Cambridge is a charming little town that's been around for over a thousand years and every other building is a college that can claim that it educated some famous alchemist or heretic (I said it's been around for awhile) that discovered phlegm or gravity or paper towels or some such. Every building that isn't a college is a bakery or a pie shop, which explains why everyone here looks pretty happy.
So, as my pie–besotted brain understands it; there is the town of Cambridge. It is home to the University of Cambridge. This is an aggregate entity made up of the 7000 or so colleges that you see lying about. A "college" is sort of what what we in America would think of as a "department", with it's own dormitories, laboratories, museums, greensward and jolly traditions that all trace back to sometime between the 1300s and the 1800s when some rich person wanted to make sure that their particular obsession was being studied, and became significantly less rich ensuring that this happened.
We are visiting friends, Diana & John Cox, who have graciously allowed us to reset our trans–Atlantic biological clocks at their fabulous, has a real estate listing in the actual Domesday Booke house. We can attest that eating pies and punting on the Cam have a very salubrious effect on us.
In a few days we will head down to London for LonCon 3 (http://www.loncon3.org/), the latest world science-fiction convention, where we will have a dealer's table, expound on panels, and gnaw on our fingers waiting for the Hugo Award ceremony. While we will no longer be a–punting (unless there's a really great bathtub in our hotel room), we will continue to seek solace in pies.