Déjà vu.

It's that summery time of year again - there are fabs in the freezer and I am living in shorts - so come Saturday morning Gabby and I set off for Cambridge to watch the races. This year I took the time to inform Harry of my impending visit a couple of days before my arrival, as opposed to a couple of minutes, so I was rewarded with half an hour of his company when I got to Selwyn. Then he set off for the boathouse and once again I was left to my own devices and faced with the task of locating the river. For the most part things went according to plan and direction and thus my only issue was tearing myself away from the book-stall in the market square in time to reach the riverbank. It is with great amazement that I inform you that I did not buy a single useless thing and reached the Cam before the first starting signal was fired.

Unfortunately my biggest dilemma was locating the 'ideal' viewing point that Harry had suggested to me earlier in the day. He pointed to a large bend in the river on a map, intoned some boaty jargon about bumping and left me to it, with the result that I spent the rest of the day walking up and down in search of this mythical meander. I was (surely?) no more than five meters away when I saw Harry's boat row past, but somehow I managed to miss all the action. It wasn't abundant or in their favour, so it probably for the best - but still. Following M2's defeat I made a series of misjudgements which saw me walking down and up the river a couple more times, missing another Selwyn race and hurting my foot in a really serious way. Cue limping back to college and meeting up with the Flexer family for tea.

We went to a nice little seafood restaurant (or so I thought, apparently it's a massive chain? So is Wales I suppose) called Loch Fyne. I had so much fun watching Gabby and her dad/Stephen and his girlfriend make their way through £90 deluxe platters and champagne, while I sufficed with the standard, but tasty prawn cocktail/fish and chips. In particular I enjoyed naming the baby lobsters (Chancy, Brian, Mildred and Ethel), acting out dramatic death scenes fit to put the others off their food and fashioning a disguise out of lobster crackers and crab claws. Seriously, playing with one's food has never been so entertaining. Three hours later we left for the station, only to discover that we had missed the last train by all of ten minutes.

We went back to Selwyn to find beds and were met with the task of finding Harry, who had taken his key from his pigeon hole and was not answering his phone. Luckily he was Cambridge drunk and hadn't got very far; we soon found him, slumped at the boat club dinner after-party. When we asked a girl to call him for us, her response was, "Harry! Harry! ...He's having a bit of trouble standing." And so I found myself walking through the porter's lodge, supporting a stumbling weight and saying, "I've been at university for two years now and I had to come all the way to Cambridge to witness somebody this drunk".

In the morning - after Harry woke me with the words, "what are you doing here?" - we went for brunch and then made our way back to London. Working our way around multiple tube closures, Gabby and I went to Marylebone Summer Fayre. It was much the same as last year, except this time we went to Oxfam Books and Music, mostly so I could collapse on the floor and rest my aching foot. We bought soap and lemonade and ice-cream because we missed the doughnut stand, and I justified my Cath Kidston purchases with ten percent discount (reduction much) and the promise that we will make our own lemonade later in the week. Sorry for the mammoth post, I got a little bit carried away in my shellfish-excited state. In other news we are harbouring an illegal hamster here at Scawen Road. Until further notice her name is Hattie.

One year on: