Some correspondence about Oxford today made me revisit my Oxford journal from 3 years ago – some observations not without interest;

Air travel brings out the worst in me - I think it's like what they tell me of childbirth, that you repress the horror of the process because you're so delighted with the result. Some notes - bus trip revives memories of English summer: the size of trees, the omnipresent greenness. Walked to North Oxford, saw Murray's house (OED man), lots of Victorian family houses - big light rooms, redbrick, some carved, some hung tiles. Met a gardener who let us wander through gardens on college property, climbing roses, many vivid red, lilies, privet hedges, lilac everywhere. Back to Exeter College - although closed to the public, a porter showed us around. Morris tapestry of adoration of the Magi in the chapel - interesting composition with central angel and balance of holy family on one side and magi on the other, but one notices that the head of the Christ child is placed so as to divide the length and breadth of the painting in golden section.

'Morris' room with a number of drawings by Burne Jones, pages from the Kelmscott Chaucer and Froissart, Morris curtains and upholstery. Did various things in arvo - searched for pork pies with little success. Early evening looked through Blackwells, unimpressed with 2nd hand section. Ale in pub: nice food, real ale still tastes like slop. Early back to b&b - English plumbing no better; strange dreams.

Tuesday: off to West Oxford to look for laundrette - found church of St Frideswide with unfinished tower and uncarved window corbels - waiting for the money that never came. Walked along the towpath a couple of k's - wondered how barges passed each other. Great unsolved mystery. Poppies and cornflowers and walled gardens with gates onto the path.

Everywhere enormous horse chestnuts. Family of swans on a backwater. Then back through Jericho - once meaner part of North Oxford - a bit like Newtown but more upmarket now - a place where academics might live. Drank cider in a pub, saw cross in the road where Ridley, Latimer and Cranmer were martyred. Reflected that 3 archbishops of Canterbury had suffered martyrdom. Wandered through Blackwells, met a Danish boy who had seen the film of Beowulf and thought, 1 that the poem was in a Scandinavian language, and 2 that it would be like the film. Disabused him. A copy of Gesta Francorum resistible at £80. Picked up copy of Naevius and found Saturnian verses very stimulating. They are clearly a five stress accentual metre with a caesura after the third accent. Very like the long lines in Beowulf, and with plenty of analogues in GGK. Wondered if anything had been written about Saturnians lately. In my memory, people seemed at a loss to understand them. Dined in same pub as last night, to sleep early, strange dreams.

Wednesday: To London for 2 reasons - to keep A awake by walking him round all day, and to let him show off about his knowledge of London.

Coffee in Cafe Diana where paparazzi used to lurk for a glimpse of Lady Di, then along Kensington Palace Gardens. Had forgotten the sheer scale and weight of London masonry and the amplitude of the spaces. Through Hyde Park to Mayfair.

Saw shop in New Bond Street where A had helped a friend choose an £8000 rock for his intended. Demonstrators outside the Burmese embassy - told them we were with them and they were pleased. To Parliament Square, cheered by statue of Cromwell. Then to the legal district where walked through Middle Temple - astounding gardens once more - red roses of a colour I haven't seen in Australia and many of them.

Temple church with tombs of Knights Templars, rooms of some of A's friends here and there. Bought a dress shirt with a higher collar than any I have, which might make me look a trifle distinguished, I fancy. To St Pauls, which didn't take my breath away as much as at first, but staggering nevertheless. Later to St Bartholomew the Greater - what a contrast to St Pauls - a place of amazing weight of years: dark, solemn, mouldering. Wat Tyler was brought here fatally wounded. Popular place for weddings, apparently, though hard to see why. Would be good for a funeral. Lunched, by the way, at the Cheshire Cheese, one of Johnson's hangouts (his main one, the Mitre Tavern, is no longer with us). Surprisingly untouristy, a good meal and beer, nothing has been cleaned, changed, etc, since about 1850.

