Cambridge

: The Grand Account :

Cambridge sits low against the fens, and so its towers carry further: King's College Chapel rises from the flat land like an act of will, five centuries of perpendicular ambition in pale stone. The town's genius has always been concentration, Newton at Trinity, Darwin at Christ's, the Cavendish Laboratory splitting the atom a short walk from where Rubens hangs in King's. Quieter than Oxford and somehow more austere, Cambridge appeals to those who measure achievement in ideas. The Backs at dawn, mist on the Cam, a college court empty before the day begins: these are the rewards of arriving properly, and early.

From the City the M11 runs north almost door to door; from the West End allow ninety minutes, leaving the motorway at Junction 11 for the southern approach past the colleges. The V-Class VIP Senzati suits the journey well, a rolling study in which calls can be taken and papers read, though the Range Rover LWB is favoured in winter. Cambridge restricts its medieval core, so your chauffeur arranges set-down by the Fitzwilliam or at your hotel, coordinates with college porters' lodges where private access has been granted, and keeps umbrellas to hand; fenland weather is its own institution.

Begin at the Fitzwilliam Museum when it opens, the Titians deserve an unshared room. Mid-morning, take a chauffeured punt along the Backs from the Mill Pond, the only proper way to see the bridges of Clare and King's. Luncheon is settled by reputation: Midsummer House, on the common beside the Cam, remains East Anglia's great table. In term time, return to King's College Chapel for choral evensong at half past five, arrive fifteen minutes early. The University Arms on Parker's Piece serves a fine late tea. Depart in darkness; the chapel, floodlit against the fen sky, makes its own quiet argument for returning.