We shower. Intimately. Dry one another with warm, white, fluffy towels.
Dress for excursion. Our untethered spacewalk.
It is a grey day. Low clouds. A promise of rain in the breeze. Cold enough for gloves. For February.
We walk. Dan is not so old he cannot match my getting-there pace. Neither of us talks much. Saving breath.
As we near the city centre, we encounter small huddles of tourists. Bright plastic figures. Hooded against the English Spring. Rallying bravely around their leaders' umbrella standards. Ready for the fray. The Battle of Magdalen Tower.
Heads down, we scuttle past. Dan's longer stride making up for my high tempo march. Over the Bridge and past the Tower. To the entrance.
Through the Porter's Lodge. Say, Good morning. Ask, for form's sake, if there are any messages for me. None. Most mail comes to my home address and I do not expect any notes from my tutor during vacation.
We emerge from the Porter's Lodge as though from a time machine. We are in a medieval world of monks and scholars.
It is strange how all this has become second nature to me. Within my first term, just eighteen months ago, I came to accept as perfectly normal spending my life in this cloistered splendor.
We walk across St John's Quad and turn right to view the Chapel. Built in the 1470s for the Benedictine monks who lived and studied here, it is today in daily use by staff and students. I am sure a Christian believer would take great comfort from the longevity of worship.
Even to an atheist like me, it is a place of historic reverence and awe. And Dan is silenced.
From the Chapel, we skirt the Cloister. The weather is still threatening but we have avoided a soaking. So far. Here, at least, there is plenty of opportunity for shelter.
I take Dan into The Hall. This is the main centre for catering in my College. It serves three meals a day, buffet style. Most students eat here at least once a day. Those like me, living outside the College, less frequently.
There are Formal Dinners on Sunday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday evenings. Sunday is very much the first day of the week here. Our terms always start on a Sunday. Formal Dinners require "sober" apparel and gowns must be worn by all.
Special Formal Dinners are held on occasional Saturday evenings, to honour or commemorate a guest or guests. Especially prominent alumni and benefactors. These may be black tie affairs.
I take lunch in Hall once, maybe twice a week. Otherwise I use the Old Kitchen Bar. This is, as the name suggests, located in what were, for centuries, the College kitchens. In fact, it is the oldest building on the site, dating back to the fourteenth century.
I take Dan to the OKB for a coffee. It's not great coffee, but he doesn't notice. There are sandwiches and toasted panini on offer but neither of us is hungry.
We drink our coffees on the terrace overlooking the River Cherwell and the punt moorings. On a better day, I would be tempted to take Dan out on a punt. Though I suspect he might end up in the river.
The day is not good enough for the full glory of Addison's Walk. We take the path beside the Mill Stream and turn left, across the front of the New Building Lawns.
New Building does put the history of my College into perspective. The main part of the building, which is used mainly as accommodation for undergrads and academic staff, was constructed in 1733. The end returns were added in 1824.
My Tutor Professor's rooms are in New Building.
New Building also houses the College wine cellar.
In summer, the Lawns are used for croquet and bowls.
We passed The Grove on our right, where the Deer Meadow is located, on the way to the Grove Buildings. These are modern, barely ten years older than me, although designed to blend into the architecture of the medieval buildings around them.
This is where the Denning Law Library is situated. And where I spend most of my time in College.
I have given Dan the grand tour. He knows where and how I spend my days. I can feel his old bones tiring now. Time for a rest. Time to get those feet up.
I lead him back through Longwall Quad and out onto the High . There is a bus approaching and I run to stop it. Dan loping behind me. I jump on, scan my student pass and pay his fare with my debit card. He looks a bit phased by the experience.
"How long since you've been on a bus?"
He laughs.
"God knows! Not since I was a child!"
There's little traffic. Hardly worth finding a seat. About seven minutes and we are jumping off again opposite the antique shop. We cross the road without mishap and scurry down the alleyway leading to my flat. Our cars are safe. Up the iron staircase to my sad looking roof patio. Into my kitchen.
It's chilly. I switch on the coffee machine. Then the heating before I take off my outdoor layers. Relieve Dan of his.
I give him a hug.
"Soon get you warmed up."
We sit on my sofa. Drink our coffees. Talk about my College. And Dan's. He studied History at Durham. A good school. But in the frozen north. He has grown soft, I tell him.
Which he takes, good humouredly, as a challenge. And decides to disprove.
@OliRos I note the founding date of Balliol College and the arrival of Māori by Waka to Aotearoa are in complete agreement but they were punting down the Waikato.
I love it. Perhaps I will someday take you on a virtual tour of my university in Providence! But despite being "old" by colonial standards, we have no buildings dating to the 13- or 14-hundreds!!
a delightful post thank you and of Oxford, though having gone to the other great university, i have a natural inclination to hide such praise for Oxford!!!
@OliRos still it means no hills to encounter and is a much more compact city. My former Oxford colleague once joked it is easier to do well at Cambridge as there is not much else to do than study! The friendly rivalry though did help me often in my research
