This week I’ve seen tourists in a different light. Following a bold decision to get my eyebrows waxed last Saturday, which subtly altered the way the light reaches my retinas, this is perhaps unsurprising. The waxing hurt a lot but what hurt still more was when the eyebrow lady offered, unprompted, to wax my moustache too. “You can pay after” said the eyebrow lady. Ouch. I left Superdrug with my ‘moustache’ still intact and my self-esteem slightly less so. Still smarting physically and emotionally from the incident, I went straight to M&S and bought a reduced cucumber. I don’t even like cucumber. Perhaps it was an act of defiance. Why am I like this?

To return to my point: come the beautiful weather, come the tourists. Cycling especially has become treacherous. Orgasm Bridge has lost all sense of climax as I have been consistently forced to dismount. My bell is apparently no longer effective, no matter how forcefully I ring it, and so I’m looking to replace it with a klaxon horn. I will of course feedback and, if all goes well, I will inevitably become the supplier for Cambridgeshire. This excellent plan aside, I would say the worst thing is when parents let their tiny children run free into the bike lane. Generally speaking I’m against running over innocents, but a gal’s got to get to her Dutch lesson on time!

I’ll answer politely that “the University is made up of many colleges and faculties situated throughout the city” but in my head I’ll definitely do something vindictive

It’s almost impossible to avoid the crowds entirely, but finally I managed it on Sunday by playing goalkeeper in two hockey cuppers finals. While my friends spent the day on Jesus green in harem pants and sexy lobster costumes*, drinking goodness-knows-what out of goodness-knows-where, I stood in goal for three hours in full-body protective goalie armour, slow-cooking in my own sweat. We lost both matches. We were dehydrated and heat-exhausted and the bittersweet taste of defeat in my mouth may have in hindsight been blood.

But back on Jesus Green C-Sunday was looking even messier and there was a lot of rubbish dumped for Cambridge council to pick up, which made me think that Cambridge students are tourists too. A sort of academic tourist that exoduses on mass at the beginning and end of each term. And while I might moan about the swathes of people who’ve stormed Cambridge each day this week, we students obviously aren’t the perfect tourists either – we’re loud, we litter, we increase Pret queue time tenfold. So, I’ve decided I’m going to be more patient with tourists from now on. Because really, I am kind of one myself.

*please note this is an official costume description and not an indication of a lobster fetish.