We rode out to Fen Ditton and sat cross-legged at the edge of the river, drinking wine from plastic cups and watching the May Bumps. For those who might be confused, this is an event that used to happen in May (along with the Balls) and nobody bothered to change the name.
The basic idea is that rowing teams race toward town, trying to bump the boat ahead of them. If a boat is touched by another it is out of the race. Or something along those lines. The most interesting thing about the whole event is how shockingly athletic the teams are; I spend all of my time on the river and still had no idea.
During the May Balls (translation: each college throws a big party, kind of like a prom, but way more elaborate) the city was suddenly full of youngsters in black tie or ballgowns. The boys appeared more confident than they normally do but most of the girls didn’t exactly know how to wear fancy outfits; they looked so fragile in their silks and satins, shoulders hunched, tottering on heels.
Each of these parties involves massive decadence of a variety I have never before witnessed, including fireworks displays and partying until dawn – all month. Everyone else is used to the phenomenon but we were bemused and spent quite a bit of time stretched out in the middle of Jesus Green, watching the sky light up.
According to the BBC, the temperatures here were higher than Greece or Miami or anywhere else except Egypt. I had to carry a parasol and still scuttled from one spot of shade to the next. Plus it was windy; I’ve lived here nearly a year and I’m still not used to the fact that my skirts are constantly flying up. I’ve never lived in a place this windy – that is simultaneously too hot.
Midsummer Fair brought an encampment and huge rowdy crowds to the commons. In the past there has been trouble with vandalism so all of the boats moved — which is complicated, because there isn’t enough room for us elsewhere. Some people went above the lock, others double moored, and many boats left town entirely. I couldn’t leave but some boats shuffled along to make space for me to moor.
Between the solstice, the full moon, the raging parties, the fair, and the oppressive heat, people started to act a little strange. There were fights, and half-dressed people rolling around making out in every park, and strangest of all, some folks decided to swim in the river.
I was surprised that anyone would want to jump in the lock. I was shocked when I saw people jumping off the Victoria Bridge into what might be the most shallow stretch of the river. To put this in context, it is a lot like jumping off a typical American freeway overpass into a mud puddle.
One day while I was riding my bicycle and worrying about my sick kid a young gentleman who might be described by a newspaper as a “yob” (I can’t translate this; the word says it all) jumped in front of my bike in a partially jokey, mostly harassing way. The point, I presume, was to make me stop.
Unfortunately for him, he picked the wrong female to bother. I didn’t pause or think, I just turned my wheel directly toward his gut and ran him off the path. He stumbled away, hands up, and his friend said admiringly nice glasses.
Father’s Day arrived and the children presented Byron with a DVD of the first season of Knight Rider. Belated best wishes to anyone else who holds that honorary title!
