The Club's Results

The Lents roll around, and one thing was on our mind

To ram 804’s bowball, up Sidney’s behind

We’ve put in the work, we’ve put in the hours

Time to put around our sunglasses, some foliage and flowers

Day one wasn’t our finest row, but a gutsy row-over at least

Emma had gained two whistles, but then came the FaT beast

Roaring out of grassy, charging down the plough we were,

Finally in our own race, Emma now a distant blur

Ditton came, splits dropped further,

An attempt at a Sidney bump with much fervor

Sadly Sidney rowed away, quicker than perhaps we’d thought

And it was Jesus M2, by halfway down the reach they’d caught

Alas, what a shame, but Darwin caught Emma soon

And Bomber telling us to wind down, was soon the ringing tune

Day one complete, lessons learnt

M2 division, for a day adjourned

Rest day meeting, what an evening

Clodagh analysis cooking, crew beaming

Back tomorrow, for another go at Sid,

Dangerous steering, on Caius, they very much did.

(Harry Glyn)

Despite being First and Third, our second race remains our undisputed peak. Fuelled by a weather report for a bumps push and Alex’s American-educated belief that Napoleon was the hero of the story, we traded power 10s for cries of liberty and stormed up Sidney’s rear in record time. We may be an M2 with a loose grasp on history, but we can certainly put our legs down when there’s glory on the line.  (Will)

Day Two of FaT M2's Lent Bumps 2026 is an afternoon that will rightly go down in club history: the birth of '[weather] day, take them down'. You know it's serious when Clodagh rocks up in shorts (she'll claim the weather, but we all know it was to keep up with the wattage). We once again tested our escaping abilities by letting the crew behind gain two whistles, but we will quickly reassure you this is all part of the master plan to lure them into a false sense of security (he says, crying himself to sleep at the thought of our starts...). Let's take a minute for the beauty of 'I want cavalry charge' and 'Warpath' from Will, and his personal naming of Sidney rowers. Chef's kiss. Also, a personal success for my debut of semi-relaxed arms in an Empacher - a true triumph for the human race. Onto Hughes Hall bowball we march. (Harry Glyn)

'Rainy day, take them down'. We rowed ugly; they rowed uglier. They rowed with watts (questionable); we rowed with far more. They couldn't steer; well, Will just about could. Bump before first post corner (following two whistles within ten strokes) and we were gifted an extra rest day. Onwards we march. Vive le FaT. (Harry Glyn)

Perhaps not our finest row, but probably our most civilised. One whistle. Then two. Then three. Then continuous. Then a bump. Step-by-step, little-by-little, with an immediately nullified threat from behind. Parfait. (Harry Glyn)