I spent my 39th birthday yesterday wandering around Cambridge with my parents. Good place for a double-birthday celebration visit, we thought, being sort of halfway between London and Norfolk (and definitely better than Colchester). It was a very pleasant day out, a bit chilly in the Fenland wind, but very pleasant all the same. And as I entered my 40th year, roughly halfway to average life expectancy, the town made me think about half life.
The centre of Cambridge is very much dominated by the university. You can tell this from the omnipresent bikes, the shops full of erudite books, and all the teenagers walking past discussing essay crises. We decided to go for a walk round King's College, home to the ever-so famous chapel (pictured left). We dodged round huge swathes of close-cropped lawn, wondered why the flag was at half-mast, and stood on a bridge over the River Cam that looks like it keeps Kodak solvent. In amongst the early-season tourists there were real students heading off to lectures and tutorials, and it struck me that exactly half my life ago this was what I was doing. My 20th year was spent at university, studying hard in the pre-loan world of 80s academia. Life was easy then, even if it didn't feel it at the time. Real work was still a few years off. And, walking round King's yesterday morning, half of my life suddenly seemed a very long time ago.
Earlier in the day I'd been tugged even further backwards in my life. I was flicking through the day's newspaper on the train when I was surprised to stumble across an article about my old primary school. There was even a big photo of what looked like my old classroom, back in my 10th year. I saw tables where there used to be desks, funky sweatshirts instead of grey pullovers, and a class full of smiling schoolchildren learning about Mondrian on laptops. Hell, I thought, when I was sitting in that same room 30 years ago our art lessons only ever involved poster paints and sugar paper. Nobody ever thought of teaching me about art through artists, and nobody had invented child-sized computers at the time either. I was taught by excellent teachers, but tomorrow's adults are getting a radically different start in life to mine. And, sitting on the train yesterday morning, half of half of my life suddenly seemed a very long time ago too.
Walking around Cambridge yesterday I saw that the town was also full of older people. Midweek shoppers, library users, lunchtime diners - the town was by no means filled only with students. These senior citizens were leading a full and active life, still getting out and doing the things that us mere youngsters do too. When we sat down to eat lunch, a lady who looked like she was in her 80th year was sat at the table next to ours. She was smiling, chatting, and most definitely enjoying her ice cream sundae just as much as I was enjoying mine. So, sitting in that restaurant yesterday lunchtime, the remaining half of my life suddenly seemed a very long time to go. Half life begins at forty. Bring it on.
The centre of Cambridge is very much dominated by the university. You can tell this from the omnipresent bikes, the shops full of erudite books, and all the teenagers walking past discussing essay crises. We decided to go for a walk round King's College, home to the ever-so famous chapel (pictured left). We dodged round huge swathes of close-cropped lawn, wondered why the flag was at half-mast, and stood on a bridge over the River Cam that looks like it keeps Kodak solvent. In amongst the early-season tourists there were real students heading off to lectures and tutorials, and it struck me that exactly half my life ago this was what I was doing. My 20th year was spent at university, studying hard in the pre-loan world of 80s academia. Life was easy then, even if it didn't feel it at the time. Real work was still a few years off. And, walking round King's yesterday morning, half of my life suddenly seemed a very long time ago.
