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rhythmaningWe walked back from the undertakers, a long walk into town down the Cowley Road. I spent a year living out here, 28 years ago; I have been past once or twice since, but rarely. I haven’t found much need to walk down the Cowley Road.
We passed pubs I had drunk in, although there seemed to be a large number of pubs: I couldn’t remember why we must have walked past some pubs to get to the ones we drank in – there must have been some reason.
I remembered one place in particular: sitting with A., P., and a few others on a cold, damp Saturday afternoon; I kept playing Diana Ross’ “Upside Down” on the juke box.
I made my brother take a detour down Bullingdon Road, where six of us had shared a house. It was a converted shop, with a huge front room – the shop itself: it had several cast iron pillars, which we spent several weeks stripping the paint off, and then painted them a shade of vivid green. I still have a sketch which P. made of me in that room, reading “On the Road” after I had spent the summer hitching in the States. We had some big parties there, too – including a surprise 21st for me on the last day of term; I disliked surprises even then, and, having caught wind of it, very nearly didn’t go – but it wasn’t just for me, so I went along anyway.
The converted shop has now been converted back into a shop: “Khan’s Islamic Fish Market”. I didn’t go in, but I did want to know how they knew the fish were Islamic.
The pavement on the Cowley Road was inset with circular metal markers. I was very curious. One had a large question mark on it; another the chemical structure of, I think, a complex amino acid; another had a quotation, and another the profiles of two people – I think they were American presidents, but I’m not sure.
The Jamaican restaurant where I seduced J., or J. seduced me, whilst we waited a very long time – several hours, and we started late into the evening (it was a cast party) - for our food. The next day we went punting, and then we went to bed.
Many places in Oxford remind of early sexual encounters: I can spot where I climbed the wall into Somerville to see my girlfriend, C., (though more often someone would recognise me and simply let me in); I can see the window of the room where I lost my virginity; and another room where I discovered much more. Recent adventures, too: a passionate weekend in hotel, scared of disturbing more staid neighbours.
My brother and I walked along New College Lane, and ducked into the Turf. I once photographed my father there, pint in hand. It made me think of old lovers, too.
There are a lot of memories here.
We passed pubs I had drunk in, although there seemed to be a large number of pubs: I couldn’t remember why we must have walked past some pubs to get to the ones we drank in – there must have been some reason.
I remembered one place in particular: sitting with A., P., and a few others on a cold, damp Saturday afternoon; I kept playing Diana Ross’ “Upside Down” on the juke box.
I made my brother take a detour down Bullingdon Road, where six of us had shared a house. It was a converted shop, with a huge front room – the shop itself: it had several cast iron pillars, which we spent several weeks stripping the paint off, and then painted them a shade of vivid green. I still have a sketch which P. made of me in that room, reading “On the Road” after I had spent the summer hitching in the States. We had some big parties there, too – including a surprise 21st for me on the last day of term; I disliked surprises even then, and, having caught wind of it, very nearly didn’t go – but it wasn’t just for me, so I went along anyway.
The converted shop has now been converted back into a shop: “Khan’s Islamic Fish Market”. I didn’t go in, but I did want to know how they knew the fish were Islamic.
The pavement on the Cowley Road was inset with circular metal markers. I was very curious. One had a large question mark on it; another the chemical structure of, I think, a complex amino acid; another had a quotation, and another the profiles of two people – I think they were American presidents, but I’m not sure.
The Jamaican restaurant where I seduced J., or J. seduced me, whilst we waited a very long time – several hours, and we started late into the evening (it was a cast party) - for our food. The next day we went punting, and then we went to bed.
Many places in Oxford remind of early sexual encounters: I can spot where I climbed the wall into Somerville to see my girlfriend, C., (though more often someone would recognise me and simply let me in); I can see the window of the room where I lost my virginity; and another room where I discovered much more. Recent adventures, too: a passionate weekend in hotel, scared of disturbing more staid neighbours.
My brother and I walked along New College Lane, and ducked into the Turf. I once photographed my father there, pint in hand. It made me think of old lovers, too.
There are a lot of memories here.
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Date: 2008-10-04 01:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-04 01:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-05 06:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-05 06:17 pm (UTC)