My first thought was that I didn’t remember anything. The roads are a haze and my eyes grasp for anything that looks even slightly familiar. Amit refuses to believe I ever went to Oxford. To refresh my memory and show him around, we join a free walking tourwhere the guide was a gangly excitable english lit student, only recently graduated. I suppose we were like that when we left.
came to life and my memories started to take some shape; especially as we walked towards the high street and passed The Grand Cafe. I remember how you and I took high teathere in the midst of all those gilded mirrors. We felt so posh and rich. Did you know
that it’s the site of England’s oldest coffee shop? He took us to the Bridge of Sighs and talked about the Bullingdon club-that coterie of privilege and bad behaviour. David Cameron was part of that by the way and so were most of his cabinet; It’s a wonder Parliament still stands. The tourists seemed so interested while all I felt was plummeting sense of nostalgia. It felt part of a different life; otherworldly. I remember how we shopped on cornmarket street and went to concerts at the Sheldonian. Do you know it was built by Christopher Wren? Neither did I. I found my C.S Lewis door, tucked away next to All Souls church. I ran my hands over Aslan and said a small prayer for us. We went home after Christ Church; it still intimidated me and we couldn’t get in, as usual. We walked back to Summertown feeling strange, as if I wanted to go back to change a few things to make it mean more than it does right now.