Liberal Drinks hits Oxford

Yes, one month today the inaugural Oxford Liberal Drinks event takes place in my adopted hometown, the city of spying dreamers dreaming spires.

Details are: 26th September, 2007, from 7.00 pm, at The Mitre, High Street, Oxford. (Naturally the event has its own Flock Together page, which you can visit here.)

If you live in the OX environs, or happen to be passing through, or simply fancy an excuse to visit, do drop by. Hope to see you there.

Thank goodness for…

… the letters pages of the local press.

A correspondent from Abingdon, who finds himself bemused by which bin is collected when these days, has devised the perfect system by which to remember, and has kindly passed on his plan to readers of the Oxford Times.

Get a small container and in it put one card for each collection for a fortnight. In our area that means two green cards, two ordinary cards and one brown card. Write on the top of each card the type of collection, the day for collection (and the evening before to put it out in case the collection comes early). Then put each card in order, one on top of the other, and when the waste bin for the top card has been dealt with, put that card at the bottom of the pile. This leaves the next collection, with its appropriate day, signalled clearly on the top.

We leave the cards in their container on a shelf by the kitchen door. It's a very simple idea, but for me it works.

Obviously the basic idea has many modifications; the cards could be put on rings and just flicked over; the cards could contain any relevant details of the type of waste that is, and is not, appropriate for that particular collection; the container could even hold details of Bank Holiday changes etc.

Now why didn’t I think of that?

The letter is headlined, 'Recycling cracked'. I think we can all guess what the sub-editor was implying.

One parade, one flag, one video

I have somehow contrived never to attend the Lord Mayor’s Parade through Oxford during my time on the City Council. This year’s seemed a good one for which to make an exception… at least while it was sunny.

A gaggle of councillors were ferried a couple of hundred yards on an open-top bus into historic Broad Street, where we alighted to process through the central streets in order to bemuse tourists and residents, who had simply popped into town to do a bit of shopping. Inevitably it rained. I was able to carry an umbrella - the instrument-laden Oxford and District Brass Band Association, marching behind, was less fortunate.

Here’s a 3-minute video of the parade to give you a flavour. I clutched onto an EU flag to show my support for Oxfordshire’s European Movement, who were part of the Parade’s platoon of floats. You can also see me very self-consciously greeting the public (shades of a triumphant Hugh Grant entering Downing Street in Love Actually: “I really must work on my wave.”)

Scenes from a Bank Holiday week-end

Very traditional, very British… Sunday afternoon was spent picnicking in Christ Church meadow (albeit eating tortilla and jamon, which is perhaps a little more recherché).

Half a century ago, this idyllic setting was the subject of a bitter planning wrangle, following the proposal by Thomas Sharp, in his 1948 report, Oxford Replanned, that an ‘inner relief road’ be built across the meadow.

The debate raged for a full two decades, before being finally squashed by, inter alia, the then Minister of Housing and Local Government, Dick Crossman, who was my predecessor (by several generations) as a councillor for Headington ward on the City Council.

Part of the fun is reclining by the meadow, and watching the tourists who’ve hired their punts at Magdalen Bridge struggle to control their craft.

Some take to it, like… erm… ducks to water. Others thrash and flail, slaloming from one side of the Cherwell bank to the other - pure sporting schadenfreude.

Such pleasures - together with the gleaming, dreaming spires - even allow you to forget the downsides of picnics: bugs, needing the toilet, and the fact that bright April sunshine isn’t all that warm.

Oxford's blaze of glory

For the last three nights, Oxford’s Broad Street has been ablaze thanks to a spectacular fire installation known as Luminox, part of the celebrations of 1,000 years of Oxfordshire.

My photos do it scant justice: it was a magical, elemental event which attracted thousands, becoming the talk of the town. Beyond its ethereal beauty, two aspects struck home.

On the first evening, everywhere I went the same question was being asked: ‘What about Health & Safety?’

We were able to wander where we wanted, within touching distance of burning braziers, and in between molten lanterns.

Everyone was amazed and delighted to be treated like adults (especially the children); to be trusted to realise that scorching hot things are dangerous. To the best of my knowledge, no-one decided to hurl themselves into harm’s way.


