Right, so (as I believe all good pieces of writing begin....), the count-down to my departure begins, and with it, the hit-list of Cambridge Things I need to do before I go.
And nowhere could be more appropriate a place to start, than where this whole chapter of my life started; in Fitzbillies.
In the 25 years that I've lived and worked in Cambridge, I've been stopped by approximately
78.6 billion tourists, all asking one of two questions;
'Where is the Cambridge University?', a question to which there is no answer, so I generally just gesticulate all around me, rolling my eyes and arms, trying to convey 'Fucksakeseriously?!' in 12 languages at once.
'Where is Fitzbillies?'
The second is far more common than the first.
Not because Fitzbillies, the cake shop, bakery and café that's been part of the City in various shapes since 1922 and has served everyone from Stephen Fry and Eddie Redmayne to many thousands of students, one of which was once me, back in 1993, is particularly hard to find;
instead, their desperate quest is simply because its Chelsea Buns are more famous and Instagrammable than Kings' College chapel.
So renowned are these warm, glistening, sticky squares of impending sugar-rush that people travel from all corners of the spherical world, which presumably has no corners, to get their hands, mouths and teeth stuck together with them.
More than A Very Big Number are sold every year, and Newton's Mathematical Bridge, which was actually built in 1934, is held together by Chelsea Bun glue.
The only small problem here, is that I loathe almost all cake-y type things.
My idea of HELL is tea and cake. Ask me out for tea and cake and I'll probably say something along the lines of, 'Please fuck kindly off, and bring me steak. Thank you.'
Everyone else is very welcome to go right ahead and like cakes, and tea.
I just prefer meat, and coffee. C'est comme ça.
But this is different. Teetering on the edge of cake-ish hell, a Chelsea Bun neatly side-steps such horrors, by being....A BUN. And a bun, I am up for. Just.
I usually manage about a quarter of one Chelsea Bun before my blood sugar levels hit such a high I immediately buy every single item available on Amazon Prime, and it takes me a week to come down again.
I've seen some impressively sucrose-tolerant people manage two entire buns at one sitting, and some of them are still perched at the top of Great St Mary's church tower, buzzing.
So before I leave town, I need to have a last shot at one.
And here she is:
GOD. JUST LOOK AT THAT SHINE!! And so soft! And sweet! And sticky! And bunny! And.....OHHHHHHHHH.
It's almost orgasmic eating one of these, so if you need to take yourself off into a private space before you tuck in, I'd say it's not a bad idea.
Three quarters in, and I'm done. Beaten. But it'll happily keep me going until I come come home at Christmas....in 2021.
Next time you're in Cambridge, don't forget to do two things;
stand in the middle of King's Parade and ask an irritated resident where Cambridge University is, and then get your face stuck into, and together by, a Chelsea Bun from Fitzbillies.
They really are the absolute bun tits. And I challenge you not to need to need a cold shower afterwards.