I’m in Oxford for a few days, as Laurie is giving a talk to the Jowett Philosophical Society tomorrow.1 The last time I was in town, I was thirteen years of age and was hospitalized with gastroenteritis contracted from food cooked by scout masters who were supposedly proficient in wilderness survival skills. This visit is turning out much better than that, though it’s hard not to invent ways to annoy students who affect a patronizing attitude to tourists. Maybe I should ask the next one directions to the grave of Oxford’s most famous economist, John Milton Keynes.
1 “Change is Mulitple Realization,” at 4:30pm in the Lecture Theatre in the Faculty of Philosophy, 10 Merton Street. Under the rules of a non-aggression pact governing attendance at talks given by one’s spouse, I won’t be there.
Maybe I should ask the next one directions to the grave of Oxford’s most famous economist, John Milton Keynes.
I read your post just after looking at my colleague’s embodied conversational agent explaining directions to the arch on Northwestern’s campus. Funny timing.
Oh, and I suspect the ECA was more coherent than anyone you’d encounter.;-) (Well, then again, it may depend on the particular message..;)
Was planning to attend the Jowett tomorrow anyway. Doubly curious now I know there’s a (slight) Crooked Timber connection.
Truly the tendrils of Crooked Timber spread far and wide…
it’s hard not to invent ways to annoy students who affect a patronizing attitude to tourists.
Ask for directions to ‘the University’. Works every time.
(Still, you’ll be around for May Morning, I hope?)
There are good reasons for ‘patronizing’ to be the default setting for Oxford students giving directions. We have to deal with all manner of clueless people who have been herded here like sheep on tour buses. How is one to know that one’s interlocutor is a sophisticated chap like Kieran? Enjoy your stay!
It’s not nearly as fun as giving rival footy fans the wrong directions to the ground. Especially if they’re from Swindon.
As for May Morning: stay in bed! It’s going to rain, and all you get in exchange for rising at dawn is a choir singing at you from on high through a tinny excuse for a public address system. You’ll be joined by drunk kids in black tie who’ve been up all night, and wacko morris dancers. Actually, get up, it’s an essential Oxford experience.
Yes, really, don’t miss May morning, especially it being a Saturday. Get up EARLY for it.
And buy some cheese in the cheese shop, and have egg and chips for lunch at the greasy Browns, in the covered market.
Last time I was in Oxford, I too had a raging case of stomach problems, though mine were from a kebab van rather than a scoutmaster, but even so.
“Maybe I should ask the next one directions to the grave of Oxford’s most famous economist, John Milton Keynes…”
I thought that was Maynard G. Krebbs? :-)
mine were from a kebab van rather than a scoutmaster, but even so.
Didn’t you read the sign on the kebab van that says ‘Anyone who eats here is more or less guaranteed a couple of days of vomiting at best’? Oh, no, its not written in words. But it takes a lot to disregard the warnings.
To bother Oxford students:
Stop in the middle of the sidewalk to photograph a building. Look deeply annoyed when a student walks into frame because they’ve got a lecture in the building you’re recording for posterity.
Go to the Turf and have your entire party stand at the bar, rendering it impossible for anyone else to order a pint. When asked for an order, read through the entire list of available drinks, while asking if each one is any good. Order Guinness all around.
Complain loudly that nothing interesting is open at night.
Ask someone why there are so many deeply ugly buildings in among the lovely old ones.
Audibly remark that dissertation deadlines and exams are nothing to be worried about.
And beware of the students offering to take your picture with the Radcliffe Camera for a fiver.
Is this the Jowett Undergraduate Philosophical Society? I was the Treasurer one year (this is early 80s), which meant my principal job was to put up posters announcing the meeting. Balliol used to have a stranglehold on its officers, to the utter dismay of non-Balliolite undergraduate wannabe philosophers. Does it still ?
Oh, I love Oxford. We weren’t there for nearly long enough. Te only had time to visit one college so it had to be Balliol (Wimsey fan) and it was lovely. Had a drink at the pub where the Inklings hung out. We were there between terms so no sneering students.
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