Oxford, February.

[rhythmaning]

The day after the memorial celebration frankie_ecap and I spent wandering around Oxford. She had been staying with white_hart and I met them in Broad Street, being dragged down the road until I saw one of Anthony Gormley’s sculptures balanced precariously on the corner of the roof of Blackwell’s art shop. Although not one of his series Event Horizon, it could have been: a human figure perched on the roof. It is very disturbing – a figure, silhouetted, stock still, almost as if waiting to fall. It is unnerving.

white_hart went off to work and frankie_ecap and I went to explore Blackwell’s music shop – she was picking up a score for coughingbear. There was something I found fascinating about the music shop. Downstairs it was just a CD shop, with over-priced CDs; but upstairs it became a magical emporium, full of books about all styles of music and rooms and rooms full of scores. It is ages since I have read music, and now the notes are just dots on the page, but I loved rifling through the saxophone music, looking what pieces they had.

As we left the shop, we walked right into a fight. This too was unnerving. It was early in the day – ten-ish – and two guys laying into each other is not what one expects to see on usually sedate streets in Oxford. One guy had picked up a waste bin and was throwing it at the other’s already bleeding face; rubbish scattered everywhere, and so did the two antagonists. We wondered whether we should do anything – call the police perhaps, or restrain one or other of the aggressors – but they were gone too quickly to actually think what to do.

Disturbed, we went for breakfast in Pret a Manger, and sat talking for an hour or so. We had a lot to talk about. I was surprised that my hangover had eased quickly – the administration of lots of water when I woke up in the middle of the night.

We walked down to the Botanic Garden, one of my favourite places in Oxford. When I was a student, I used to go down there and erm… liberate roses from the rose garden. I also had to go there to study a few times (being a botanist and all).

It is still a lovely place – not least because I now associate it with a very moving scene from Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials trilogy (if you know the books, you’ll know what I’m talking about; and if you don’t, I won’t spoil it in case you read them some time!). The garden isn’t huge – a fraction of the size of Kew – but it was the first botanic garden in Britain. We wandered back and forth; we sat by the river and chatted; and we explored those glasshouses which were open. I showed off, dredging botanic facts from the depths of my memory. We talked about cloning (the banana trees were cloning themselves), plant somatic genetics and the different ways that plants can be trees. (I had thought there were a couple of hundred, but a trawl on Google later found only twenty three, from a book long out of print which I had loved as a student.)

There was a large black and white cat walking along the gravel path, as he it owned the gardens; he had a strong sense of belonging. His coat was actually bedraggled, although he looked well fed. Perhaps this was a stray who had made the garden his home, tolerated (though maybe not loved) by the gardeners.

We then walked through Christ Church Meadow, stopping off to be sentimental at the Newman Rooms (we both have associations with the building), and walking to meet white_hart for lunch.

The town was busy – it was schools’ half term – and after deciding a couple of places were too full of children, busy and loud, white_hart suggested the university club. This was an excellent choice: there was space (just!) and we sat looking over a green playing field, wallowing in sunlight and grass. There were the remnants of a large snowball, or possibly snowman, in the middle of the field, dripping away.

frankie_ecap and I explored the church yards next to St Cross church. Graveyards are interesting places: contemplative. A young guy was sitting on a bench reading in the sun. We walked between the stones – some of which were wood (from crosses marking soldiers graves in France and Belgium) – wondering about the stories behind them. Childs’ graves are always very poignant; and the names of whole families filled some stones.

frankie_ecap then showed me around New College. I have been to the college before – many times – but it was lovely to be shown the place by someone with a connection to it. I really liked the chapel – it was very peaceful. Someone was practicing the organ. The host of saints were fascinating, and a little intimidating. The cloisters were very interesting, too. Like many medieval buildings, though, there was also a touch of Hogwarts about it, too. We snuck into the main hall, where the staff were preparing the place setting for the evening meal and listening to disco music on the radio – it was very incongruous.

We went into the Queen’s Coffee House – allegedly the oldest coffee house in Britain – for coffee, tea and scones. It was cold outside, and we had been outside most of the day.

We stopped by St Mary’s, on the High Street. I don’t think I had ever been in here before – I used to stay away from churches on principle. It has a fascinating history. I was reading Will, a fictionalised account of Shakespeare’s life, which features a description of the trial of the Oxford martyrs; I was surprised to learn in the church that this had taken place in the church itself. There were a lot of very old brasses and stones in the floor. I wandered around, looking at the names engraved on the wall, and wondering about the history of the place.

The sun was setting as we walked down to the station. It was a stunning display to finish a long, tiring day.