Michaelmas

"It is typical of Oxford," I said, "to start the new year in autumn."
-pg 101, Brideshead Revisited, Evelyn Waugh.

...what? None of you had posted it yet! Someone had to crack and say it first!

Anyway. My detour into minor pretension aside, this really is an autumn like the one described in Brideshead, sombre and grey and very wet. I have been back in Oxford two days, have successfully unpacked my things, set up my room, and rediscovered the joy of communal living. My flat are half back - four of us are here, three to come - and we're all doing things like staking out fridge space and redecorating the kitchen with our collective posters and generally, inevitably, coming home.

Right now we have up the map of the world, the periodic table, an Escher print that falls off the wall in some misguided attempt at life imitating art, a bunch of cocktail recipes, the Underground map and a picture of Mount Fuji. I like it - it feels less like a college kitchen (or "kitchenette" - ghastly word) and more like a place where a group of friends actually live and work. I brought my camera but not its charger, so I can't show you my lovely room, but it is lovely - doesn't have much character, but is big and airy and has a window seat. I still have the same postal address - which I will post, under flock, pretty soon - but not the same physical address, if that makes sense. In other words, I've moved to the top of tower six, but am still picking up post from my pidge. It's nice to still be in the centre of town - jacinthsong and lizziwig are close by, too, which means we can do what we did last night and eat pizza at the drop of the proverbial hat, and I'm really very happy with my living arrangements.

Oxford is just as it was, only wetter. Balliol is awash with freshers, one of whom had a nervous chat with me whilst waiting to see the college secretary, in which he described me as a "finalist". I am a finalist. Oh, dear. I don't want to be a finalist, thankyouverymuch. And right now it looks like I won't be one, because it's Monday of noughth week and I haven't yet heard from a single tutor who's purportedly teaching me this term. Grrr, argh, etc.

Balliol is awash with plain old water, too. I went down to see the college secretary re: transcripts - oh, god, a brief digression on that. I have tried over and over to explain to people, mostly American people, that the concept of a university transcript is not universal. No, it really isn't. Despite what the Law School Admissions Council seem to think. Anyway, I was vindicated when the college secretary peered over her glasses at me and wrote on my form, neatly and with academic disdain: "THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD DOES NOT ISSUE TRANSCRIPTS."

Thank you. Yes. Oh, dear. How to explain this one, I wonder.

Anyway, where was I? I was in college waving these forms about, and just as I was crossing the back quad, there was a noise like stone hitting metal and suddenly, an eight-foot geyser rose impressively into the air. It was raining so hard that the additional water didn't make much difference. Instead, everyone about - students, dons, gardeners, everyone - just stood amid the sopping greenery and said something along the lines of, "Oh, how pretty."

Because, you know, it was. It was a burst water main, and they fixed it eventually, but it did look striking, and had an unexpectedly soothing effect on all the stressed people rushhing about. College actually does look very pretty indeed, despite the grey - it's covered in flowers, bright colours, lush verdant everything. It's beautiful. Also, Balliol has a new college pet tortoise. The tortoise we did have was called Rosa Luxemburg and was kidnapped - it's suspected it was nabbed by Trinity and boiled - the year before I came. I haven't met the new one yet. I'm told it's quite sweet, in an ancient reptilian sort of way.

Anyway, back to work. I am drying off, after having spent most of my morning going over the OULES Aeneid script with foulds - we're previewing it for the others tonight - and trying to get through my to-do list, including a couple of commissions for Cherwell, because I am crazy.

About the two pieces - one is brief, on the history of the rainbow flag as a queer symbol, and I'm pretty sure I can find all the info I need online, but the second one is more interesting. It's a new column, entitled provisionally "How to be...X", and I think I could do with some help. My piece is "How to be the tute partner from hell", and I would appreciate suggestions on this. How do you be the tute partner from hell? My most irritating tute partner ever was smug, self-centred, never did essays, never answered emails, schmoozed me shamelessly and ran for Union President. Surely there are more varieties of experience than this.

Enough. I am so glad to be back in Oxford. Back where it's wet and miserable and stressful, but I have a room of my own, and the company of people who happily stand around and listen to the sound of running water.

Edited to add: I forgot to mention the LSAT! Yes, well. I will talk more about the LSAT when I have stopped banging my head against the wall.