MY first English Christmas was spent in Cambridge. The carol service at King’s College Chapel. A heavy snowfall. Icy grandeur. It was beautiful. It was cold.
‘There is nothing between the flat lands of East Anglia and Siberia except Ely Cathedral,’ my Cambridge friends told me. I’ve now repeated that many times. Unlike Sarah Palin, I can’t see Russia outside my bathroom window.
My husband says that showing me a map is like taking a labrador to an art gallery. When I look at the for the ‘nothing between’ this flat patch of Suffolk and Russia, I see a 1,000-piece