Dalí. The previous (Abrams) volume I bought in the 1970s collapsed, probably through over-use.

Given our involvement in the work of the Sustainable Eel Group, I was particularly interested in the celebration of eels in the city – with an eel trail and a sculpture (shown in one of the photos above) and mosaic en route to the River Ouse.

En route back to Oliver Cromwell’s house, we were walking through parkland, with lots of rabbits enjoying the afternoon sun between us and the Cathedral. And then there was a hare. At the time, I was walking backwards up a gentle slope, as I sometimes do, talking to Elaine. The hare seemed transfixed. It stood up to its full height, its ears extended. It seemed to be trying to work out what exactly I was. I sometimes face the same challenge.