Cox: Sasha Hajnal-Corob Stroke: Rob Piper 7: Emil Hewage 6: Simon Brunner 5: Chris Oswald 4: Adriaan Dippenaar 3: Tom Stafford 2: Sam Lawson Bow: Alexander Vervuurt

Race reports by Sam Lawson, in a comic style inspired by Homer’s epic poetry

Day, The First -

We few, we happy few, with fear and pride, support alongside, so went forth the fabled eight, Head of the division, wishing avoidance of collision, the heroes sought comfort in fate. The wind blew strong, we waited long, for the rumble of four minutes to go, Baggage was packed, all banter was lacked, and the nerves began to show.

Pushed out from the bank, the anxieties sank, and the crew felt ready to fight, Dr. Walker counted down, we made not a sound, as we nine set victory in sight, BOOM went the cannon, all worry abandoned, the power went down like thunder, Within seconds away, two boat lengths on they, the bank party stared in wonder.

Fitz 2 did crab, so we widened the gap, to near on eight by the end of the race, Our cox she was chuffed, as we huffed and puffed, and steeled ourselves for the next we would face. Now division three, our enemy did we see, Clare Hall 1 all painted in gold, Back of the pack, we solaced in the fact, that our ‘strength was our strength’ or so we’d be told.

The race was strong, Clare Hall bumped and was gone, to see us push for the overbump instead, We achieved not our goal, but we could console, in ending 3 lengths away from Caius - respect.

Translation - Day 1 : rowed over head of 4th division and foot of 3rd division Day, The Second -

Today again we are sandwiched, between two divisions and in which, we know not of our rightful station, Oh well, much to prove, we each prepared to do, what was necessary to receive green decoration. Christs M3, behind us we, at the canon again went forth, Wind with us we seemed set sail, the blue boys pushed but to no avail, and soon enough we’d finished the course.

Back up now to see off a tougher boat, we felt confident we could demote, the Robinson boys freshly bumped, The canon went and we started strong, choppy water would not prolong, our quest as we eight pulled and pumped, The whistle blew we felt the rush, killing now so to crush, the eight in front - the gap was thin, But alas ahead Clare 1 did fail, to navigate proper so Robinson hit their tail, before we could claim our rightful win.

A sad sight was this we rowed home dejected, knowing though that we had tested, the division we knew should be ours, Another day to come for us to prove, that we could win and wouldn’t lose; we had the pace and we had the scars.

Translation - Day 2 : two row overs Day, The Third

Today just one race, yet again to prove pace, against the terrible foe Fitzwilliam, It was easy enough; they brought us no fuss, we were easily clear by Ditton. Just a word for our coach Nick, who today made it his trick, to convert us from poor sods to men, Known as ‘the housewives choice’, this day had we his voice, and so we knew that with ease we could defend.

Now the author must be given, a moment to relish in, the homeward ejector that left us all stunned, Young Stafford his name, reached notable fame, through a dip that left him moribund, Out of nowhere it came, the rowing was tame, but this boy he felt the need to excite, A line of women’s boats nearby, with laughter they cried, at the justifiably hilarious sight.

All freezing and wet, he clambered onto the deck, of a barge at the edge of the Cam, Shivering still, one wonders at his will, to take a bow to his adoring fans.

Translation - Day 3 : rowed over at head of 4th Division Day, The Fourth

What a glorious day did here unfold, and now the story must be told, of how three places us mere men did take, Clare Hall ahead with us in tow, did battle with their Robinson foe, and bumped them leaving us to make, Eight lengths of ground on the pitiful John’s, who must have felt entirely wronged, as they saw the steaming Queens’ approach, The fabled power of the boar, went down through our legs and to our oars, as we came up through plough reach to their boat.

Sasha’s voice was to be heard from miles away, COOOONNNNNEEECCCTT one would hear her say, as we came through Ditton corner for the push, There were screams from the bank, as we came up on their flank, so we gave it our all to wear leaves from the bush, The whistle did blow, each of us did know, the time had arrived to kill or be conquered, We bumped them with vehemence, they fell with acquiescence, and we knew we’d got what we wanted.

The celebrations were enormous, a big day for us, the crew of an older and tired styling, Each of us roared, hugging on board, and even grumpy Emil was smiling.

Translation - Day 4: overbumped LMBC M3 into 3rd Division Day, The Fifth

Despite yesterdays victory, we knew today could be, a harder day than most, Boats before and behind, new experience might find, us losing our place by first post. The time it arrived, and each of us strived, to catch Girton up ahead, With us to cox, Chris Clark spoke through the box, ‘come on boys, lets put them to bed.’

The race seemed over in a flash, by the bridge we did catch, the last of our foes for the week, We celebrated by piling into the bank, the bow snapped and we worried that we’d be sank, while dear Chris looked on rather meek. All that aside, we swelled up with pride, as we went and claimed our foliage, From there we rowed home, happy to be known, as those who had gained such advantage.

All praise to our captain, the friendliest Austrian, who led us to achieve what we did, And to our brilliant M2, who we always knew, would get blades when they made their bid. In years to come, I hope the future boars run, through this tale to each new M3, A tale of crashed boats and ejecting, of seven races no resting; a Lent Bumps to go down in history.

Translation - Day 5 : bumped Girton M2 Finished the week 14th in the third division.