Cambridge University is renowned for many things. Indeed, it is renowned for doing many things better than pretty much anywhere else in the world. It has produced some of the world's greatest writers, inventors and scientists. Without its graduates we would not understand gravity, evolution or genetics (in other words, we'd all be Sarah Palin). But worse still, without Cambridge, we wouldn't have plastic surgery. Yet with these many illustrious achievements, it easy to overlook one of the universities greatest and most impressive traditions. A creation which is seldom heard of outside of the city - the May Ball.In simple terms, a May Ball is an end of year party. But that really is underestimating it. Whilst Cambridge students may spend most of the year working harder than anywhere else, for the second week of June (deceptively known as May Week) they party harder than anywhere else in the known universe. The May Ball is to student parties what Stephen Hawking is to physics - a weird cross between the most indulgent episodes of My Super-Sweet Sixteen and a minor music festival. Kicking off at 7pm they run through until dawn and beyond, and whilst the £120 price tag may sound excessive, this buys you 12 hours of unlimited food, drink, music and mayhem - and perhaps the only opportunity you will ever have to be drunk off your tits, rocking out to a mid-nineties one hit wonder in a 13th century cloister.This year I was (un)fortunate enough to be on the organising committee for my college's ball. Whilst this did bring lots of lovely CV points and plenty of opportunities for fun -spending the sort of money you can buy a decent sized house for on a party for all your friends is truly thrilling at times - it was also rather stressful. As guests filed in and filled themselves, we spent the night feeling like the first 15 minutes of Saving Private Ryan, but with fewer Nazis and more canapes. And this was after months of juggling organisation with exams and academic work. But this not a place for me to moan about that. I know you guys want musical goss, and that my friends is what you shall get...First off, my own wonderful blunder which I will ever roll out for it's 'cooler than thou' snub the indie-poser band, rather than its 'I am so ignorant' truth. Picture the scene - it is about midnight, and I am on my fourth nervous breakdown of the night. Into our porters' lodge wander some scruffy indie urchins - a band you'd probably all recognise and love, but at this point I was far from bothered about. I nonchalantly look up 'Are you playing?' I ask. I am hit by a "do you know who we are?' look, but before I can respond my colleague asked them exactly that. Their response...'Hot Chip'Oops. I'd just blanked one of our main acts and possibly lost all indie cred I possibly had. Or just transcended the realms of cool by ignoring a major act like a true hipster. Anyway, for reasons I cannot go into, it turned out they were dicks and I was probably right to treat them with disdain.But Hot Chip were not our only act, and the others provided just as much mirth. Topping our bill was hip-hop hero Grand Master Flash, a man who provided a brilliant set but also liked to conform to every stereotype possible. He asked for the flashiest hotel room in town, and had our entertainments guy running round Cambridge with cartloads of chicken and rice... good to know he was keeping it real and avoiding the temptation of our ostrich burgers and bubbly. At the other end of the musical spectrum stood Toploader, famous for nineties hit "Dancing in the Moonlight" - a song perfectly suited to the open air midnight slot they were gifted. These boys provided little in the way of anecdotes however, except for showing that one iconic song is all you need to keep a crowd of drunken students satisfied.For more on the ball, see this wonderful review: http://cambridgetab.co.uk/reviews/review-caius/