Instead, there was a visceral sense of liberation among the crowds at being left alone to enjoy the displays at our own pace in our own way: collective joy emanating from individual freedom.

Secondly, when I visited tonight, there wasn’t a single police officer patrolling, though there were thousands of people milling around.

And there was no need for one. Despite the squash, relaxed good humour abounded, bar the occasional ‘Tsk’ when someone accidentally obstructed a camera.

Folk munched on crepes, sipped coffee sitting outside cafes, browsed in Blackwells bookshop, kept their kids entertained and safe, snapped photos on phones and cameras, filmed videos, cuddled, chatted: enjoyed themselves.

When we started our walk home, we passed the St John’s Ambulance crew. They were sat inside, talking, drinking from a flask, relaxed.

It’s been that kind of event.








PS: there are many fantastic photos well worth a view on Flickr.

The Oxford skyline

Turning 30 in a week focuses the mind a tad on things not yet achieved. (I envy those able to take simple pleasure in focusing only on those things already achieved.) Today, I started whittling away at the list.

Admittedly, I began with an easy one - climbing the University church tower here in Oxford, which somehow I’ve never got round to doing after 11½ years living in the city. It’s all too easy not to appreciate what’s on your own doorstep. I’m pleased to say today was one of those occasions my adopted hometown took my breath away.

Here’s the panoramic view which did it for me… (Click on the image for the full effect.)





Oh, and on the walk home, a reminder that spring really is here (at last):

What Sundays should be about

I know I should have sat inside today, watching Ming on Sunday AM, and leafing through the papers in search of blogging inspiration. Instead, I opted for a bracing walk in gorgeously wintry sunshine besides Port Meadow. At 440 acres, it's the largest area of common land in Oxford (even if much of it was under water today). So, no erudite opinionating from me today, I'm afraid.

You say coke I say caine*

I recently bought a bike. In itself, that is (I readily accept) pretty uninteresting. What intrigued me, a little at any rate, was my rationale.

I don’t drive, do not own a car, have never driven one. Having lived within a mile (at most) of Oxford’s city centre since I was 18, I’ve rarely had the need. I’m sure if I had one I would use it, but - to quote that most abstemious of self-denying clichés - what you’ve never had you don’t miss.

But since my student bike departed for the great rack in the sky, years ago, I’ve not cycled, instead relying on foot or bus. My flat is some 15 minutes’ walk into town, just under 30 minutes into work. Not a great distance, by any means, but I’m sufficiently impatient for an hour-long daily commute to irritate me (even after I bought my iPod). Catching a bus cut my journey-time by roughly one-third.

But buses in Oxford are not cheap (not much is: that’s the price you pay for living in a great city). I used to pay £44 a month for my 4-week PlusPass.

Then (and here I reach, not before time, the point of this posting) in November they increased the price by £2. Less than 5%, which, considering the recent increases in fuel costs, is by no means unreasonable.

But it was enough.

They had stretched my personal price elasticity to snapping point, and beyond. £44 a month I could tolerate; £46 I couldn’t. A new bicycle was purchased for the cost of six months’ PlusPasses.

The result? On the plus-side, my daily commute is now just 20 minutes. The debits are that I have had to learn the code of the cyclist:

• traffic lights do not apply to us;
• hand signals are unnecessary;
• lights, even in winter, are an optional extra;
• pavements are part of the highway; and
• weaving between cars is de rigeur.

I’m still a beginner, and have yet to master all these techniques.

* in case you're wondering why the title, click here.

Going for cold

Today’s Indy notes the recent upsurge in outdoor ice-rinks in major towns and cities:

Although the first rink with artificially frozen ice, the Glaciarium, was opened in London in 1876 it is only in the past 10 years that temporary ice rinks have become part of Britain's winter landscape and a new pastime for many families eager to keep their youngsters amused during the long, dark winter months of November to January.

Well, Oxford’s version certainly kept me amused for an hour t’other night. Though I suspect my carbon footprint may have expanded as a result.

I was very fortunate friends pictured me at the one moment in the session when I managed to look semi-poised.