Sky daubed in soft-bristle clouds and scratched by contrails; ancient stone on one side of a gently-curving road and gaudy shopsigns on the other; tourists, students and locals mixed close but insoluble; the smiling, mischievous drift of the punts, dreaming of dodgems; the river wildlife tucked in on itself, dappled under the trees; the quiet little village roads feeding like tributaries into abrupt cityscapes. It all glows.

It’s a great time of the year to be in a place like this.