Quintessentially Cambridge @Fitzbillies, 12th Sept – 8th Dec

The unctuous squish of Chelsea buns, the polite clink of coffee cups and coy glances over Fitzbillies macarons, then onward to the river. Punters drift past sunburnt tourists and women in wide-brimmed hats, each boat a small stage in a floating theatre.

Along Trumpington Street, seeking shade, we reach the Fitzwilliam Museum. Footsteps tap softly on marble floors beneath soaring classical ceilings and Jeff with his badge collection keeps the decorum. 

Back again past Fitzbillies and Lui’s Barber Shop. Children tumble out of the Sedgwick Museum, roaring like dinosaurs, their laughter trailing down the pavement. Memories flicker; muddy rugby games, well eared unbirthday parties. The Picturehouse beckons. Barbara Stanwyck flashes her anklet, the most glamorous of all femme fatales. The screen glows, popcorn spills.

Outside, eyes adjusting to the light, we follow along Pembroke Street. A queue snakes toward the May Ball, some already regretting their choice of shoes. Then across town, the Burleigh Arms. Pints clink under low light as Kareem Roberts’ menu reads like adventure, emerald green vinegar, curried lamb and plantain choka.

Finally, the walk home. The city still quiet, still dreaming, until just before dawn, when a cheerful courier with a bright blue beard delivers the day’s Chelsea buns to King’s Parade.