The Club's Results

5am: Wake up, mildly regretting having such a time to rise, and fondly remembering last year not having quite such an early start. I pack my bags, (one for food, and one "other", which includes kit, things with which I can allegedly do maths, and snacks). I proceed to pleasantly proceed through and around college, testing out my hitherto largely unexplored alto range. I regret that the gate from the Avenue to Queen's Road is yet closed, and walk around. This does not provide me with entertainment for long, severely limited as it is, and I soon revert back to Leonard Cohen as I wander along Trinity Street, realising that I can still make the big gathering for those who do not trust themselves to make it to the bus stop alone.

Said large gathering is rather small, and the order of the day is for those with shorter legs to depart, and those with longer to stay and wait for Connor, as he performs due diligence in chapel. Different rationale may have been used at the time, but the result is the same as the reasoning above, and Oscar and I passed a pleasant couple of minutes enjoying the early morning, and on the walk there had some fun spotting a short Jesus man in rowing attire and wondering if he was their M1 (their M2 already known to us as scratched) or a cox. He wasn't seen in Bedford, and so the mystery remains unsolved.

6am: SAM IS HERE! The coach having been advertised as promptly departing at 6am, and Sam sending a message on our group-chat around 5am but having been uncontactable and unseen since then did not give us hope. But he is seen, and it turns out that "departing at 6am" in fact means "departing prior to 6:01am", which is perfect for us. The coach ride passes in fairly banal fashion. Some people attempt sleep. Some people (me) consume a loaf of Soreen and a few bananas, bitterly regretting leaving some yoghurt behind earlier. Some people discuss (loudly) whether the name of their composite boat ought to be Corwyn (my vote), or Selpus (the consensus), as well as their general enjoyment of ergs. The consensus vote then has all of its comedic possibilities well-explored. In detail.

7am: I lack data points to indicate whether we arrived before or after 7. Credit should be given to Andrey for organising a successful coach to convey not only us, but also the aforementioned composite and another college crew. In any case, after we arrived at our traditional camp there (traditional in this case means that we've only deviated from it by epsilon in all four times I've been) we dump our bags in a big pile near the path, and openly wonder where the trailer is. I get out a couple of bagels and a banana, offering another to (I think) Toby. Some people (mostly the women) sit down on the damp ground on spare bags. Emma lacks one, and thus receives mine. The trailer arrives in short order (Charlie from 99's is an absolute hero for us today, towing our boats to Bedford, going back to Cambridge to tow his boats over to Bedford, racing, and repeating the same on the way back), and our bags turn out to be very much in the way. They're moved to the tree, and re-rigging commences. 

8am: Xander has done a sterling job. Despite 805 being the last off the racks (I can't really call her Black Prince, what with 804 also being Black Prince), M1 finished re-rigging first by some way, mostly due to Xander's speed at personally checking what seems like every nut and bolt (not quite true, but sufficiently true). Smugness is due. I eat a banana. The usual pre-race ablutions are performed, and we set off on a jog at an easy pace (for people who have previously beat the Great Court Run). It may have also been appropriate in general, but that lacks the same potential for humour. Xander is pleased with his prowess, and lets everyone know this. Surprisingly, retorts of "save it for the boat" are not heard. W1 have left by the time we return for a rousing chat with Bomber, and all too soon we must depart also.

9am: We're on the water rowing up, and Kian is pleased with himself (I presume), as a marshal has told us that "almost every VIII has hit the wall up ahead out of the tunnel", and we do not. Practice starts go adequately, though we only find space for two, and we're spun and in place all to soon. We're starting on the embankment station this time, and Kian has his first worry about the current pushing us out of line in the interminable wait between "both crews", and "go". The race is straightforward for me, and features rowing, pleasant surprise at the shout of "BOW BALL" from Kian, at a volume designed to be heard in the other boat, and a little more rowing, with pain in the legs beginning to make itself known as Kian calls "down two" with our victory relatively assured. We return, and I notice that I've managed to bleed from my hand, just at the joint of my fourth finger, despite wearing (shock horror) a glove on that hand. A plaster is put on, and I drink some milk (and water) and eat a banana and a bagel, knowing that we race again shortly. Bomber's rousing post-race chat consists of how we had insufficient relaxing towards the finish, or else we were rating too low after coming out of the bridge.

