Uni­ver­si­ty Num­ber 1

I can’t believe that a week has gone by — solid­ly booked with the stuff of dai­ly life, with a few infu­sions of excite­ment — since our mile­stone trip: the first uni­ver­si­ty visit!

Edin­burgh… by train, such a relax­ing way to make the jour­ney, through fields of new lambs and bright red pop­pies, which once seen, I was obsessed with record­ing on film, only to have them rush by unap­pre­ci­at­ed as I tried to unlock my phone.  A life les­son: some­times it’s nicer actu­al­ly to expe­ri­ence some­thing in real time, than to com­plete­ly miss it by try­ing to save it forever.

We arrived at the flat John had rent­ed for the two days and nights of our stay, and coor­di­nat­ed with Elspeth and Min­nie that we’d all rather eat in and relax than put our tired feet to the pave­ment one more time that day.  A roast­ed chick­en by the light of the tealights I’d brought with me, was the per­fect solu­tion, in that kitchen with the love­ly Scot­tish urban view.

In the morn­ing we head­ed straight to the Uni­ver­si­ty to be seat­ed in the mas­sive Vic­to­ri­an hall for a wel­come chat, look­ing around us in awe at the surroundings.

Then it was off to vis­it the stall for the Pol­i­tics Depart­ment and to have Avery’s ques­tions about the Joint Hon­ours pro­gramme answered (in short, she would be in com­plete heav­en if we were sim­ply to get back on the train and leave her there to begin uni right now).  A com­plete­ly inspir­ing talk by one of the pol­i­tics pro­fes­sors in a very impres­sive­ly mod­ern lec­ture hall (more heav­en), a nasty lunch and a bril­liant talk by the Head of His­to­ry left us all con­vinced that Edin­burgh is a def­i­nite possibility.

“You may choose to spend your third year abroad, in a coun­try whose lan­guage you speak,” the Head intoned.  “I have heard tell of coun­tries, as well, where a ver­sion of Eng­lish is pur­port­ed­ly spo­ken.  Amer­i­ca, Aus­tralia, even Canada.”

We tried not to have this opti­mism utter­ly dashed by the soul-destroy­ing flu­o­res­cent strip light­ing of the unspeak­ably banal stu­dent accom­mo­da­tions.  She’ll be too busy think­ing to hate her room, we hope.

We mean­dered home in a dis­con­so­late driz­zle, walk­ing over this love­ly cir­cu­lar instal­la­tion in the ground of the library’s fore­court.  Thoughts to ponder.

I’d love to tell you that we repaired to one of Edin­burgh’s fab­u­lous restau­rants (there must be some) for a mem­o­rable meal out, but we did­n’t.  We were exhaust­ed.  Home for a com­plete­ly deli­cious, com­plete­ly sim­ple “rent­ed flat with no pantry” stir-fry, con­tain­ing the min­i­mum of ingre­di­ents to buy and leave behind.  Com­pro­mise and buy oys­ter sauce, just this once.  I won’t tell.

Dead Sim­ple Chick­en and Broc­coli Stir-fry with Fried Mush­room Rice

(serves 6)

6 chick­en breast fillets

1 bot­tle (150ml, about 1/2 cup) oys­ter sauce

sev­er­al gen­er­ous shakes soy sauce

6 cloves gar­lic, minced

2 bunch­es spring onions, sliced (green parts too)

1‑inch knob gin­ger, peeled and minced

1 large head broc­coli, sep­a­rat­ed into bite-size florets

2 red bell pep­pers, cut into bite-size chunks

2 tbsps ground­nut or veg­etable oil

6–8 medi­um brown mush­rooms, diced

4 eggs, beaten

1 1/2 cups/300g bas­mati rice, steamed

2 tbsps soy sauce, or to taste

hand­ful roast­ed cashews, rough­ly chopped (option­al)

hand­ful cilantro leaves (option­al)

Trim the chick­en and slice VERY thin on the bias, then place in a bowl with the oys­ter sauce, the first 2 tbsps soy sauce and the gar­lic, one bunch of sliced spring onions, and the gin­ger.  Stir well to coat chick­en and leave aside while you pre­pare every­thing else.

Stir-fry the chick­en until JUST cooked, then remove to a serv­ing bowl, leav­ing as much of the sauce behind as pos­si­ble.   In this sauce, cook the broc­coli and pep­pers till they are slight­ly soft­ened.  Add the veg­eta­bles to the chick­en in the serv­ing bowl, toss till mixed, and cov­er with a lid or foil to keep hot.

In the same pan, add the oil and stir-fry the mush­rooms until just soft­ened.  Push the mush­rooms to one side and add the beat­en eggs to the emp­ty side and scram­ble.  Throw in the steamed rice and stir-fry mush­rooms, eggs and rice togeth­er, sprin­kling with soy sauce.  Serve at once with the still-hot chick­en and veg­eta­bles.  Top with the cashews and cilantro, if using.

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So com­fort­ing; almost as com­fort­ing as the back-to-back episodes of “W1A” that we watched until we cried with laugh­ter.  Cups of tea and to sleep, deeply tired with all we’d seen and learned.

Next day saw us full of ener­gy again, ready to be tourists for a bit.  We wan­dered through the streets to the cas­tle, a bit in awe of its bulk, its age, its lofty perch.

Such invit­ing lit­tle wind­ing streets!  Book­shops, tourists shops filled with tea tow­els I want­ed, and in one win­dow a WHOLE roast­ed hog, sim­ply drip­ping with hot fat, ready to be piled in a roll.  I wish we had had more time.

We did take the time to climb up to the cas­tle itself, just for the views.  It was far too crowd­ed with tourists to stay, but the girls were hap­py in the sunshine.

We climbed down again and repaired to Mary’s Milk Bar, noth­ing more or less than a com­plete­ly charm­ing, 1950s-style ice cream par­lor, with the best salt­ed caramel milk­shakes in the world.  And I don’t even “do” milkshakes.

Back to the flat to pack up and say good­bye, to a love­ly stay in a love­ly uni­ver­si­ty town.

We talked almost non­stop in the train on the way home, with so much new imagery, so many new ideas, such a bright future to plan for the girls.  Eliz­a­beth looked appro­pri­ate­ly sum­mery and contemplative.

I went to sleep that night in my own bed in Barnes, feel­ing unspeak­ably lucky to have such friends to accom­pa­ny us on a great adven­ture, to help ush­er in a new chap­ter of all our lives.  How is it pos­si­ble that Avery is near­ly 18, and that we are con­tem­plat­ing her mov­ing away, begin­ning her own life?  Good grief, I * remem­ber* being near­ly 18, and not near­ly as mature or well-behaved as Avery.  How I’d love to be a fly on the wall (well, maybe not her stu­dent accom­mo­da­tion wall, what with the flu­o­res­cent light­ing and all, but SOME wall) to see how she gets on at uni­ver­si­ty, the fun she has, the pro­fes­sors whose sem­i­nars she’ll grace.

Tues­day evening saw the three of us at school being talked at about Oxford and Cam­bridge, most­ly, the intense com­pe­ti­tion to get a place, the deci­sions of which col­lege with­in each uni­ver­si­ty to con­sid­er, the work that these bud­ding his­to­ri­ans will be expect­ed to pro­duce in order to apply.  I felt over­whelmed by it all, and it isn’t even my life.  Avery takes it all in stride.

Watch this space, because there are more trips to come!  Onward and upward: Birm­ing­ham next up…