Thursday: To London again to lunch with K: still the same bright and sparkly person, but I wondered how different she might have been if there had been an intimate relation at the centre of things for her. We are molluscs, not shells, I think, and need to touch each other's softness. I felt there was too much shell. Touched on some serious matters, but briefly. She was surprised at the marriage of some common acquaintances (long since, I might say), which to me had been clearly a matter of mutual lust. A little sad to feel that this was a foreign idea to K. But nevertheless, 'the heart out of the bosom is never given in vain', and from her I had the valuable lesson that for a relationship to work, love is a necessary but not a sufficient condition. Walked along South Bank dodging buskers, clowns, mimes, musicians, and other totally rejectable flotsam - reflected how everything we had seen the previous day was something you would wholeheartedly embrace, whereas the world of markets, performers, shysters etc you would totally reject. Sat on the grass outside the Abbey while K showed L a superior way of tying shoelaces.

I improvised this clerihew:

Westminster Abbey

Is looking shabby:

The towers are quite clean

But most of the rest is positively green.

Then to a wine bar with Alice, a 2nd cousin's cousin once removed whom I last saw just over 30 years ago (she is 31). We were jolly over a bottle of wine.

Friday: L to hairdresser etc. Noticed hairdresser in George St called Toni and Guy as in North Sydney. Had not thought of hairdressers as international organisations. Walked to Oxford Castle and climbed mound, marvelling at works of engineering people managed in those days (1071). Two large trees on the top like planes but with shinier, darker, smaller leaves and different bark. Guessed they were sycamores, which was confirmed by a man I talked to on the way down. Walked round past Nuffield - well done on the whole with lovely view through the gates of rectangular lily pond, but the detailing on the windows less than satisfactory and I thought the proportions of the chapel tower were all wrong. Coming down Turl Street came face to face with Louise. Much hugging and talk. She is moving back to Inner West and will appear more at medieval functions and reading groups. Met L for lunch and afterwards to University Parks (enormous and v. beautiful) and looked at Keble where the Victorian brickwork is as engaging as ever, though considered an outrage in its day.

Saw Natural History Museum and dodo, which was smaller than I expected - only previous acquaintance being through Tenniel's illustration. Then Wadham where there is a Romeo & Juliet in the garden - we might go. Reminded of Midsummer Night's Dream in Sancta quad on a freezing night. Wall of Wadham well proportioned for getting your girl back in after curfew. You would lean your bike against the wall, the girl stands on the saddle, then on your shoulders, from where her hands can reach the parapet and there is a convenient string course for her feet. Climbing into Jesus, on the other hand, you would be lucky not to break your leg. Ate too much in the evening and went to sleep during Master Chef. L dizzy - I think virus may have got into her ears. Thought more about K: it seems to me that when we reach adulthood we have done all the growing we can do by ourselves and can only continue to grow through our love for other people. Dreamt about L and how she outshone others and woke about 6 to a grey morning.

Saturday: A arrived mid-morning. Tour of colleges, specially Univ. Saw portrait of William Jones. To Christchurch - chapel with Burne Jones windows of St Cecilia and dining hall where A suggested lion's heads in the frieze inspiration for Cheshire Cat. Seemed plausible. Their main quad too big - UQ-like, and so unusable. Millions of kiddies everywhere. Why? What could a 13 yr old get out of the experience? v. mysterious.

Went punting on the Cherwell - A clearly very good at it. Rather delightful way to spend time. Bumped another punt and caused woman steering it to fall in, which was a cheery note. Drink in Turf - pub down a narrow passage. Jane Burden and Elizabeth Siddall born here in same block. v. small mean houses.
In evening called on oldest livng Univ graduate (98) who is cousin of Janet’s. Powerful smell of urine. He is Dawkins fan, which I find superficial. A countered with Spong. Seems to me that reverence for whatever principle has caused us to be here and experience delights that we do is inescapable. And love which makes it possible to grow beyond our single petty molluscine shells. Then to dinner with David T and Andrew I (A's schoolfriends) and their respective girlfriends. Saw rock. Andrew spotted his girlfriend at a party, chased her to Oxford, in due course proposed. Take that, Dawkins! There is a need for clickingness betweeen people that transcends the sexual urge. Sex in such cases is a sacramental affirmation of that larger unity. Walked back to hotel a long way in rain. Hope L's cold not aggravated. So to long and dreamless sleep.