10am: Bomber's rousing pre-race chat again consists of focusing on a build towards the finish, and a reminder to go out hard. I proceed to lose my glove (in my not-food bag), and once more go on a loop around to warm up. We row down to the start, and it feels much nicer than a) how I remember the pain of rowing without a glove in the past, and b) rowing with a glove. I haven't rowed with a glove on since then (true as of 15th May). Unfortunately, a marshal seems not to like the idea of a practice start, and forbids us outright. We lost a lot of possible space for starts earlier in the row down due to marshals chivvying us along behind slower crews, and so we fail to have one. We exchange witty banter with St Edmund's Hall at the start. At least, they offer witty banter to receive some responses of mine that fall flat, and a "he doesn't speak for us" from an unnamed other member of First and Third. We race, and they win. A bit of a scrappy start from us included some fun hand-bashing on the boat. They had nearly a length on us at some point in the race, and we build to the finish and shrink that lead, but not early enough, not early enough. I am quite knackered, and proceed to get out of the boat almost last with a roll, despite being on bowside and thus should be in the first five (coxes matter). I proceed to keep my hands on the boat as we swing it to heads, and lean against it as we walk it back. Though I am sat on the grass on the other side of 805 to him, I can hear how Bomber's rousing post-race chat emphasises our need to build earlier in great detail.  I'm checked in on, and I plead a lack of food. I am assisted in standing and walking, and proceed to sit near the bags. We now face the pain of boredom, with just under seven hours to go before our next race. Time to head to the enclosure. 

11am: Oscar kindly waited with me for a few minutes while I recover strength (and eat a couple of bananas, finding my glove in the process), and I prevail upon him to carry my bags to the enclosure. We amble over (amble implies a carefree nature that this walk didn't quite possess, but the speed was that of an amble) and find a mild lack of chairs. I sit on the floor near the middle of our two tables for a bit, before someone brings me a chair, and gives me a hand up onto it. About half an hour later, I move to the end of one table, and chat to Andrey and Bogdan for a bit.

12pm: Food, and good conversation is had. I had 200g of smoked trout (it was reduced), a fair bit of cheese, a couple of bananas, and three more bagels. Some cheese was donated, and some bread was appropriated from those others at the table. I go and watch a race involving the latter-day Corpus Crab (for those who are unaware of the older Corpus Crab, YouTube does a fine job). Said crabber blames it on the rigging of his boat when questioned the week after. Later on, the toilets were explored, and I notice a red mark on the back of my hand, presumably from whacking it earlier. I draw around it in pen before heading over to watch the 12:37 race, that ends up being rather late, but it contains potential opposition.

1pm: Not long now until M2 and W1 are back racing, and I open my half a kilo of blueberries at the table, and take it over to those racing, having fun watching some inconsequential races (including St Edmund Hall losing to Abingdon School J15s, ouch), and catching up to a mild degree with Devin (a significant other of an unnamed member of W1) whom I have regrettably failed to have a good chat with recently. I return to the table with the aim of doing some work, and get distracted by Kian's work. We both do maths, so I don't think it counts as a problem.

2pm: More maths is done, and I promise Devin that I'll tell him when W1 are likely to appear. I obtain the last two slices of banana bread from the food inside the tent, and a slice of cake with raspberries in. I proceed to "do" more of Kian's maths, and tell Devin about the approach of W1 such that a) had I been later, we would have missed part of the viewing opportunity, and b) had I been earlier, we would have missed work for no reason. Perfection! I go to the toilet again, and there is a disturbing lack of water. I find hand sanitiser. Another unnamed rower is not so lucky, and uses soap with no water. A friend in Pembroke M1 wanders over, and we exchange actual witty banter, as well as well-wishes and a general catch-up. It's been a while since we had a proper chat (Michaelmas, on the towpath, while doing novice captain things), and vague plans for another are agreed.

3pm: The return of the others. Commiserations are had with W1, though this means that they can and will return home much earlier than we will, and M2 settle in for the - now rather short - long haul. Csongi and I venture out for a second refill of our water bottles, and are disappointed to find that the tap has been appropriated for the toilet caravan. Some other sources are found, not including the river. I open a pack of cashews, and offer them around, and have a final couple of bananas.

4pm: More attempts at doing maths, and a lot more watching of races. I decide to stop munching on cashews at about quarter past, and decide against opening a battenberg. I did bring a Union Jack toothpick skewer (or land-equivalent), stolen from the coronation celebrations yesterday, but unfortunately I missed the opportunity to place it in the cake. Before we return to the boats, I am delighted to find that the toilets once more have a water supply.

