she sings and sighs as the shuttle flies

I spent most of July either in Australia or in a book. Besides which, let's face it, the weather in July this year was pretty rotten. So the August sunshine has been very well timed, and beloved and I have tried to make the most of it. Saturday afternoon we had a long ramble up the Thames to Port Meadow, across the Meadow (which is now dry in the centre!) to Walton Manor, through North Oxford to Parks. Here we found nothing so lovely to do as to lie in some dappled sunlight eating strawberries and listening to the obligingly rustle-y leaves of a nearby tree. Eventually the sun began to slip behind some clouds and we meandered home via G&Ds, where we acquired some mango sorbet.

As we walked along the river I was once more reminded about how often I'm inclined to play about on the river in something with oars. Don't get me wrong, punting is clearly the superior means by which to propel oneself up and down the Cherwell. However last year half a dozen of us took out some rowboats on Grassmere, and had a smashing time: I wanted to try it again. Maybe it's the excitement in Ratty's little speech I find so enticing:

'Nice? It's the only thing,' said the Water Rat solemnly, as he leant forward for his stroke. 'Believe me, my young friend, there is nothing - absolutely nothing - half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats. Simply messing,' he went on dreamily: 'messing - about - in - boats; messing - '

So today we went to Magdalen Bridge and DIDN'T take out a punt. We took out a little rowboat. First up we discovered the disadvantage of the rowboat:  you take up much more river width. So when the August Sunday afternoon has turned golden and glorious, and dozens of clueless tourists and summer students decide to try punting/rowing/peddaloes, you are rendered unable to manouvre, because they are in your oar space. However once we were south of the Botanic Gardens, the extra river width and the distance from the boathouse combined to give us much more freedom, and we rowed happily past Christ Church meadow, watching light glint off the water and making the meadow grasses glow. 

We had a midriver picnic of strawberries, pimm's and goat's cheese with crackers, and then braved the Thames! Then back up the Cherwell and home, this time taking the Hilda's branch, which was less crowded. exactlyhalf rowed most of the way our, and I rowed along the Thames and back. Combine this with today's gym visit and I'm beginning to feel my muscles creak. However after four months of driving every day and not having time to exercise, I'm enjoying the feeling of tired muscles and achey joints that signify I'm moving again.

After a fairly bad night's sleep (4 hours? Seriously?), I was cycling in to work this morning, listening to a Leonard Cohen tribute concert, and musing on how Nick Cave singing 'I'm your man' is probably one of the great moments in musical history (and how if I had to choose between Mr Cohen or Antony singing 'If it be your will' I would probably choose Antony, making it one of only two Leonard Cohen covers that I would choose over the original).[1]

Musing such muses I rode past many people in fluorescent yellow vests, then past some people in BioHazard suits with gas masks, past some police, and various official looking people. 'Well,' I reasoned, 'if I can't go up here someone will try and stop me.' When I got to the very top of the hill I saw the small sign 'exercise in progress'.

Which all goes to show how strong is the impulse to assume something is *not* my problem. If the apocalypse comes, someone better bleep me, because clearly, if left to my own devices, I will ignore it.

[1] Leonard Cohen concert is TOMORROW. Ask me how excited I am...

There are things I freely admit This Country does far better than My Country. These include but are not limited to: spring, beer, architecture, meadows, summer evenings, rivers and river sports, pudding, water recycling and comedy.

There are however some things in which I think My Country could give This Country some lessons. I have previously listed coffee and brunch. To this I add beaches, voter enrollment, election night broadcasting and hospital communications systems. It would spark endless controversy if I added cricket[1] and tea[2], but they do rightly belong on this list.

Now I add exams. Honestly, this finals system is an effing travesty, which seems to in no useful way assess the intellectual achievements of very bright and hard working people. Those of you who are/have just/have previously suffered through it have much admiration from me. Can those of you now climbing the pole of academia not, like, fix it?


[1] Perhaps our teams could be more gracious, but we are still better at actually playing the game successfully, you know it's true ;)

[2] In My Country, this beverage does not come with a floaty layer of scum on top. I've been told this is at least partly due to Oxford water. I intend to investigate this further with the help of an antipodean friend currently holidaying up north.

ETA
OK, I make two qualifying concessions

1. Apparently English tea is only scummy if you live in a hard water area, and these do exist in Australia as well. (I knew mentioning tea would start a war!)

2. The abysmal exam system may be largely limited to Oxbridge. So that means it's only inflicted on a large number of the most academically inclined undergrads. Goody.

I'm sure many of you know the song of The Wild Rover, and most of you in Oxford will know this has been adapted to The Wild Punter, telling tales of river exploits. Well, while strolling down the canal yesterday, exactlyhalf made me a gift of the following verse:

I've been a wild Bunter for many's the year
But I've changed all my ways now that Lord Peter's here.
He needs a good man since that hell that was War
So I never shall play the wild Bunter no more.

