Oxbridge
Tuesday, I went to Oxford. To get from Cambridge to Oxford via London takes two to three hours each way depending on connections. I needed to register on arrival and wanted to spend as much time as I could at the Bodleian Library, so I set my alarm for 5:00.
I woke up on my excited own, however, at 4:30; so I web-camed Tricia who was still on-line for a quick "good morning/good night" and then ate as big a breakfast as I good stand for the trek.
I left at 5:30 to catch a 6:15 train to King’s Cross. The fog was the heaviest I’ve seen as yet, so the walk through the fen was especially Vincent Pricey. I whistled “You’ll never walk alone”–which is a rather difficult whistle.
Train blah, slightly delayed; King’s Cross to Paddington underground, blah; train to Oxford (skipped local, waited for fast train), blah; then Oxford itself. . .the Ur-University of the Anglophone Cosmos!
The city of Oxford is much more bustling than Cambridge. The bus drivers all seem to be retired dive-bombers. From the train station, I immediately went into that city-smart walk like you know where you’re going mode. . .for about five blocks, but then stopped to ask an older gentleman (like me) where the Bodleain was; he pointed across the street.
I went into the Clarendon House to register at the admissions office. Last time, I had to wait in line for an hour; this time there was no wait at all. Out the door, to the right, through the court to the Old Library, and into Duke Humfrey’s Library, all painted timber and stalls and vellum. . .Yum!
Again, I wanted to look at some manuscripts of Chaucer’s Troilus and Criseyde. My interest no doubt seems rather dubious to real bibliographers and codicologists–and probably is. I’m much more interested in book design than text. Whereas an editor transcribing the poem itself might spend a full day on a page, I sit there happily flipping through page after page looking at layout, decoration and marginalia.
Seven to eight hours with four manuscripts, one coffee break, had a small box of raisins on the train home, fell into bed about 22:30.
I woke up on my excited own, however, at 4:30; so I web-camed Tricia who was still on-line for a quick "good morning/good night" and then ate as big a breakfast as I good stand for the trek.
I left at 5:30 to catch a 6:15 train to King’s Cross. The fog was the heaviest I’ve seen as yet, so the walk through the fen was especially Vincent Pricey. I whistled “You’ll never walk alone”–which is a rather difficult whistle.
Train blah, slightly delayed; King’s Cross to Paddington underground, blah; train to Oxford (skipped local, waited for fast train), blah; then Oxford itself. . .the Ur-University of the Anglophone Cosmos!
The city of Oxford is much more bustling than Cambridge. The bus drivers all seem to be retired dive-bombers. From the train station, I immediately went into that city-smart walk like you know where you’re going mode. . .for about five blocks, but then stopped to ask an older gentleman (like me) where the Bodleain was; he pointed across the street.
I went into the Clarendon House to register at the admissions office. Last time, I had to wait in line for an hour; this time there was no wait at all. Out the door, to the right, through the court to the Old Library, and into Duke Humfrey’s Library, all painted timber and stalls and vellum. . .Yum!
Again, I wanted to look at some manuscripts of Chaucer’s Troilus and Criseyde. My interest no doubt seems rather dubious to real bibliographers and codicologists–and probably is. I’m much more interested in book design than text. Whereas an editor transcribing the poem itself might spend a full day on a page, I sit there happily flipping through page after page looking at layout, decoration and marginalia.
Seven to eight hours with four manuscripts, one coffee break, had a small box of raisins on the train home, fell into bed about 22:30.
posted by Bill Quinn | 1:08 AM
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