2004-06-17

Back in the saddle, babies! Oxford fucking rocks. People here are friendly and helpful, and make me feel much less like a leperous cultural pariah. I am a wee bit disappointed, though -- I had a notion that the city would be populated by solemn literati, floating about in an intellectual fugue state, their oversized craniums fairly pulsating with the forceful undulations of their hyperpowerful minds: rather, judging by the din that reaches my hostel window late at night, Oxford seems to be full of brawling drunken yobs. Perhaps things are different during the scholastic season?

I was tired of walking yesterday, and decided to take a boat cruise down the Thames. I didn't realize that boat cruises down the Thames are some sort of preparatory death ritual: I was the only person on the boat under two hundred years old, save for a small herd of toddling grandchildren -- needless to say, I was subjected to an irritating amount of crying, fussing and complaining. (The children, on the other hand, were comparatively well-behaved.)

Despite feeling disturbingly like I was voyaging down the river Styx, as cadaverous punters teetered about the deck in various states of geriatric decay, I did rather enjoy the scenery: rolling golden fields; graceful preening swans; cozy cottages covered in blooming tendrils of rose and honeysuckle; rowing skiffs filled with half-naked, strapping undergrads flexing their gleaming muscles...indeed, I could get used to this place.

And to my Captain-Cum-Novelist friend: thanks for the tip on the Gloucester Arms. Send me an e-mail and I'll buy you a pint next time I'm in town.