Oxford

Frankly, I'd really rather be in bed right now. I'm jetlagged, I hit the streets of Oxford for a quick walk around the moment I got my room sorted out, and my sleep in the last two days had been patchy at best. Who can sleep eight hours solid on planes, trains and automobiles anyway?

So here I am in Oxford, pleasantly surprised at the autolock coded security installed into 600-year-old buildings. And even more surprised by the extent of non-English spoken on the streets. It's summer. There seems to be more tourists than students about. So I hear more Italian, German, Dutch and Eastern European (can't tell which). Five minutes down Harris Manchester College, where I am, it's like a Harry Potter theme park. I half looked for the Leaky Cauldron for a pint. Ancient buildings, lovely old things, inhabited by Gap and KFC. Not all of course. The old colleges very much retain their decorum. I have to say though, I'd expected Oxford to be less touristy and more Cambridge-y. I know. I'll get shot by both for saying that.

Nevertheless, I am determined to sit where Tolkien and C.S. Lewis did, having a pint and throwing ideas about Middle Earth, wizards and hobbits vs. Screwtape writing to the devil.

I get my own single room with ensuite at the college, but I never knew that ensuite could mean your personal bathroom outside your bedroom and only you have access to the key. Very quaint. Oh, by the way, there's a closet under the stairs to my room and I'm positive Harry Potter stayed there years ago. Ha!

More soon. Crash now.