Sunday. Morning prayer at Christchurch - first hymn was Keble's 'New every morning is the love / Our wakening and uprising prove', which resonated very well with my thoughts of yesterday. Preacher had old-fashioned superior voice with 2x2x2 vowel system. Reader of the Epistle, on the other hand - also a woman - pre-glottalized at least one consonant and had a back a. After the service drank foul coffee courtesy of the cathedral. Afterwards met Maureen and Michael (friends) and A showed us through New College. Remarkable gardens with lavender a bright purplish blue I don't think we have in Australia. A few foxgloves beginning. Remains of old town walls with arrow slits. Through Univ again where I saw William Jones memorial. Down past Christchurch meadow with hay bales and then swampland along an avenue of handsome trees Maureen said were limes. No-one in a position to disagree. Lunch at Head of the River pub. Drank bitter on 'when in Rome' principle. Still disgusting. After lunch through Christchurch (again) - fine fan vaulting outside dining hall and portraits of assorted dignitaries. Dodgson near door, Gladstone at other end looking cranky.
On way out ran into Stewart T - 2nd ex-OE scholar of mine in one week. He was hurrying to evensong. L and I ourselves lured into St Michael's Northgate by promise of choral evensong. Turned out to be choral Eucharist which was a bit of a let-down because I expected it to be sung, which it wasn't. Last hymn was 'angularis fundamentum'. Translation not one I knew, but something to feel located in the tradition of Venantius Fortunatus (if that's indeed who wrote it) and philosophical position of greatest minds of millennia. Urged by member of congregation we got talking to to look at font, where Shakespeare had been a godfather. Seemed unlikely to me. Considering that yesterday I was mistaken for an eminent Shakespearean scholar, feel I can speak with some authority. Anthony went off to do washing. An early night after a perfect day.

Monday. A off early for his mini-pupillage. Misses breakfast, poor boy, which here is v. good. L and I did different things in morning - being still in theological mode I bought Spong book and started to read. Feel I am going to disagree with him - obviously superstition, ignorance and prejudice have no place in religion, but to me central fact is that reality is irreducible and fitting it to our understanding is like putting an orange in a paper bag - not a close fit and pointless spare capacity. There is an incomprehensibility deep down things - unthinkable and ineffable as the phrase has it. Not to reject science, which would be fatuous, but to realize it is an outgrowth of our system of understanding. For lunch L and I bought fresh rolls in a shop opposite Univ full of prosciutto and mozzarella and other modern ingredients. Ate sitting on Magdalen bridge near boat hire place. Raining on and off. Walked to Harris Manchester which was closed but entered with workmen like Jap subs into Sydney Harbour. Asked to see chapel and they even showed us how to switch on the lights. Will be a sad day when L loses her charm. On entering became clear we were in an alternative England. A told us later that HM is only non-conformist college in Oxford. Transferred from Lancashire in 1890s and reflected whole world of dissent, workers' education, the beginnings of socialism etc. Superb windows by Morris & co - virtues down one side, the other a wonderful set in three pairs of the 6 days of creation, the 6th being particularly fine with crowds of pre-Raphaelite angels with red wings. Given by 'the heartbroken parents' of a boy who died at age 20. Central figure of end window is Everyman, flanked by evangelists. Went back to office where woman in charge insisted we should see the library and phoned the librarian to come and let us in. Window with Wedgwood, Priestley, etc. In History section it looked to me as if they catered for a fairly lowbrow kind of undergraduate. Long talk with assistant librarian who told us they concentrate on mature age and educationally disadvantaged students. Later stopped for a drink at tables in an open yard with half-timbering above. Reminded L of set for The Student Prince. A back earlier than we thought and v. cheerful. He had expected to be daunted, but half of the barristers he saw in action were idiots - clearly he can find a place in one half or the other. The bus he will catch tomorrow serves croissants and OJ on the journey, apparently, so that is a plus. Dined at an Indian place A knew. L a bit better having seen a doctor and got antibiotics, even if it did cost £60. So to bed.

