The Bumps are a completely typical Cambridge experience that sort of sums up life here.
It goes like this: Ride bike two or three miles into countryside. Chain bike to tree next to pub. Purchase pint of beer. Sit on the grass next to river. Wait. Talk to charming companion (on this occasion, blonde ten year old boy). Wait. Fidget. Buy crisps for child. Watch losing teams row past in desultory fashion. Observe elderly rowing enthusiasts talking about victories of previous century. Listen to teenage rowing enthusiasts chatting on mobile phones about victories earlier in the day. Notice that there is a youngster running a punt ferry service so racing fans on the other side of the river can get drunk too. Try to prevent Don’t Pay the Ferryman from playing in brain. Think about how this event is the culmination of all the activity I observe on the river, every day, all year long. Ponder why anyone would bother while also admiring the sheer physicality of it all. Remember which of your friends was a rower in youth, and snicker. Jump with fright when the PA system starts to shriek that the race has started. Stand and watch with crowd as several boats stream past the pub garden.
Feel incredibly thrilled at the spectacle – which lasts approximately two minutes:
