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Oxford, continued.
Jul. 2nd, 2004 12:17 amFor some reason, I always find it easier to get up when I’m away from home. I clambered out of bed at seven thirty this morning, rang my parents (no doubt waking them up in the process – if you’re going down, etc) and went down to breakfast accompanied by a few others.
Have you ever met someone and just hit it off? You might only know them for a few hours, but you’re aware as you talk to them that given a week, a month, a year, you and this person might well become inseparable. It happened to me with![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
purplerainbow - we’d only known each other one night before we were saying “Oh my god, me too!” at just about everything the other said.
Well, I think it happened to me again last night. The girl in question is called Heather, and she was from Leicester, planning to read Modern Languages including German, and for some reason, she and I clicked. Possibly because we were both exhausted beyond belief when first we started talking, possibly because we were both the quiet ones among a crowd of more voluble people, possibly, possibly some totally different reason, but the whole thing made me feel better about making new friends, wherever I go to university. I worry because it took me so long to feel comfortable and safe among people, rather than very paranoid – and resident lunatics are precious. If you have them, never let them go until you must.
Heather is more or less decided on applying to New. I am not, but all that comes later.
So we went to breakfast, which was an enticing mixture of bacon, hash browns and Rice Krispies, again with the incongruity of school-meal food below vaulted ceilings and the portraits of old New wardens – and eventually, Helena appeared. I was expecting to fall on her neck – someone I know! – but I didn’t. Maybe because of Heather, maybe, but also maybe because I felt comfortable the whole time I was in Oxford. The beautiful surroundings, yes, but also the people – well, it’s hard to explain. They are the sort of people who use “onerous” and “extemperaneous” in everyday conversation, and I fitted in wherever I went, because yes, I am public school material, but it’s an unknown independent with delusions of grandeur in the barbarous North, which gives me the best of both.
We went on a bit of wander round the other colleges after that. The sun was shining, everythign was beautiful, and somehow or other we ended up at St John’s. All the colleges I saw were beautiful, and it was no exception – we wandered round, and then on our way back we visited the Bodleian. I love libraries, have I ever mentioned? And this one is something special. I think I have ever-so-vague memories of it from when I was very much younger, and I wanted to linger for much longer than we did. We did visit the Divinity School for the sole reason it was the infirmary in PoA, and similarly with Christ Church hall (the Great Hall at Hogwarts) but that was later. I wish I’d had the digital camera, but Mashi has taken it to Europe.
The Warden of New College gave a talk at eleven. The Warden, as he so kindly explained is the same thing as a Master or Provost, and he talked in general about universities, then specifically Oxford, then specifically New, and he wasn’t all that reassuring, to be perfectly honest. In the end, he stood up and called for the shepherds to take people to see tutors. They went subject by subject in alphabetical order, and no-one stood up for Biology or Biochemistry, much to the amusement of all. One girl stood up for Chemistry, which prompted the Warden to remark, “Ah, it seems New College has the largest Chemistry intake in the country.”
But by the time he got to PPE, about fifteen people stood up. I find this frankly terrifying. But nevertheless, I got up and followed the shepherds to see the tutors. This involved leaving New, because for some reason the Philosopy tutor isn’t based at New but at All Souls. Pedar was delighted to hear this – for some reason, he’s hung up on All Souls; if it weren’t a postgraduate college, I’m pretty sure he’d recommend I apply there.
Actually, while I’m traipsing along the streets of Oxford from New to All Souls, a few brief words of explanation for the American friends who have asked. The University of Oxford is one university, but it’s not centralised. It operates what is called a collegiate system, one of only three universities that do (the other two are Cambridge and Durham), and there are thirty-nine colleges. Some take only postgraduates, some take only undergraduates, one takes only women, and most take everyone. You apply to a college, and if they take you, you live there, socialise there, are taught there, use their facilities, and while it’s not as if you don’t have contact with other colleges, it’s still very much college-focused. There are some limitations – not all colleges offer all subjects (oddly enough, PPE is the only subject that is offered by all colleges) and some are much more competitive than others, but the purpose of these open days is basically deciding which college(s) to apply to. I was only at New on a whim – I could well consider it, but equally, I could consider any number of others, including Balliol, Corpus Christi, Christ Church, Keble, Jesus, Merton and Magdalen. Clearly PPE is the perfect degree for the terminally indecisive. You can make an open application so a computer decides for you, but this generally means you end up in St. Hilda’s (boo, hiss) so I think not.