Tuesday. Out to buy a stamp. L recommended WH Smith where I fell foul of the English passion for queuing. Sits oddly with their total disregard of 'don't walk' signs. Walking up St Giles ran into Jenny G (former colleague) who told me she'd enjoyed mii. This was gratifying. Made polite excuses for further meeting. Back along St John Street - a row of blank C18 facades, some with pillars. Turner lived in one - somehow had never associated him with Oxford. Noticeable how lower stonework is always in worse shape, no doubt due to rising damp. Had urge to climb AS tower of St Michael's, but repressed it. Fat pigeons in churchyard. Later met Gill and David - Alice's parents and 2nd cousins' cousins - and we went to the Eagle and Child for lunch, mainly out of curiosity as it was a hangout of the Inklings. A bit of a dive, I thought, and food a fair way under par, though that seemed a minority opinion. David drove us out to Bicester - a complete non-event of a place, though presumably there are Roman remains somewhere. A told us afterwards that it is where Oxford people go for factory outlets. Then to Islip, a pretty small town, birthplace of the Confessor. A plain old church under stone tiles, earliest bits C12, I think. Then home. Finished reading Spong book in evening. Diagnosis is right, I think, but remedy is wrong. A more medieval view of the relationship between the letter and the significance is to me more productive. In particular I think he misreads Jung on the subject of the shadow. Acknowledging your own darker tendencies is not the same as embracing them, and love, however unconditional, still leaves room for correction. We love partly to make one another better. But enough on this subject. Tomorrow, it seems, to Pemberley we are to go.

Wednesday: Set off early for Kelmscott wearing panama in honour of occasion. First a big bus, then after a long wait a smaller one which rocketed through narrow lanes in deep countryside. Wide fields of stubble with corn now and then. Lechlade, our terminus, turned out to be quite a way from Kelmscott, but L's charm worked its magic, and a woman we got talking to in a charity shop offered to drive us. The house was just as you expect with Morris textiles everywhere, furniture by Philip Webb, etc, etc. Among the artefacts the thing that took my fancy most, I think, was an incredibly lame set of 4 tiles by Burne Jones depicting the judgement of Paris. Designed for the Great Exhibition, but rejected. Shows the judges had good taste. Face of Juno is clearly Janey Morris, but bodies of goddesses make them look like 14 year old schoolgirls changing for sport. Some nice brass platters from Iceland. Just another interesting house, in other words - except that the resonances of the books were everywhere. The attics that the narrator of NfN found dusty and empty with discarded children's playthings, the path where Ellen led the narrator to the house, the little stream where they drew the boat up.

I could even fancy in the Tapestry Room (Rossetti's studio) that I was at the window where Walter watched the Lady and the King's Son walking naked in the moonlight. It was through Morris's imagination that the place became more than just a house. We walked 100 yards down to the Thames and the little promontory where the haymakers greeted the boating party. Back in late afternnon past the church - v. plain and quite like the church at Islip with thick Norman pillars. Here they held the harvest feast while the narrator gradually slipped back to the present. Grave of Morrises outside. We would have had time to walk back to Lechlade, but one of the volunteers from the house pulled up and offered a lift. Perhaps charmed by sight of L's back. Home about 8 with a couple of tea towels and many memories.

