The Club's Results

It's true, our races aren't high-profile
And our reports fall short of the mile.
So, with some ambition,
I present to you this edition
Of Fairbairns 2025, W1 style.

It is time again for W1 to take part
and so we came, light of heart,
To the slimy bank
and, with a clank
We set out to the start.

The headwind did not fit the bill
but soon we surely sat still
And with a tap
Bow set the gap 
And left us in the hands of Will.

"Wind 1, wind 2," Will urged us on,
the boat surging forth like some swan,
When all of a sudden,
We heard a great thuddin'
And duly we into Catz we'd gone.

Alas, alack, it's not too late!
The boat was in a dreadful state
But with lots of hope
And the ability to cope
We hiked ourselves back onto rate.

Through Concrete Corner we did fly,
Feeling, as we were, really quite spry.
Our blades were in,
Our minds within,
And into the rhythm did we buy.

The next few minutes, I will admit,
are hazy at best, much like the split.
And so we chugged,
And maybe tugged,
Our forearms likely starting to quit.

The Railings might have brought some relief
Though our legs were giving quite some grief.
We blizted through Ditton
and with that bit-done-
In our hearts spawned the slightest belief.

We rounded Grassy, once more unto the breach
With Will continually begging us each
So from our legs 
We squeezed the dregs
And pushed onto the final reach.

Then, all of a sudden, under Newnham Bridge
We zoomed, towards the final ridge,
And at the sound of the horn
Our legs well-worn,
We submitted to the old adage:

"Wind down, wind down" said the cox,
And relief rippled through to our socks,
Our race was now over 
And, moreover,
We could finally sink onto our hocks.

And so, we had reached the climax
With the help of various syntax.
So with Bomber appeased
And our legs all seized,
At long last, we began to relax.




(Dido Coley)