5pm: The drill is as ever. We warm up with a run in a loop over the bridges, have a pretty rousing pre-race chat with Bomber, and hype ourselves up. The row down was enjoyable, but even less forgiving in terms of getting a practice start, with multiple marshals on the case. We make a lot of noise (in response to Pembroke) in the tunnel close to the start, and I enjoy some bird-watching (there were multiple pigeons). Lining up on the stakeboat occurs, and we take a while to get accurately pointed. The marshal takes a absurd length of time to say go, by which point our bows have swung around a bit, and we end up having a mild clash with the bank off the start. What ho! We push hard into the race, and end up down by about a length through the tunnel. Our rhythm is strong, and we hold it until the lock (about 300m to go), before building, building, and building. We end a canvas down. Pembroke are good sports afterwards, as are we.

6pm: Bitter disappointment. Bomber's post-race chat once more includes a discussion of what would have happened had we started building earlier, and this time it hits home much harder. M2 also lost, and the trailer is assembled. I find the QE1 nuts and bolts jar and place it in the important bag. I journey back in Bomber's car, with Oscar, Oli and Kian. Andrey arranged transportation for everyone else, as the last bus back was at half five. I draw around the mark on my hand again, as it appears to have been washed off, and Bomber tells me to take care of it. We have pleasant conversation, but we're all pretty shattered. 

7ish: We're back in Cambridge, with vague plans for a pint, but Kian is functioning far better than the rest of us, and suggests a burger. The trailer (once more towed by 99s's Charlie) has been delayed by the desire for a McDonald's - George, Xander, Csongi and Charlie apparently had a great time, and so we have plenty of time for food. We arrive, amble around for twenty minutes meeting random other people (both mathmos and rugby lads, precisely our demographic), before returning to the restaurant. 

8pm: I had a teriyaki vegan concoction, which was excellent, and was the beneficiary of many chips. We discovered that Oli has a rugby social to attend, and he refused to go and leave us, insisting on helping with the boats. We arrive, and move appropriate boat things around from the trailer. We carry the bow-sections as two, and this is good fun. Some inefficiency is had, with certain individuals moving things from the bed of the trailer to the boathouse - having not realised that we will move the trailer much closer to the boathouse in short order.

9pm: I suggest rerigging 805 seeing as all of M1 are here, and there is a disappointed agreement from M1, and just straight-up disappointment from the few members of M2 who are here, seeing as how the rest of them had already agreed to rerig before their outing tomorrow. We tell Oli to leave, and rerig. I don't do much carrying of boats now, and instead make myself mildly useful distributing nuts (not of the edible variety). I make sure that the QE1 jar of nuts is in its traditional location, as W1 will need it tomorrow, and "on the ground in the boat-bay" does not fill me with hope.

10pm: Emptying the trailer and rerigging took a fair bit longer than we would have liked, and it's half-past ten by the time we're on the bridge to get back. My hand's pretty sore, and I spend quite some time monologuing about ice. We decide to go to the college bar, to catch up with others there (both those who row and those who regrettably do not). I dip my hand in some water, and chat for some time, before it is noticed that my hand is in water. We then observe that the red mark has extended a little beyond the boundaries of the pen, though is short of my wrist, and I am rather emphatically told to go to Addenbrooke's. I put up a token protest.

11pm: A friend (ex-W2) has kindly offered her room as a temporary storage location, clear as it is that going to Burrell's and back is an unnecessary time constraint. I transfer miscellany into my food bag, and leave my kit bag there. A sleep mask is forced upon me, and some items of clothing are declined. Painkillers are likewise declined, on the grounds that "it might interfere with the diagnosis if my pain doesn't match up". I sometimes surprise even myself.

We head to the Porter's lodge, and I am asked if I have been drinking, to which I give a highly unconvincing answer due to the manner in which I answer, though I had not in fact drank since - I think - February. Initially, a plaster and sleep is suggested, but thanks to the effort of a friend, the porter concedes that A&E might be a good idea. Said friend insists on calling it the ER though, which grates on my ears and she proceeds not to stop with this. I now must make a decision, as there are five people who wish to come with me. I choose the two who would best be classified as nocturnal, and one of them books a taxi. 

We arrive at Addenbrooke's, and I am told that only one family member can accompany me inside. I must pick between someone half a foot taller, ginger, and with complete opposite build, or a foot shorter, and clearly of recent East Asian descent. I turn to James (tall), and apologise. We go in, and there's little space. I'm triaged, and friend lets me take the available seat, as she proceeds to stand for the next fifteen minutes. 

12am: I look at the triage band, and see "swollen hand". This does not fill me with confidence with respect to being seen quickly, but it is what it is, I suppose, and at least it's not serious enough to merit being seen sooner. I attempt to do maths, and fail miserably, not being able to write right-handed, and severely lacking motivation to do it with my left at the time, but conversation is had, and it could be worse. My blood pressure is taken, and I'm lightly thrilled with 153/97, as this is the highest I've ever seen. It's beaten shortly by others who come in, but for a moment I am a king. Perhaps I may have been too long awake.