Thursday: On the loose this morning while L caught up with people and did washing. Lured into antique and craft market where badly bought a 1908 edition of The Phoenix and the Carpet at ridiculous expense. In the afternoon took bus to the Trout at Wolvercote and lunched looking over the river. 2 women trying ineffectually to land from a punt. Walked back along the Thames path about 4k. Ducks and little ducklings, and a field of geese we had to walk through. Thought they were sheep at a distance.

Beside the path, ruins of Godstow Abbey - just a curtain wall and the shell of the Prioress's chapel. A signboard said the nuns were notorious for providing comfort to young Oxford clerks. To the railway station past a house wall laid in English bond with those deep apricot-coloured bricks. Such things lift the spirit. Discovered in the morning that Ordnance Survey 1:100,000 maps not still published, which is rather a shame - makes my collection all the more worth having even though they are falling apart with much use. Bought maps covering where we went yesterday, and interested to see just where Kelmscott etc were in relation to other places. In evening K rang for a heart to heart with L, who later went out to a concert. A came in and gave us a full account of his legal doings, and he and I went out together so he could borrow some money. Got talking in the pub to a couple from Adelaide and swapped travel impressions for half an hour or so. They had been in Cornwall and were heading to the Lake district. I said days were longer the further north you go, whereas he said they were longer the further west you go, which I suppose is understandable from an Adelaide perspective. Came home and watched a show about teenagers desperate to have babies while L improved her mind at baroque concert. To bed about half past ten. During night thought of ending for short story, but not clear whether it will make required number of words. Time will tell.

Friday: Walking around, came upon Ashmolean Museum (art & archeology) which was closed, but shop was open and full of interesting things. Some postcards with images attributed to Hiroshige which I would have sworn were by Hokusai. Bought L a small vase of a particularly attractive blue. They have the Alfred Jewel, and I would have been sorely tempted to buy a replica if they had one, but they didn't. Clearly the Ashmolean will be a must-see if I am in Oxford again. Raining hard all morning with sporadic thunder. Noticed footscrapers in St John St, once v. necessary, I would think. Some broken with just stubs remaining. A man rolling his own in a doorway, something I haven't seen for a while. Past Keble, sheltering now and then as rain got heavier. Became quite wet.
After lunch moved our stuff to Univ guest room allegedly once occupied by Clintons. Quite a job manhandling cases along a warren of narrow corridors. No sign of Monica, but still hoping. Room looks out onto enclosed garden with clipped privet hedges. In late afternoon met Anne (L's cousin) & husband Michael at Summertown in North Oxford. Pronounced Zammertuin, as if Dutch. They drove us to where they once lived in Stanton St John, a village only 8k from Oxford but along country road quite out of sight of houses. Their former house v. pretty with climbing roses etc, but village on much higher ground than Oxford and bitterly cold. Reminded me of Mars in Out of the Silent Planet with warm valleys and freezing airless uplands. Good hot meal in pub v. welcome. Back late and locked out of college, but Anthony did seigneurial thing and banged on windows till porter came and let us in. Glad we didn't have to climb over wall. Dreamt that L and I were in Cambridge and she told me that as a young woman she had to get out of a college by swimming the river. She was a bit shamefaced about it. Should have mentioned yesterday how we were struck by Constablesque quality of vistas as we walked along the Thames - huge skies, fields stretching to a horizon of trees, and distant spires here and there.

Saturday: Getting into glad rags for graduation ceremony - unpacked new shirt, doing best to remove all pins. New suit, new waistcoat - felt like new man. Then found best silk tie had been stolen - it was in its box in the outside compartment of my suitcase. Thank heavens I still have my camel suit. Panic call to A, who needless to say travels with selection of silk ties appropriate for use of gentleman on any occasion. Then queued for about an hour to get into the Sheldonian Theatre.

