Even if many of us felt a little worse for wear by the last Friday of May Week, the Latin drumming of Corpus’s “Carnavalia” readily awakened our partying spirit for one last night of excess. If the drumming wasn’t enough, the spectacle of Corpus’s New Court, replete with coloured water jets and fire throwers, quickly got us in the mood. The trays of champagne were a truly inspired touch – call us spoilt but queuing for drinks the moment you arrive at a ball is a real drag. The waitresses, in their lime green headdresses and thongs, served, inadvertently, another purpose - making us feel safely under-dressed: Rare for a May Ball.

Carnavalia was a ball of carnal delights; the food was of seriously high quality and we enjoyed tasty fajitas, steak sandwiches and langoustines. The cheese room was woeful with its lonely pair of Cheddars but provided comic relief. But this carnival also showed its participants the pleasure of carnage; ball dresses were ripped on the bucking bronco and ice-creams dripped all over a bouncy castle. Some might have felt that the theme allowed for a great party rather than a ball, and perhaps the spaces that best suited Corpus Christi's gentle courtyards (and people's weary feet) were the quieter places that felt more Country House than Cuba. The old courtyard offered delicious and subtly lethal cocktails to the sound of a violin quartet. In the Master’s garden ballgoers sitting under fairylights were offered bellinis by rather saucy looking waiters in Aladdin outfits to the sound of jazz that was only a smidge too smooth.

 The musical highlight of the evening was the Brazilian band, who played to plenty of hip shaking and hair tossing. Sunshine Underground, very shouty and sweaty, exploited our bellini intake with much thrusting of the mike into the crowd. Whilst the Martinis and champagne really flowed, the changes between acts weren’t so fluid and we suffered a couple of anticlimactic shufflings about to interim music – carnivals really aren’t supposed to have any pauses. Even Britney herself (mercifully reincarnated with full head of hair) left us hanging while she changed her costume, the effect of which was sadly denied to those at the back of the packed tent. Singing along to “Crazy” was most certainly a popular one a.m. activity, but did feel more school disco than Latin America.

This ball didn’t keep us dancing all night but as the sun rose over New Court, we were happy to be horizontal on the grass with champagne in hand and satiated by the Latino spirit.

Emily Stokes and
Hermione Buckland-Hoby

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