The combination of too many frenetic Bridgemas celebrations and the mound of books clouded my newly-awoken mind, just as the wispy, cirrus clouds surrounded the sky over the Caius Library. The brisk sprint through the damp Tree Court did little to overcome the typical morning fog before the 9am supervision about political movements throughout the 19th Century. Inside, and between the various academic discussions, I heard the innumerable raindrops blending their notes together–the college’s old roof reverberating like a drum–in an endless changeful raucous music. Thinking about the next study session, I glanced through the windows into the rain; the hardness of my favourite rustic oak bench in the Court would have to be swapped for a cosy corner seat inside the JCR. Despite these distractions, I somehow left the senior tutor impressed.
After braving the cold again I snuggled down, my beloved scarf trapping whatever radiant warmth I had left from the winter’s breeze. Opposite me sat a pair of recently college-married and gossiping freshers, arms wrapped around each other; his eyes were intently staring into hers, probably wishing it was more than just a college marriage after reading the latest Varsity feature. Their discussion ranged from a sphinx to a sceptre to a sphincter, and from Crimea to the Cenotaph, which, in turn, gave me the intellectual motivation needed to complete my most recent batch of essays and the looming antidisestablishmentarianism research. When the discussion quietened, with the shadows outside lengthening and the sides of the windowpane darkening, I knew it was time to finally pack my laptop and books away.
Content with the day’s work, I stepped out, gazing over the grass. The brilliance of the late evening sun dazzled the Gothic architecture that surrounded me, and on the lawn were two jostling magpies–in search of a worm or other grubby scraps, no doubt–oblivious to my envy of walking over it one day. Two magpies for joy, I noted. Leaving the scholastic sanctuary of the college and turning right, I heard many men and women speaking various languages, queuing up to take photos in front of the King’s chapel (of course) while the sun lasted. I simply walked through the crowd, knowing my face and the latest stash drop would one day be featured on some faraway exotic travel brochure, and took one last look over the Cam before heading home, ready to relax for the evening.