In The City, The Country

I have to shamefully admit that, having previously lived in Oxford for 20-odd years, I never once ventured into any of the 38 or so colleges there. Not that they'd let me in of course (not without wads of cash anyway) but certain ones are open to the public so they, you know, can see how the privileged half study.

You see Oxford, for me, was just the big place up the A34 from Abingdon; the place where the massive Woolworths with the big clock was and with the dodgy Westgate mall with drunks hanging round it all the time. The Woolworth store is now a distant memory (on the site where the Clarendon Centre now resides) and the Westgate has been tidied up considerably since. I don't know where they relocated the drunks to. Abingdon, presumably.

So, my sister Marcia and I decided on a trip to the homeland last weekend, partners in tow. We first nipped to Radley to visit our brother Kevin (and Sue, dad's old lurcher cross - still in good health). Then it was to Oxford, to wander round one of the oldest and best known colleges in the city; Magdalen. 

(In case you're wondering, the pronunciation is 'Maudlin', not the phonetic 'Mag-dal-en' as I was calling it for years. So now you know.)

The college was founded in 1458 by William Waynflete, Bishop of Winchester and Lord Chancellor of England, and currently has about six hundred students under its collective roofs. We didn't get to see many academics - this being a saturday, they were probably all hungover. But we did get to marvel at the beautiful architecture, courtyards, lawns and a glorious chapel with stunning stained glass windows.

And as we were larking about by the New Building (where Betjeman and CS Lewis had rooms, don'tcha know) we saw a sudden dayglo mass heading towards us. Tourists! Eeek! Run away!! Fast!!! So we made a swift escape, past the Deer Park, to the tranquility of Addison's Walk alongside the water meadow. And as the din of accents and camera clicks subsided, we found ourselves out in the countryside. Or at least it felt like it; the boundaries of the college are so large that it is impossible to imagine you are still actually in a city.

The walk took us along the banks of the River Cherwell, where we stopped on a bridge to play pooh sticks. This took a while; the strange, irregular currents of the water took the sticks everywhere but under the bridge. I think mine eventually made it - Stu's on the other hand got caught in an eddy and pirouetted off in another direction entirely.

From there it was back to the main buildings for a peruse of the beautiful chapel and then a wander back down the High Street to The Vaults & Garden Cafe at University Church of St Marys. We'd been to this wonderful little place before, tucked away under the church with white, high-vaulted ceilings, mismatched furniture and a wonderfully eclectic menu. Paul, Stu and I had a rather lovely chickpea and vegetable tagine, Marcia the chicken risotto; all delicious. And we sat, supped tea and chatted like academics (although not on academic subjects, mind!) until it was time to go in our opposite directions - Stu and I to Cardiff, Marcia and Paul London-bound.

So, while I wouldn't want to move back to Oxford (and couldn't afford to anyway, as the property is so bastard expensive there) I can see myself heading back there more frequently to discover more of what was on my doorstep for all those years. Oh no... I've become a tourist!!

Here be pics.

Out In The Open

You've heard the phrase 'camper than a row of tents', right?

Well the place where Stu and I (plus three small dogs) decided to pitch our canvas a fortnight ago, it wasn't just the tents that were camp - the whole place was. A camp campsite if you will.

I'm talking about a wonderful place called Out In The Open, located just outside the small town of Porkellis in western Cornwall (between Helston and Falmouth). The former farm-turned-campsite is run by two fantastic women, Cath and Dee, who opened it primarily for the solar eclipse back in 1999. It proved so popular they now run it now as a campsite for gay people - one of the first to ever be opened in the UK I should imagine.

The journey from Cardiff to Cornwall took four hours plus, so I was a little frazzled by the time we drove up an extremely narrow and bumpy track (literally the width of the car) to access the site. Once there, we were welcomed by Cath who, taking a break from cleaning the toilets, gave us a thorough tour of the site and its amenities.

Cath and Dee keep the place spotlessly clean and they operate the most impressive recycling system for used items. The camping field is large and, as numbers of people at a time are limited, there is plentiful space between pitches. There is even a separate field kept free for the dogs to roam in - which our little trio did to their hearts content. And the girls have also utilised the existing farm structures there; for example an old barn is now been a meeting area for campers during the evening, with tables, chairs, electrical points and coloured lights... however, it does have a strict 11pm kicking out time! As we found out...

The campsite proved perfect for us - not only in terms of peace and quiet, (and, of course, a place where we could just be ourselves as gay people) but also gave us easy access to places of interest in Cornwall. We visited the wonderful Trebah Gardens with it's huge gunnera plants and impressive ranges of bamboos, the truly amazing Cornish Seal Sanctuary near Gweek (Stu's favourite place), the beautiful little harbour town of Mousehole (promouned Mouse-zul, or something like that) and a visit to Tate St Ives (my favourite place!) where there was an exhibition of the work of American artist Alex Katz. Oh, and on our last night we treated ourselves to a fish and chip dinner at Rick Stein's place in Falmouth. Oooh, get us!

However, one of the best things about staying at Out In The Open was the wonderful people we encountered there. We met two lovely couples - Angela and Natalie, Gary and Paul - who we spent an evening chatting to and drinking with in the barn, a couple of northern lasses who were staying in the tipi and a collective of campers who had set up their various tents around a large gazebo with rainbow lighting inside it. And a mirrorball, of course.

One of the more eccentric aspects of the site was the rather large number of Barbie and Ken/Action Man dolls that populated communal areas. It was a lovely touch and the source of much amusement for many. By this I mean every morning when we went to the shower block we were usually met by the five action men in the sink areas in increasingly imaginative intimate positions. Quite extraordinary. And inspiring.

Anyway... here is a link to the site's, er, site. Pics to follow.

The Stair

A bit of poetry for you.

THE STAIR

“I trust your intentions are true” she said, 

As she climbed at the top of the stair.

“Of course,” I replied “My heart is pure”

Yet beguiled by her presence, so demure

My countenance smiling to reassure

Base feelings lay hidden with care.

“How nice to receive you again” she said,

As she climbed to the top of the stair.

And, as before, to the click of the clock

Her figure ahead I began to take stock

And catching my eye, legs under her frock

Where stockings once were, now were bare.

“You’ve kept me waiting too long!” she cried,

As she rushed to the top of the stair.

Ascending the planks with a feverish speed,

Our bodies propelled through our urgent need 

To mingle and fall, inhibitions freed 

By a mutual passion to share.

“Alas - he has returned!”  she wailed,

As she clung to the top of the stair.

Dumfounded I gaze up into her face,

Tear-stained, confused yet still full of grace

Her spouse now returned to inhabit the space

We conducted our little affair.

“I’ve had such a lovely time” she said

Smiling down from the top of the stair.

And I turn one last time to face the front door

I’d become to know so well but no more

Would I see it or she that I’d come to adore

My body now ached with despair.


© 2012 Lance Eggleton