This week in Cambride is May Week. As Vaughan pointed out earlier, it is now June. Not even early June either. Quite how a university which prides itself in being one of the best in the world manages not to spot that the highlight of its social calendar is mis-labelled is beyond me.

Even just as a resident in Cambridge, you can’t help but notice when it is May Week. For a week the city seems to be populated with a race of people in ball gowns and dinner jackets, who all throng together in snaking lines leading to the various colleges. It’s a bit like those cicadas in the US, only it happens yearly and no-one has written a recipe book on how to cook them*.

The students have two events to signal the beginning of May Week. First is the end of their exams, and the second is the end of the University Bumps – a strange week-long rowing competition.

So what is May Week? A panoply of parties and events to “help” the students to unwind after the academic year. The jewels in the crown are the balls. Tickets are only available to students, or friends of students; but with my extensive connections I was able to obtain a ticket to the Jesus College May Ball and in a selfless act of reportage, last night I took myself along to see what goes on.

After champagne alongside the Cam at a friends boat, we meander across Midsummer Common and join the queue of people dressed to the nines outside Jesus College. At the head of the queue a flash of ticket secures our “I’ve paid, don’t throw me out” wristband, and we filter through into the ball. Welcoming us into the ball are glasses of champagne and carefully arranged piles of Ferrero Rocher; maybe the Ambassador does present them to guests after all!

Where to first? The programme is consulted and we decide that the entertainments tents can wait awhile. Pimms is purloined, and we head to the orchard – the bouncy castle is first, followed by a brief stop for doughnuts and then onto the dodgems – a ride which will feature repeatedly during the night. Each time the cars stop there’s a mad dash to obtain a vehicle; like the drinks and food, all the entertainments are free after you’ve paid the £80 for your ticket.

Initial excitement over, we explore the event. Next to the dodgems is the dance tent, pretty empty this early on but the DJs will be filling the floor later on; towards where we came in is the cabaret; through in the First Court is the main tent, we’ve already missed The loveGods, but there are plenty of acts still to come, and a couple of punts to one side – filled with ice and bottled beers and alcopops; and finally through into the Fellows’ Garden – host to the casino, live jazz, G&Ts and chocolate fondue.

We flit from location to location, sampling all that is on offer… catch some of Lynden David Hall and MeOne in the main tent, back to the dodgems, and then we discover the Cloister Court with its classical recitals and gentlemen’s room. We tarry a while there to sample the selection of cheeses and enjoy a cigar and a glass of Laphroaig.

Luckily I decide to sample the cabaret just in time for a fantastic set by Nizlopi. Billing themselves as folk hip-hop, this duo produce some superb music and bring a whole new dimension and enjoyment to the music when performing live; they had the audience providing accompaniment and rearranging the layout of the cabaret tent in, for me, the highlight of the ball.

With so much on offer, the time flies by, and builds to a crescendo of energy at 4am with The Dampness in the main tent. Covering all The Darkness’ hits and a few other cheesy classic rock anthems, The Dampness have us moshing for the best part of an hour, completely at odds with how we’d expect our bodies to be feeling as the sun comes up.

Then things begin to wind down. A last blast on the dodgems, a muffin or pain au chocolat from the Cloister Court for breakfast. Bit by bit, everyone amasses for the survivors photo at 6 o’clock, the college looking glorious in the bright sunshine from the cloudless sky. We collect our copy of the Daily Telegraph, then sit and bask in the sun in the college garden.

Suitably chilled out, I make my excuses and wander into the middle of town, find a taxi and return home, for some much needed sleep.

* Not that I’m aware of

No, Adrian, this isn’t about going to Ikea.
Obtaining what amounts to being a very expensive wardrobe is actually surprisingly simple. What you need to do is attend an event at a hotel that is at the higher end of a given price range. Dump your bag/clothes/belongings in the room, and go to the event.
During the event, get talking to people – or a certain person, more probably – and by the end of the night, *ahem* fail to sleep in the room you’ve paid for.
Voila, a room that has been used purely as a wardrobe (or luggage locker, if you prefer), for which you’ve paid the princely sum of £120.
Non, je ne regrette rien.

Well, for those who couldn’t guess, this is the predictable Lyle^® post – Swearing for Beginners.
Swearing was always supposed to be the last refuge of the illiterate and ill-educated. A “Gentleman” would have enough of a vocabulary to express their frustration without resorting to a woad-coloured shade of Anglo-Saxon. Well, B*ll*cks to that. This is the 21st century, and swearing is the province of all. Chuff your equality, Stuff your Suffrage – being Sweary is the great leveller.
Even among amateur swearers, few can decry the satisfaction of the brief scream of “F*ck it!” when the Ikea Smegg wardrobe turns out to have two too few screws, and as a result is utterly screwed. (Or not – as the case may be) The swift kick to the side of the aforementioned piece of furniture is optional, and really should only be attempted if a) boots are worn, and b) the furniture hasn’t fallen apart at the volume of epithet.
And yes, I said amateur swearers. There are definitely degrees of swearydom. And I, the Reverend Lyle (ordination certificate available on request) am about to list the levels in the Grand Order of the Pejorative.
Readers of a nervous disposition may wish to read on to something else now (and in the name of all that’s Decent, don’t go to D4D. The brave ones can click on more…

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