Surprise parties

I haven't got much experience of surprise parties, and it's perhaps just as well. When Staffan turned 50 he escaped from celebrations and went biking in France, but when he came back his friends started plotting. They hired a place, sent out invitations, divided tasks and prepared everything. Two friends were supposed to take him out for lunch and instead bring him to the venue. My role was simply to come over as soon as they had left, but not dress up before that, not to raise his suspicions.

On the morning of the day, Staffan announced that he had a cold and phoned the two friends to cancel the lunch. They called me in despair and after a brief war council we decided that they would come over to us and then pretend they wanted a particular blend of whisky (for lunch! highly plausible) and persuade Staffan to go together to the liquor store. Somehow they did manage to persuade him - he must have been off guard because of his cold. He had not showered that morning and was wearing his shabbiest jeans and shirt. Frankly, he looked awful. As soon as they had left, I put on my party clothes and makeup and hurried to the venue where some thirty guests were waiting with champagne bottles ready. Some minutes later, one of the kidnappers came in, frustrated. As soon as they had driven past the liquor store and toward the centre, Staffan got suspicious, and when they parked, he promptly refused to get out of the car. I had to go and talk to him, and when he saw me in my fancy dress - half an hour after he had seen me at home in my track suit - he finally relised what was going on, and his reluctance grew. I was uncertain what tactics to use, but eventually told him not to be a wet blanket but come in and see his friends who had taken all the trouble.

I don't think he has forgiven me yet, although it wasn't my idea.

Unlike Staffan, I love celebrations, and when I turned 50 I gave a huge dinner party which I had planned almost a year in advance. (That is another story which I may tell sometime). But I also knew that at work we usually celebrated people's birthdays with a cake at our weekly afternoon coffee, so although I had no classes that day I decided to attend the coffee and allow myself to be celebrated. Since I also knew that we usually collected money for a gift and consulted a family member about what might be desirable, I had told Staffan that if anyone consulted him, I wanted a gym card and no cut flowers. They did indeed consult them, and apparently he knew about the surprise.

I was marking essays or something like that in the morning when Staffan inquired whether I was quite sure that the celebration was in the afternoon, and I told him I was. Two-thirty, as usual. Behind my back, Staffan called my department, and soon after there came a call from a friend who wondered whether I was aware that there was a surprise lunch for me at twelve. My first reaction was to jump into my car and drive as far away as possible from Stockholm and my department. I knew I would have enjoyed a surprise party, but they could have made sure I turned up. I finally did turn up and even enjoyed it, but there was a little cloud in the silver lining.

All this to thank my wonderful students for the surprise party for which they really made sure I was there. They had planned it for my actual birthday last Monday. Morag's role was to invite me to have a cup of birthday tea after my class, and I never had the slighest suspicion, just thinking how sweet of Morag. The day before I learned that my dear son would be in London for a couple of hours on Monday - the best birthday present I could have - so I cancelled the class to go and see him. I can imagine the students' disappointment! However, after I had humbly apologised and assured them I would let myself be celebrated next year, I had no clue that the party was still on. (They had created a Facebook event for it - I almost start crying now as I think about it). So last Friday, as I finished the class moved from Monday and was putting away my things, the door opened and in they marched, not just those attending in the class, but the whole bunch of masters, coming in specially, on a Friday afternoon! With cake and all.

It is such moments that make everything worth while, even fighting the windmills of University administration.

Intelligence test

Life is still full of surprises. Last Friday I participated in a team quiz for the first time ever. I am remarkably bad at quizzes. I cherish an illusion that I have a broad general education and a good orientation in contemporary events, except for pop culture. Many a relationship was broken for our kids when we played Trivial Pursuit and the prospective partners felt inadequate. But I cannot think properly under stress. As long as I am not stressed I am quite good. Staffan and I used to watch a highbrow quiz programme in Sweden (one big exception, since we never normally watch TV), and were always proud when we could answer before the competitors on the screen. Much of the charm of it was the brilliant quizmaster, and we stopped watching when he quit.

Anyway, there was a charity quiz last Friday in the Faculty, and Morag invited me to join the team. I warned her that I was worthless, but she didn't mind. I must say it was exceptionally well organised, and there were at least ten or twelve teams, and everybody was very serious about it, and had tremendous fun. At least I think so. I had fun. And I wasn't that useless after all, especially with questions on subjects outside the UK, such is which number the current French Republic has, or why Interstate highways in the US have straight strips every five miles. However, I didn't know that Italy had until a certain year left-hand traffic in the cities and right-hand in the country. I also had to protest when the correct identification of the picture of St Basil's cathedral in Moscow was Kremlin.

Midway through the questions everybody had fish and chips.

And, as a matter of fact, we won.

Visiting Jesus

Each college in Cambridge has its special charm and its own customs. Last Thursday I was invited to Education dinner at Jesus. Education dinner means that all students in college who study education are invited, whether they are undergrads or PhDs. Brilliant idea. And some teachers are invited too. Jesus is a very old college, and the dinner was served in the old refectory, with low ceiling and lots of wonderful period details. Food was excellent, which I cannot say of all the colleges I have so far had the honour of being invited to.

It doesn't happen often that you have a chance to talk to students whom you meet once in a huge lecture hall. My hostess was just about to introduce me when one of them exclaimed: "We so much enjoyed your lecture!" Now, I have no illusions, I would perhaps say the same to somebody I was introduced to. But they went on talking about the lecture and the images I had shown and how interesting it was. I asked the student whether she had considered doing a masters in children's literature, and she had. So I may have recruited a student in passing. Otherwise it was a pleasure talking to them, and it was half past ten before I noticed (I had told Staffan that I would be home early). This is Cambridge to me.

Join the club

The Guardian had a column yesterday with advice to new students. I like this passage best: “You need to join something – a society, seminar, bus queue…” I have just joined SWEA, Swedish Women’s Educational Association. I was a member when we lived in California, and it was very nice. For several years I was also a jury member of the SWEA Literary Award, for contribution to international research in Swedish literature and culture. There is a SWEA chapter in London, and to my great joy there is a SWEA group in Cambridge. I emailed the contact person the day before yesterday, and guess what? The group meets at a pub tonight. So I am joining if not a bus queue than at least a society.