Yes, back to All Souls. The Philosophy tutor was very nice, actually; he talked for a few minutes, had people asking questions, and I sat in the corner and tried not to look scared. I am scared of my own presumption in doing this, I really am. It depends on which college I go for, but basically I’m applying for a degree for which there are fourteen places. Fourteen. And it’s me – ungraceful, clumsy, socially inept, lacking in any kind of mathematical ability, from an unknown independent school and with the kind of personal statement that has seasoned careers advisers running for the hills.
I probably would have had some sort of fit of despair had I not acquired an unexpected friend. Her name was Lara, andhathy_col told me to look out for her, on the grounds that two of her (Colleen’s) friends are applying for the same degree at the same college at the same university and clearly this is evidence of some sort of grand conspiracy at work, including but not limited to The Colleen Show, a television programme which everyone in the world is aware of except Col.
Lara found this as amusing as I did. I had lunch with her at New and met a few of her friends, some of whom remembered me from my essays on the political applications of Harry Potter, and it was fun.
After lunch, Helena departed for the station. She’s had bad luck with trains – attempting to get to Oxford on Wednesday, she ended up in Birmingham. I tried not to laugh, I really did. Once she’d gone, Heather and I went back to Balliol. And I find myself more and more tempted to apply there after all. Pedar suggested it back in the beginning, and I really liked it – it’s smaller than New, but just as beautiful, and it’s on Broad Street by Blackwell’s and the Bodleian, and as well as that, I liked the people. We were being shown round by a medic named Natalie, who told me about a few things unique to Balliol that I found very interesting. It’s one of the most politically active colleges – the students run the bar! – and the junior common room is more or less autonomous with regards to the college. Understandably, there’s a strong left-wing element, and thus the college tortoise is named Rosa Luxemburg. If anyone can almost but not quite remember, Rosa Luxemburg was one of the Communist Spartacists killed in Berlin in the twenties. The tortoise has since been stolen by Trinity.
In addition to this, Balliol has a prominent LGBT complement. This made my ears prick up because it was something I was planning to get involved in whatever university I went to, and this seems particularly good. I got a copy of the alternative prospectus. Natalie told me something else – apparently, women at Balliol are treated very well. The college pays for condoms, tampons and two thirds of every taxi fare after dark. This may prove to be what is called the clincher.
So, despite what I saw of New, I might well apply to Balliol. Time will tell, etc.
I eventually bid goodbye to Heather, exchanging hugs and email addresses, and went out to meet my parents at Blackwells. They seemed to have had an interesting day stuck in traffic, but they both loved Oxford. Pedar in particular has spent a lot of time there in the past and he’s probably as keen for me to get in as I am. My mother has her doubts, but even she was impressed by the college. I wandered round with them, enjoying myself, until about four. I had to run, grab my stuff from New, and then proceed to get inexplicably lost on my way down towards Blackwells again.
I was in so much of a hurry I didn’t have time to get nervous. But I had my hat, and my pink carnation (which I carefully carried from home, all the way down south), and it so happened the very first person I saw in the café also had a green hat and a pink carnation.
Amazingly, the universe is still here and in one piece, but I have metamchau in the flesh. She didn’t look anything like I expected (I have no idea what I expected) but the conversation – that went entirely as expected. I couldn’t actually say what we talked about, but it was a very resident lunatic conversation, and I’m pretty sure it covered a lot of fandom and quite possibly would have worried anyone listening in. We exchanged notes on Oxford, too – she was at Keble – and seem to share opinions on it. It was a much-too-brief meeting, and I’m pretty sure we could have spent another hour or three chatting away about nothing very much, but even as it was I was a quarter of an hour late going back to meet my parents. They seemed pleasantly surprised that I have another friend who isn’t an axe-murderer, and we ambled back across the city to find where they’d parked and go home.
I didn’t want to go. Firstly, I didn’t want to leaveamchau, and then I didn’t want to leave Oxford. It was beautiful in so many ways – and as I said yesterday, I can’t let myself fall in love with a place, but it’s probably already happened. I am mad – five applicants per place for PPE at Balliol, and four at New – but I want this so much. If I don’t get in, I’ll get over it eventually, but I do get the feeling it will probably be something I’ll always regret, particularly as my only other option is medicine. I want to be an arts student, a joint-school student and all the rest of it, and I don’t particularly want to be a mediocre doctor, and I have so much riding on this it’s embarrassing. I didn’t want to leave and come back to real life where failure is such a possibility.
