Oxford Again

The last few weeks have been characterised by minor motorhome glitches. After Maisy returned from the repairers to the farm where she lives, she suffered,  along with many of the other vans, a minor mouse invasion. That took a bit of sorting, but at least we had just a few droppings and chewed soap powder packets. Some of the other owners sustained more serious damage with upholstery being chewed and so on.

Finally we got the van fully loaded and off we went back to the Oxford campsite to visit Matthew. The trip started with a panic or two over the Truma heater and water system which had emptied itself and drained the van of all water. We 're still rookies really, so it was only after consulting the handbook that we realised that the recent frosty nights had been cold enough for the automatic protection valve to kick in. What's a bit irritating is the system dumps the water when the temperature in the van reaches 3 degrees Celsius, but won't let you reset it unless the interior warms up to 8 degrees. How you do that in chilly weather is a bit of a mystery since once the safety device clicks on,the Truma heating system is de -activated. Answer - stay in sunny climes.

So once we sussed all of this, we re- filled the system and everything worked just fine. Except, on the M40 just north of Oxford I tested the cab air-con, as soon as I switched it on the gear box warning lights and engine management system alert on the dashboard all started flashing, the gearbox selected neutral, and I was forced to head for the hard shoulder as we gently coasted along. Then suddenly at about 20 mph. the gears clicked back in, and everything returned to normal. A mile or two further on I tried the air-con again, and it worked fine. I'm hoping this is some sort of electronic fluke, and not a symptom of a problem with the automatic gearbox; that could prove costly indeed, methinks.

Enough wingeing!  Oxford - well we pitched up, then headed straight into the centre to meet Matthew in 'The Grand Cafe' on High Street. Samuel Pepys says it was the first coffee house in Oxford, opening in 1650 . The interior IS grand, sporting tall, pale blue Corinthian columns, gold  -framed floor to ceiling mirrors and slightly surreal wall lamp holders fashioned into the form of slender arms protruding from the walls. There is a quiet buzz about the place, nice coffee, and tempting, if pricey, patisserie. I love it. It's interesting to think of all the fascinating  conversations that might have happened here over the years. At midnight, at a lunar eclipse, I imagine the fabric of time parting and the ghosts of former customers  slowly appearing - Robert Boyle and Einstien at one table, Auden, Wordsworth and Graham Greene nearby. At adjacent tables sit Harold Wilson and George Canning, conspicuously  ignoring each other. ... Whimsical perhaps, but it is impossible to wander around the Oxford college area without sensing that whatever Marx' views were to the contrary, economics is not the sole engine of history;  ideas shape the world as well as capital. 

Later we had dinner in a French owned family restaurant called 'Pierre Victoire. The ' pre-theatre' menu of two courses for £11.00 was really good value given the quality of the cooking. Gill and I had  a Moroccan styled lamb dish for our main course; it was more subtlety spiced than you get in an actual Moroccan place,but good nevertheless.  The house red was excellent value,  an honest simple wine which we polished off swiftly.  Matthew, who' d had Steak frites as his main ; (well reduced red wine jus!), finished  with a creme brûlée which achieved an appropriate combination of crunch and gloop. Bon appetite all round.

Next day  we were back in Oxford by mid- morning. Given it was Easter Saturday then it was busy, but not impossibly so. We headed for Blackwell's; despite the onslaught of Kindle and Amazon it remains a great bookshop. That being said, I did not buy anything, which a few years ago I probably would have; the simple truth is if we merely browse, bookshops, even renowned ones like Blackwell's  will disappear, and the world will be poorer for it. 

We had lunch in a great little place opposite the Radcliffe Camera. It's situated in the original University Council  Chamber in a low vaulted hall which dateds from 1360. 

Afterwards we walked around the corner to the Museum of Science. Really it should be called a museum of scientific instruments, as that what it contains mainly. By modern standards it looks very traditional,  all glass cabinets packed with brass contraptions or curly glass vessels straight out of Dr Frankenstein's laboratory; "a museum which should be in a museum" as Dylan Thomas quipped. That being said, with a bit of imaginative effort, then the equipment shown does become  fascinating. The various measuring devices- astrolobes, sextants, dividers, all kinds of slide rules and clocks - these  make you reflect on just how important measurement, and precision instrument makers were to the invention of the modern world. Some exhibits were salutary. You do feel old when a slide rule similar to the one you struggled with in Mr. Nixon's remedial  'O' level  Maths class re-appears before your eyes as a museum piece.

Bits of Balliol, I think.

Afterwards we wandered around the beautiful old streets which surround the colleges before walking southwards along the Thames path from the Head of the River pub. The river, though not exactly crowded, was suffering from  'user conflict: - the university rowing club 'fours' and 'eights', tourists in tiny electric launches, tourists on large river cruise boats, kayakers and hormonally charged swans all attempting, with mixed success, to avoid each other. The path itself was little better, as joggers, striding walkers and day-dreaming saunterers all conspired to annoy the Bradley Wiggins wannabes who hurtled along in snazzy Lycra and even snazzier shades, arse-high on shiny racing bikes.

Hardly a relaxing stroll. I was pleased to reach Iffley Road, where the only thing which disturbed the peace was the constant traffic noise. Matthew headed home; we walked back to the van, where, given enough layers it was almost pleasant sitting outside in the Spring sunshine. I was going to say ' nose in a book' but in truth since we've gone 'e-reader'  colloquially I think the jury is still out on the questions of noses and Kindles. Back into Oxford for a curry on Cowley Rd., but not before the sunset cast a warm glow on the ancient facades and the tall, Perpendicular tower of  Magdalen  College. I paused to take a couple of photos of the Oxford Botanical gardens - lens pushed through the locked iron gates. Gill had stopped a few yards further on, at Magdalen Bridge, to admire the reflection of the sunset on the Cherwell. The cherry and magnolia blossom and the gently arching white wooden footbridge upstream took on a distinctly Japanese look in the fading light.

Magdelen Tower

The Botanical Gardens

The Cherwell looking Japanese

Yummy curry on Cowley Rd..

A rare photo of Matthew...

Oxford is growing on me. At first it can seen frenetic and traffic choked, and at times it is, but sometimes you sense its serene beauty, the sheer weight of history and learning becomes palpable. Its power is not merely tradition, even yet, by every measure it remains one of the top five universities in the world. As a nation we should be able to be proud of it, unequivocally ... but then there's the Bullington Club, and Boris and David, and all the others for whom  Oxford is a hereditary right. If you are English, is it possible to have unequivocal national pride in anything?