And it's no, nay, never,
No nay never no more
Will I play the wild Bunter,
No never, no more

____

We have now got 8 verses to our ditty, telling the much needed back story of Bunter. For those who don't know him, Bunter is valet to Lord Peter Wimsey, an man of immaculate presentation and utmost propriety. Our song tells of Bunter before the war, tales of wildness that begin with brandy drinking and stolen kisses, and end up with the buckling of swashes! It still needs some polishing, then we'll post it. It was wonderful to wander through the sunny evening composing verses about Bunter the poacher!

lalalalalla

Jet lagged being awake at 6:30 *rules*

*goes to play in april snow*

Last weekend it was my birfday! The night before I took part in an excursion to watch The Golden Compass. It was not a fabulous film, but I actually found it enjoyable enough. Although there were some odd stylistic and geographic decisions, there was no actual butchering in ways that could have upset me. (And it was fun to giggle everytime Lyra walked through Jordan/Exeter/Queens/All Souls/Christ Church/college mega-mix). It would seem my lowering of expectations worked for me.

In the spirit of this, we had a "Lyra's Oxford" themed birthday do the next afternoon. It was far too cold and rainy to go off in search of a narrow boat to pirate, but we *did* play 'Kids and Gobblers' - which became vaguely disturbing. I survived, along with 2 gobblers and another kid, who was sibling of one Gobbler. It was a stalemate: thwen wouldn't gobble me, because if he did elleblue and cealdis would throw him in the river.

So we had tea, and choclatl, and bear paw-print biscuits made by Freya_9. Also, there was best birthday cake ever!

Shanith you are a marvel!


(in case you are wondering: the three hands pointed at an hourglass, a book and a horse. I formed the question 'When will I know so much that I get a knighthood?' The answer hand is pointing at a spider web, clearly telling me to bide my time, like a spider waiting patiently in a web. Cool.)

Well, actually, it was below freezing, and it became one of those times it is made apparent to me I am living in a different country (not in a transported bubble of normality as I sometimes think). It looked frosty outside, so I cleverly remembered to take a big bottle of warmish water on the 5 minute trek to where my car is parked. Poured said water over frosted windshield and windows. Said water turned into a (thicker) layer of ice.

I ended up resorting to running the engine and heater while defrosting the glass with my hands, which were (ever so slightly) above freezing, until I could actually see.

I can envisage I'm going to have to invest in some sort of squidgee-scraper thingummy.

I did a quick head count in the one calm moment when everyone was sitting for the play, and there were fully 60 people in the Bayne room! Suddenly, the plan to perform our reduced LOTR for a second time at short notice seemed perhaps unwise. More than one thespian looked a little pale...but, bless them, the people seemed to have fun. Our first rehearsal with the full cast that afternoon had been a little worrying, as our cues were long forgetten, and our pace sodden. However when we heard the first giggles, then roars, from the audience, there was a lot of grinning backstage. We had to pause for laughter to settle before delivering our lines! Most enthusiastic they seemed.

All in all, quite a success. Extra special hugs and thanks to cuiaalfheim, who journeyed far to reprise her stellar performance as Gandalf/Galadriel/The MC, and to freya_9, who did the lighting, and didn't complain once through two very chaotic rehearsals. Stars, both.

...Sitting in the Phoenix cinema watching the beautifully remastered Withnail and I, with friends and a packed giggling cinema. Oh so quotable a film, with so many glorious lines:
"Black puddings aren't going to help us! I want something's flesh!"
"We want the finest wines available to humanity, we want them here, and we want them now!"

And something I spotted for the first time?
Uncle Monty went to Balliol! The college crest is on the picture that 'I' finds in the Penrith House. Oh joy, oh rapture. This brings to 3 my list of fictional Balliol men:
- Uncle Monty ("as a youth, I used to weep in butchers shops")
- Sir Humphrey ("Politicians like to panic, they need activity. It is their substitute for achievement ")
- Lord Peter Wimsey ("We are mortified in nineteenth century gothic, lest, in our overweening Balliolity, we forget God")

What an awe-inspiring - dare I say it? - trinity! (Since threesome would have entirely the wrong connotation!)

I have a bod card!!!

Because some of my new job involves access to academic (university) rooms at the hospital, I have been signed up as a member of the university medical department, thus granting me a University/Bodlean card that doesn't expire till 2011! How cool am I? Today I plan to gratuitously visit several colleges...

(I also get a university email address, thus making me uber cool)

ETA: Mission successful. Exactlyhalf and I took 2 Melbourne friends in and out of many colleges for free, courtesy of having *two* bod cards ;)