Blog On The Motorway

Today’s post will be a bit like Jaws 2, in that it will be roughly 17% less interesting than the first one, but different from Jaws 2 in that it wont culminate in Roy Schneider coaxing a giant shark to bite a huge power cable.

Sunday started with another continental breakfast, where I decided to discover whether man can live on croissants alone (tip; you can’t, I was hungry after only a few hours).  After breakfast we headed back along the grass verge to the bus stop, stopping approximately every five metres to wrest the pushchair from the mud, and waited for the Tube bus.

Now it seems to me that one general rule of dealing with the public is to not greet them with a barely concealed contempt, but on every attempt to use this service this was exactly what we encountered. The driver would see the folded pushchair and sigh and tut and stomp about without saying a word.  But again we negotiated our way on the bus and headed back to Oxford to see Christ Church College.

When we arrived we discovered that (presumably due to the religious nature of the place) Oxford doesn’t really do the same Sunday opening hours as the rest of the country. Pretty much everywhere was closed when we got there, and Christ Church was closed until 2.30 in the afternoon, so we went for a wander to occupy ourselves.  At precisely this time the heavens opened up on us, mocking the weather reports that had promised us a sunny day.

We first visited the Museum of Modern Art, which consisted of one room with a tv screen showing an interview with a french student about precisely nothing.  Now I understand that film and television can be art. Look at the works of Scorcese or any of a thousand other directors and there is art there. One static camera conducting the worlds most boring interview does not to me constitute art.  There was a man there sat silently in the corner, who we presumed to be the artist.  Thankfully Rosie kicked up a fuss, giving us the excuse to smile politely and beat a hasty retreat. So we left, back into the rain. We visited the open market, which was closed, and another museum, which was also closed.

Soggy and becoming dispirited we killed time in a milkshake cafe for a while, before heading back to Christ Church, which was now accepting visitors. We paid our £12 in entry fees and entered, just as the rain topped and the sun started to shine again.

Christ Church is arguably the most famous of the colleges, and it’s not hard to see why, its breathtaking architecture and history simply stunning. The tour includes a look at the mighty great hall (home to some of the scenes in Harry Potter which gave me a big geeky kick) and the Cathedral, which I found less impressive than Ellen, but then I grew up in the grounds of Canterbury Cathedral. 

One thing that really grated though was that at the end of the tour, as we approached the Picture Gallery, home to works by some of the great masters, small print informed us that there is a supplemental charge for entry, and that the masters wouldn’t necessarily be on display anyway.  If you’re going to charge extra, that should be made pretty clear from the start, and we were not alone in thinking this, almost everyone left the tour grumbling and disheartened. But that’s not to detract from the sheer magnificence of the place, which is otherwise well worth the visit.

We headed back to the hotel, making sure we got back reasonably early so we could give Rosie an early dinner and hopefully settle her a little earlier. Once back in the hotel we popped into reception to book a table, only to be told that they didn’t serve dinner on a Sunday evening and that the kitchens closed 15 minutes earlier.

We stood dumbfounded for a moment.  This left us with no options for dinner, since we were deep in the countryside and didn’t drive.  We stood in silence for a moment, until thankfully one of the staff offered to drive us in his car to a local pub he thought may be open and serving food.  This pub was closed too, so this poor bloke had to drive us around all the villages looking for somewhere to eat.

Then quite randomly we happened upon an open but empty Thai restaurant in the middle of a sleepy village. As soon as we stepped inside we knew that our turn of misfortune had worked in our favour. They immediately fussed over Rosie, bringing her chocolate and vegetable carvings and generally being thoroughly lovely to all of us. The food was beautiful too, light but filling.  The whole evening turned out to be one of the highlights of the weekend.

The next morning we said our goodbyes to Oxford and started the epic nine hour journey back, taking in three coaches, a bus and a taxi. Miraculously Rosie remained lovely throughout, cuddly and quiet and generally well behaved before slumping into a deep sleep a few minutes into the last and longest coach leg.

So all in all a successful weekend away, a fitting celebration for Ellen’s birthday, filled with happy times and history, food and wine.  We spent a fortune in the end, and may have to resort to eating potato peelings and air before the month is up, but it was worth it. 

Apologies if the last few days have been the equivalent of your parents insisting you see all the photos they took of the desert after a week in Egypt, your eyes glazing over after the fifth picture of a camel*.  Sometimes there’s just no way of escaping a holiday bore, but at least here you can just shut the browser down in defiance. I wouldn’t even know. Go on, you’ll feel better.

*I had hoped to get some photos on today, but was distracted by good telly last night, so I may have to save them for another post. There wont be any of camels, I promise.