Well, it's official - I’ve moved back to Oxford after two years as a correctly-placed Northerner, and set up base in my new flat. A flat! For the first time ever I'm not in a teeny-tiny single-occupancy uni room, and I've got more square-footage to fill with fun furniture that I've accumulated, magpie-like, over the years. I've also got more square footage to hoover and dust than ever before, but hey, one thing at a time. It is, I think, an appropriate blend of properly grown-up (embroidered ochre-coloured pheasant cushions on dusky blue velvet sofa, coordinated copper barware, antique tantalus, vacuum-seal containers to make veggies last longer and therefore reduce food waste) and charmingly studenty: Kilner jar that I merrily painted with nail polish to repurpose as a piggy bank, pink magnetic menu planning board for the fridge, chocolate müsli in the pantry. Grown-up practicality jostling for space with fluffy fun stuff; a symbol of early-twenties-hood (yes, 24 is still early twenties, thank you).
What I’ve found, though, is that living outside the city centre does rather put the kibosh on undergraduate-style socialising. No more “meet at the bar in five?” or drifting along to your pal’s room to annoy them. Spontaneous meet-ups now take time, thought, and a bus pass. Nonetheless, I know that hermit-ing myself away in my flat might force me into a position of actually having to do work, which just isn’t acceptable. So I’ve tried to become what I always hoped I was but knew I wasn’t: sociable. And thus, in the last fortnight, I have: accidentally ordered a several-litre jug of Pimms to share with one other person - at three in the afternoon; eaten brownies and sliders in the pouring rain with a table full of STEM students; had pastel de nata for breakfast on Christ Church Meadow; met a chunky college cat called Flapjack, and accidentally disturbed a conference by talking loudly to chunky Flapjack next to an open window; shared canapés and Prosecco under a T-Rex skeleton, and ordered late-night raucous rounds of mulled wine in Turf Tavern afterwards. The challenge will be trying to keep this up; shifting my default response to an invitation from “hmm, fun, but pyjamas and cups of tea at home” to “YES, I’ll meet you there and let’s even go somewhere else afterwards”, even in the face of encroaching wintry evenings. But! But! Apparently I’m not here in Oxford just to eat lots of different foods in various locations. It would seem that I have work to do. Still, having a bulging to-do list is probably the most sure-fire way to keep me updating my blog regularly..! Stay tuned for DPhilibustering Chapter 2.
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The official website of Yorkshire-made, Oxford-based writer Isabel Parkinson. Want fewer words and more pics? Follow me on Instagram!
(Header Photo: Radcliffe Camera, Oxford - Isabel Parkinson 2016)
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