Lucky it was fine - who knows what they do if it rains. Building (early work by Wren) is D-shaped, with big doors in the middle of the straight side, and the V-C sits opposite. Graduands sit on the flat and the first tier. We were up a staircase at the back of the second tier, and then there is another stair up to the gods, very stuffy under the flat ceiling. One woman fainted, others had vertigo. Ceiling depicts 'the triumph of the Arts and Sciences over Envy, Rapine and brutish scoffing Ignorance'. Too far away for me to see. Ceremony certainly not designed for people with short attention span and made you very conscious that C17 people, for whom seating was designed, were shorter than we are. But you got into the swing of it after a while. All in Latin, rattled off in fluent schoolboy pronunciation. Latin names of colleges can be quite silly. Also puzzling bits, like when MAs kneel and are tapped on the head with the New Testament. Unlike in Sydney, graduands wear clothes of their present status, then when admitted to the degree they go out through a side door and re-enter later through the main doors in their robes, when the Dean of their college presents them to the V-C.

Afterwards an infinity of photo opportunities, and lunch in Univ dining hall. L bonded with the mother of a new D.Phil from a staunch Labour family who remembered sitting in the House of Commons in 1945 to see the Labour government installed. Best summer pudding I've had - quite sour and v. flavoursome with lots of different berries. In the evening up to far North Oxford to party with Jess (the other student in A's couse at Univ) and her family and other new graduates etc. Jess known from photos but good to meet her - tall and blonde and nice-looking with humorous mouth. House they had borrowed - 3 storey terrace with attic in new development - you would have thought late Victorian. You cross the canal from a Victorian/Edwardian precinct, and the only giveaway is the technique in the brickwork. Brought a couple of bottles and ate much bread, pate, cheese, etc. Cheese has been quite a theme these last 2 weeks - made me reflect that perhaps it has always been average English person's main source of protein. Jess's parents having N American sweet tooth also provided sweets and soft drinks - if there had been mineral water I mightn't have drunk so much wine. S African wine not bad, whereas Californian drop at Univ lunch on far side of acceptable. Parents v. nice - father sociology/social theory prof from BC. Had much academic talk. Set off back to college at 10 or so, A proposing to swing on to barbecue. After a long walk found ourselves in a scary lane that went on and on round corners and between high walls, but then suddenly brought us out near Nuffield. Phone to A to remind us of entry code for Univ, then off for last turn of Clinton sheets. Dreamt about a student complaining of low marks for essay, so glad to wake up to grey day. Yesterday best weather yet.

Sunday: Off to University Church which promised sung Eucharist, but it was not to be, and communion in one kind only owing to swine flu. Not much good on dates, but judged church to be ca C14, though with baroque porch with twisty pillars stuck on at the street entrance. North windows of nave and clerestory windows on south side clear glass, which made it very light. Hymn book fell open at St Patrick's breastplate, which I took for a good sign. Heard little of sermon, though L and A said I would have liked it. Had a sudden rush of affection for K, which made me smile. Reflected on forms of prayer - whether reiteration of formulas helps straighten the mind and iron out kinks. Must read what Johnson says on subject. Good literature does the same thing, I think, but more slowly and you have to be exposed to it. Perhaps long exposure of English to Prayer Book liturgy has done something for them, because I think that as people go they are a fairly sane lot. Appreciated again how good it is to have memorials set in floor where they get worn away: no doubt slaughter at Battle of Hastings was sad, but the names mean nothing to us now, nor should they. A small choir of women, very beautiful when unaccompanied, I thought. Afterwards had coffee in shop under the church, dodging the free coffee on offer which was likely to be terrible. Looked at prints. Some nice Japanese woodblocks, though ones I liked were in the high hundreds. Then to lunch in the Bear, nearest pub to Univ, with a trio of A's friends who were well into a drinking session and seemed set to continue. This is where A and Jess came to blow off steam after exams. L and I now in Holiday Inn near Heathrow ready for morning flight. Sweetest memory I think strolling through Middle Temple garden in sunlight with L & A eating strawberries. Tomorrow to fresh woods etc - or rather familiar ones.