̽��ֱ��

Monday
̽��ֱ��week kicked off with the most exciting part - the lectures! To be sure, some of the lessons I learned were unorthodox: I studied the exact density of my chewing gum, did thought experiments with the flies on the ceiling and expressed myself through the medium of doodles. One of the fascinating lectures introduced the concept of using satire as a historical source. This is risky territory, though I love the thought of Little Britain becoming a staple of history courses in years to come.

In the evening we hired some punts and glided along the river Cam, accompanied by many tales (some of them tall) from the tour guide. Apparently there is a points system for knocking people into the river: 30 for a tourist, 100 if he is wearing a fancy suit, 1,000 for a Cambridge Fellow – though this is likely to be a myth. In the great Venetian tradition our gondolier performed a stunning rendition of All Star. ̽��ֱ��captive audience of 15 girls begged for more, but sadly he didn’t oblige.

Tuesday
At breakfast, hungry and rebellious, I broke the ‘one croissant each’ rule yet again. And off we went around the museums and archives of Cambridge. Interesting items included Margaret Thatcher’s handbag (in case she comes looking for her spare crocodile teeth) and Winston Churchill’s school report. I would have loved to see Albert Einstein’s To Do list – something like “buy cakes, put milk in fridge, solve mysteries of universe, by Friday, no later”.

We were given an insight into the preservation of documents; I learned that if you are to become a National Treasure, you must keep your papers in an alkaline box in a cool, dry place. And then subsequent generations will come and giggle at your school report.

Then onwards to the Fitzwilliam (sadly not Darcy) Museum to look at portraits of rich people. Dignified nobles cast a disdainful gaze upon our attire as we walked through the gallery. Many of them had an expensive statue or two ‘accidentally’ put in the background; one lady had herself depicted as a goddess, gazing benevolently from atop a cloud - that is one way to proclaim your modesty.

After analysing said pictures, we were shipped off to Corpus Christi for lunch. Here I got into a heated debate on the relative merits of Stephen Fry and Rowan Atkinson, and discovered the custom of ‘pennying’: if you put a penny in someone’s desert, they have to eat it without using their hands.

Later we visited an exhibition on Charles Darwin at the ̽��ֱ�� Library. It showed a selection of his diaries and correspondence aboard the Beagle. He was a man of letters, and would have liked modern forms of communication. His daily Twitter might have gone:

charlesdarwyn@darwynsmom
found nu bird species 2day,but woz in middle of eatin it cos thought it woz midget ostrich LOL whats left 2 Cambrig.bet they gonna be well mad!
About 130 years ago from middle of Pacific.

Wednesday
Today we turned into CSI detectives, analysing a group of bones found at Thorney Abbey and tried to answer the gruesome question of how their owners died. ̽��ֱ��bones appeared in a back garden several years ago, but Midsommer Murders has been ruled out. Theories ranged from the ordinary (graveyard) to the insane (Voldemort’s secret hiding place). ̽��ֱ��real explanation was somewhere between the two.

In the evening we were treated to a production of Shakespeare ‘ ̽��ֱ��Merry Wives of Windsor’. Sadly I was very tired and couldn’t keep up with the plot; it seemed like a group of angry people yelling at each other in a very articulate way. ̽��ֱ��highlight was the supreme comic performance of Dr Caius; there is no context in which a frilly costume and a silly French accent are not funny.

Thursday
Today was to be the History Mystery Tour and excitement was already mounting at breakfast time (no-one noticed my second croissant). We meandered around Cambridgeshire, being treated to some Obamaesque oratory from our tour guide. I was frantically noting down everything he said (in modern life, it really helps to know that Witcham is the centre of the World Pea Shooting Championship!).

We stopped off for tea and coffee at a medieval church with a resident pet; Ferdinand the Cat soon developed a cult following, and seemed very satisfied with being stroked by the entire tour bus. I would have asked for his autograph, but couldn’t find a pen.

Finally to Prickwillow Drainage Museum, home of four hulking water pumps, crouching on the floor like retired dragons. ̽��ֱ��curators started them up for us; after much pleading and persuading, two plumes of flame grudgingly came out of the pipes, and the machine flared into life. ̽��ֱ��noise resembled a beat that was oddly danceable; if it wasn’t a pump, it could make a great DJ.

In the evening, it was time to taste one finer aspect of student life - the party. Fifty students crammed into the function room, eager to ‘rip up the dance floor’, with much stepping on toes and colliding of body parts. It was the essential college experience, but for a younger audience - instead of sex, drugs and rock n’ roll, we had slowdancing, Coca Cola and the Marcarena.

Friday
Finally we were set loose in the town (admittedly followed by our supervisors) for some shopping; unfortunately I had a problem (cash, not enough of) and could not indulge my shopaholic instincts.

Then back to my room, with one hour to pack my suitcase. This was a mighty undertaking, worthy of Hercules himself – sadly he wasn’t around. I ended up stuffing the miscellaneous debris accumulated during the week into the suitcase, and sitting on it.

And before long it was time to say goodbye to my new friends and promise to keep in contact by email/MSN/Facebook/carrier pigeon. All the girls bade farewell to our supervisor, who had acquired the nickname ‘Red Hot Tom’ because of his red hair and trousers. No double meaning intended.

Will the summer school entice me to take history at uni? Who knows – but I’m definitely considering it. All I do know is that I have a week left until school, and no excuse not to do my homework. I shall miss my stay in Cambridge dearly.

Many thanks to all those who sent us their diaries – and best of luck to them as they start Year 11. We hope you’ve enjoyed reading the Summer School Diaries!