Ah, well. I will apply in September and will know one way or the other by my eighteenth birthday, which is six months away. Funny, I don’t feel that old.
Have you ever met someone and just hit it off? You might only know them for a few hours, but you’re aware as you talk to them that given a week, a month, a year, you and this person might well become inseparable. It happened to me with
purplerainbow - we’d only known each other one night before we were saying “Oh my god, me too!” at just about everything the other said. Well, I think it happened to me again last night. The girl in question is called Heather, and she was from Leicester, planning to read Modern Languages including German, and for some reason, she and I clicked. Possibly because we were both exhausted beyond belief when first we started talking, possibly because we were both the quiet ones among a crowd of more voluble people, possibly, possibly some totally different reason, but the whole thing made me feel better about making new friends, wherever I go to university. I worry because it took me so long to feel comfortable and safe among people, rather than very paranoid – and resident lunatics are precious. If you have them, never let them go until you must.
Heather is more or less decided on applying to New. I am not, but all that comes later.
So we went to breakfast, which was an enticing mixture of bacon, hash browns and Rice Krispies, again with the incongruity of school-meal food below vaulted ceilings and the portraits of old New wardens – and eventually, Helena appeared. I was expecting to fall on her neck – someone I know! – but I didn’t. Maybe because of Heather, maybe, but also maybe because I felt comfortable the whole time I was in Oxford. The beautiful surroundings, yes, but also the people – well, it’s hard to explain. They are the sort of people who use “onerous” and “extemperaneous” in everyday conversation, and I fitted in wherever I went, because yes, I am public school material, but it’s an unknown independent with delusions of grandeur in the barbarous North, which gives me the best of both.
We went on a bit of wander round the other colleges after that. The sun was shining, everythign was beautiful, and somehow or other we ended up at St John’s. All the colleges I saw were beautiful, and it was no exception – we wandered round, and then on our way back we visited the Bodleian. I love libraries, have I ever mentioned? And this one is something special. I think I have ever-so-vague memories of it from when I was very much younger, and I wanted to linger for much longer than we did. We did visit the Divinity School for the sole reason it was the infirmary in PoA, and similarly with Christ Church hall (the Great Hall at Hogwarts) but that was later. I wish I’d had the digital camera, but Mashi has taken it to Europe.
The Warden of New College gave a talk at eleven. The Warden, as he so kindly explained is the same thing as a Master or Provost, and he talked in general about universities, then specifically Oxford, then specifically New, and he wasn’t all that reassuring, to be perfectly honest. In the end, he stood up and called for the shepherds to take people to see tutors. They went subject by subject in alphabetical order, and no-one stood up for Biology or Biochemistry, much to the amusement of all. One girl stood up for Chemistry, which prompted the Warden to remark, “Ah, it seems New College has the largest Chemistry intake in the country.”
But by the time he got to PPE, about fifteen people stood up. I find this frankly terrifying. But nevertheless, I got up and followed the shepherds to see the tutors. This involved leaving New, because for some reason the Philosopy tutor isn’t based at New but at All Souls. Pedar was delighted to hear this – for some reason, he’s hung up on All Souls; if it weren’t a postgraduate college, I’m pretty sure he’d recommend I apply there.
Actually, while I’m traipsing along the streets of Oxford from New to All Souls, a few brief words of explanation for the American friends who have asked. The University of Oxford is one university, but it’s not centralised. It operates what is called a collegiate system, one of only three universities that do (the other two are Cambridge and Durham), and there are thirty-nine colleges. Some take only postgraduates, some take only undergraduates, one takes only women, and most take everyone. You apply to a college, and if they take you, you live there, socialise there, are taught there, use their facilities, and while it’s not as if you don’t have contact with other colleges, it’s still very much college-focused. There are some limitations – not all colleges offer all subjects (oddly enough, PPE is the only subject that is offered by all colleges) and some are much more competitive than others, but the purpose of these open days is basically deciding which college(s) to apply to. I was only at New on a whim – I could well consider it, but equally, I could consider any number of others, including Balliol, Corpus Christi, Christ Church, Keble, Jesus, Merton and Magdalen. Clearly PPE is the perfect degree for the terminally indecisive. You can make an open application so a computer decides for you, but this generally means you end up in St. Hilda’s (boo, hiss) so I think not.