1am: More conversation is had, about previous visits to A&E, about patient advocacy (I've never personally seen the need, my friend has), and statistics. Some mildly terrifying anecdotes are exchanged both ways, and I resist the urge to depart from personal anecdotes into "in a book by Adam Kay, I learned not only more things that could be degloved, but also that "lefty loosey righty tighty" can be applicable to more than just screws." I'm proud of myself, for what little it's worth. I'm called in for a blood test, and complemented on the "wonderful veins" on the back of my left hand. The nurse is cheerful, and it makes everything much more bearable. I tell her as such, after cracking the classic "donation to the hospital vampires" line. I now have a cannula (I believe) in the back of my left hand, and we once more take a seat. Friend eats a banana from my bag, and declines a bagel. I don't eat, expecting medication that requires an empty stomach.

2am: The long haul begins. Having heard some quite vocal requests for pain relief earlier, the general vibe of the waiting room starts to dim a little (not helped by - shock horror - friend attending to nature, and checking on tall James, who has proceeded just to wait outside A&E alone) as I engage a lady in a wheelchair to my left in conversation.

She has spent 35 of the last 37 hours in hospital, it seems, and arrived at A&E here seven hours ago, and has yet to be seen. I keep quiet about the nurse at the end of my blood test saying that it should be only about forty minutes. We briefly chat about her family, and I commiserate with her that her daughter (who is in Germany) doesn't want to talk to her right now, on speakerphone, in the A&E waiting room, at past 3am in Germany. By this she means that her daughter isn't picking up. Perhaps I am being uncharitable. But we discuss the NHS guidelines prioritising people who are less heavy for surgery (specific surgeries, specific levels of heaviness) and I like to think that it made her wait less painful. The couple on my right are less fruitful, with all I can squeeze out of them being their relationship (mother/son), and general issue (mother's eyesight).
Friend returns, and mentions that James was sleeping, having finished his book with nothing(?) better to do. We once more discuss patient advocacy, mainly once forty minutes pass and I successfully dissuade her from going up to a doctor and asking about the results of my blood test. I would have been mortified. It's always interesting to see differences in life experience play out, and here is definitely such a situation. Friend eats a second of my bananas, but declines to start the battenberg. 

3am: I am seen, I struggle to describe what I think could have caused it until I remember that this is Cambridge, and I can say "rowing" without receiving confusion. The doctor doesn't see why a blood test was necessary, and I'm given first-line antibiotics and my cannula is removed. Said antibiotics require no food consumed for the two hours before, so I am in a position to take it. I did ask the doctor if these guidelines were strict, and they are "vaguely ignorable". I do not even vaguely ignore them, however. I text the M1 group-chat, informing them of my absence from the 1:30pm outing today, and reporting my expected failure to obtain a sub. We leave, and rejoin a cheerful James, attempting to get in an incorrect taxi. The taxi driver on the way back is best described as incorrigible, leading us in excellent discussion about the quality of students in Cambridge, as well as how excellent Bumps is as a spectator sport. 

4am: We arrive back in college, and the taxi driver is tipped more than the previous, despite being given the same amount of cash. We report in to the same porter, who notes it down for college. I am asked if I can make it back to Burrell's comfortably, and am offered space to sleep if not. I am feeling sufficiently alive to make it back, and do so, leaving through the side gate as the Avenue gate will once more be closed. I arrive back in my room, shower (a wise decision) and inform my family of my situation. At 4:59am, I send a couple of messages to a friend, saying that I am well. I then place my phone on the floor, and collapse into the netherworld.

4:30pm: I wake up to a missed email from the college nurse, at 9:30am, asking if I'm alright, and requesting my presence. She left college at 12:15pm. I am congratulated by George on going to hospital at such a time of night, prioritising my health over sleep, and hear that the outing without me was adequate. 24 hours of fun, but not something I wish to replicate soon.

Onto 99s Regatta. Yeah FaT!

The race was about an hour behind schedule at this point, and the sun was rather warm.

Afterwards, Oli and George get some horrifying sunburn - horrifying enough that it goes on Oli’s Tinder profile, and George seems proud(?). I managed to sunburn the back of one of my fingers, which should indicate how sunny it was.

A good day, with some happiness by the end, and it bodes well for bumps - with the only crew that we lost to being too far down the chart to worry about.