A city of aquatint

[raven]

It is 9.07am, I have been awake since eight despite having fallen into bed past three, the sky above my window is a glorious, intense blue and I am happy. This was - hopefully - not my last term doing OULES, and this was definitely not the last OULES play I'll ever see, but, of course, there will be a not-quite-the-same quality about it. Last night was the OULES cast party; today is Friday of eighth week of Trinity of my last year - quite literally, I will still be a full member of this university for just today and tomorrow - and yes, everyone gets their three years as an undergraduate, etc., this is all I was signed up for, etc., etc., but there's still a very vocal part of me making quiet, plaintive noises and considering clinging to the college stonework until they pry my fingers out from between the cracks.

But. That aside. That held firmly aside, I was here for three years. I was here in this city of aquatint, I have lived here and made friends here and been utterly, dizzily happy here. I joined OULES because all the cool kids were doing it, not because I have anything like, you know, acting ability - but in full knowledge and approval of the project. OULES is the Oxford University Light Entertainment Society - it does plays at the end of every term that are low-commitment, low-budget and rife with bad puns, done in small venues to affectionate audiences, giving all the takings to charity and generally finishing with the cast, their friends, admirers and camp followers getting ludicrously drunk and singing obscene songs. And I love it. I do love it. I love the joy of it, I love the enthusiasm, I love how, as sebastienne explained to me last night, Oules tend to be beautiful, beautiful people safe enough in their skins to get up on stage and be silly in front of everyone they know. If I could have my three years over, the one thing I'd do differently is to go out and join OULES in my very first term, rather than in my sixth - although, right now, I'm not feeling so bad about things as they are. I have been in four shows, co-directed/written/produced one, and I seem to have signed myself up to help write next year's garden shows. And thus everything moves on, etc.

Last night, unlike Tuesday and Wednesday, we didn't do the shows in the garden due to the pouring, pouring rain. I like being out in the garden - it's very convivial - but being in Wadham Chapel has the advantage of not having to yell lines, and being very close to the audience (who are possibily sitting askance at listening to jokes about sodomy when perched beneath enormous stained glass windows). The plays were "Harry Potter and the Generic Adventure" (I got to be Tonks and Luna; I am hoping the casting was not personal) and "The Reduced Tolkien" (I got to be a Dork - I wore sub fusc and snarled a lot) and they were both very good, featuring, among other things, spurious pirates, shape-changers, Weasley wigs made of mop-heads dyed orange, a toilet door stolen from a skip, Dorks and Death Eaters and the goth-elves of Gothlorien. They were marvellous. Afterwards, chiasmata and luminometrice and I returned the toilet door to the skip (we carried it through Wadham back door with injunctions to passers-by to hold the door, because we were... already holding a door) and made our merry and well-equipped way to the party.

Which started in the pub, outside, where it was perfectly warm, and people were drinking and happy and merry, and people were kissing osymandias again, and I was being fed cider and appreciating the entire world, and we sat there until they threw us out. And then, somehow, I'm not entirely sure, we ended up having our party on one of the college roofs. I've been here three years, as I said more than once last night, but I've never been on a college roof yet. And it was, oh, magical. We were right at the level of the skyline, we could see Christ Church and the dome of the Radcliffe Camera on a level with us, and we were scrambling over the slates and lurking between battlements and, finally, perching on the ridgepole, ridiculously close to the sky. And cocktailing people - "A cocktailing, a cocktailing, there's going to be a cocktailing! And after the cocktailing, the intercrural sex!" - which is an archaic and highly traditional ceremony in which new members of OULES are adopted by older members, who then pour wine down their throats whilst they are horizontal (ah, I remember it well, etc.) and welcome them into the fold. And then there was singing, first raucous and gleeful and obscene, but growing softer and softer, so by two in the morning I was leaning against a side of slates and staring straight up, humming silly songs about yoghurt, and looking into the sky towards the west. And - it sounds pretentious, it sounds twee and impossible, but nevertheless, it happened - I saw a shooting star. The only one I've ever seen, burning very briefly down towards the horizon, and I made a wish. It was: let this last forever.

It didn't come true. In the end, shimgray and I clambered down, made our way to ground level pushing along luminometrice, who has an exam today, and was happily carrying a sign saying "VOICE IN HEAD", down the roof and down the stairs and down the High Street, and we sang our way softly through Radcliffe Square and home. Where I slept very soundly and had very slow, soft-edged dreams, something distant all mixed up with thoughts about what Oxford's dreaming spires dream of, if undergraduate feet disturb them, or if the city will remain itself, beautiful and unchangeable, long after I've gone. I'm glad of that; that Oxford will always be here, that I will always have been here, that these glorious things that have happened can never unhappen.

I am here another week, more or less. I am going to follow slasheuse's example and say, if there is anything you would like me to blog about concerning Oxford - or anything, really, but for now, Oxford - tell me and I shall. I've been in love with, and writing about, this city for all my time here, but I don't think I've said everything there is to be said about it quite yet. I will talk about matters trivial or matters deeply profound. At least, I will try. Speak or forever hold thy peace.

And now I return to bed, happy, happy, and happy again.

Comments

[clubhopper15.livejournal.com]

I don't have much to say, but this entry made me smile :)

[clubhopper15.livejournal.com]

Oh also could you post more about OULES related stuff? Past productions, experiences etc?

[loneraven.livejournal.com]

I can indeed. I'm glad you enjoyed reading. :)

[tau_sigma]

I love it when you are happy, and you post happy, and you make other people happy.

That is all. *loves*

[loneraven.livejournal.com]

*loves you, too* Thank you very much.

[amchau.livejournal.com]

After three years, what's your impression of the teaching method at Oxford? How does it compare with what you experienced at school and hear from people at other universities?

Also, would you like to chat sometime soon? It's been too long since we spoke!

[loneraven.livejournal.com]

It has indeed been too long since we last spoke! I am replying to comments slowly, and shall try and give you a call tomorrow afternoon.

[sunlightdances.livejournal.com]

Oh, that was pure joy. <3

[loneraven.livejournal.com]

Oh, I'm so glad. :) :)

[gamesiplay.livejournal.com]

I love this post, and you.

(I have perhaps been drinking wine.)

That is all.

[loneraven.livejournal.com]

I love you too. Very, very much. :)

[msilverstar]

I appreciate the opportunity for vicarious delight, it's not as good as the real thing, but it's pretty neat. Try not to lose these posts as life goes on -- memory does weird things and your entries will remind you of the stuff that gets lost.

[loneraven.livejournal.com]

Thank you; I'm pleased you enjoy reading. And, yes, that has become one of the reasons I maintain this journal: because I forget.