Yes, back to All Souls. The Philosophy tutor was very nice, actually; he talked for a few minutes, had people asking questions, and I sat in the corner and tried not to look scared. I am scared of my own presumption in doing this, I really am. It depends on which college I go for, but basically I’m applying for a degree for which there are fourteen places. Fourteen. And it’s me – ungraceful, clumsy, socially inept, lacking in any kind of mathematical ability, from an unknown independent school and with the kind of personal statement that has seasoned careers advisers running for the hills.
I probably would have had some sort of fit of despair had I not acquired an unexpected friend. Her name was Lara, and
hathy_col told me to look out for her, on the grounds that two of her (Colleen’s) friends are applying for the same degree at the same college at the same university and clearly this is evidence of some sort of grand conspiracy at work, including but not limited to The Colleen Show, a television programme which everyone in the world is aware of except Col.Lara found this as amusing as I did. I had lunch with her at New and met a few of her friends, some of whom remembered me from my essays on the political applications of Harry Potter, and it was fun.
After lunch, Helena departed for the station. She’s had bad luck with trains – attempting to get to Oxford on Wednesday, she ended up in Birmingham. I tried not to laugh, I really did. Once she’d gone, Heather and I went back to Balliol. And I find myself more and more tempted to apply there after all. Pedar suggested it back in the beginning, and I really liked it – it’s smaller than New, but just as beautiful, and it’s on Broad Street by Blackwell’s and the Bodleian, and as well as that, I liked the people. We were being shown round by a medic named Natalie, who told me about a few things unique to Balliol that I found very interesting. It’s one of the most politically active colleges – the students run the bar! – and the junior common room is more or less autonomous with regards to the college. Understandably, there’s a strong left-wing element, and thus the college tortoise is named Rosa Luxemburg. If anyone can almost but not quite remember, Rosa Luxemburg was one of the Communist Spartacists killed in Berlin in the twenties. The tortoise has since been stolen by Trinity.
In addition to this, Balliol has a prominent LGBT complement. This made my ears prick up because it was something I was planning to get involved in whatever university I went to, and this seems particularly good. I got a copy of the alternative prospectus. Natalie told me something else – apparently, women at Balliol are treated very well. The college pays for condoms, tampons and two thirds of every taxi fare after dark. This may prove to be what is called the clincher.
So, despite what I saw of New, I might well apply to Balliol. Time will tell, etc.
I eventually bid goodbye to Heather, exchanging hugs and email addresses, and went out to meet my parents at Blackwells. They seemed to have had an interesting day stuck in traffic, but they both loved Oxford. Pedar in particular has spent a lot of time there in the past and he’s probably as keen for me to get in as I am. My mother has her doubts, but even she was impressed by the college. I wandered round with them, enjoying myself, until about four. I had to run, grab my stuff from New, and then proceed to get inexplicably lost on my way down towards Blackwells again.
I was in so much of a hurry I didn’t have time to get nervous. But I had my hat, and my pink carnation (which I carefully carried from home, all the way down south), and it so happened the very first person I saw in the café also had a green hat and a pink carnation.
Amazingly, the universe is still here and in one piece, but I have met
amchau in the flesh. She didn’t look anything like I expected (I have no idea what I expected) but the conversation – that went entirely as expected. I couldn’t actually say what we talked about, but it was a very resident lunatic conversation, and I’m pretty sure it covered a lot of fandom and quite possibly would have worried anyone listening in. We exchanged notes on Oxford, too – she was at Keble – and seem to share opinions on it. It was a much-too-brief meeting, and I’m pretty sure we could have spent another hour or three chatting away about nothing very much, but even as it was I was a quarter of an hour late going back to meet my parents. They seemed pleasantly surprised that I have another friend who isn’t an axe-murderer, and we ambled back across the city to find where they’d parked and go home.I didn’t want to go. Firstly, I didn’t want to leave
amchau, and then I didn’t want to leave Oxford. It was beautiful in so many ways – and as I said yesterday, I can’t let myself fall in love with a place, but it’s probably already happened. I am mad – five applicants per place for PPE at Balliol, and four at New – but I want this so much. If I don’t get in, I’ll get over it eventually, but I do get the feeling it will probably be something I’ll always regret, particularly as my only other option is medicine. I want to be an arts student, a joint-school student and all the rest of it, and I don’t particularly want to be a mediocre doctor, and I have so much riding on this it’s embarrassing. I didn’t want to leave and come back to real life where failure is such a possibility.Ah, well. I will apply in September and will know one way or the other by my eighteenth birthday, which is six months away. Funny, I don’t feel that old.
