Many of us have heard the dreaded ‘So… any idea what you’re doing next?’. It makes me a little irate, anxious, and on the verge of a minor breakdown, as you can probably tell. Two years of my undergraduate degree have somehow disappeared with the blink of an eye – I am older but seem to be none the wiser.
There’s something that makes the high table feel a bit off. Maybe it’s because the hierarchy of academia it represents hits a bit too close to home. A bit too close to the bitter sentiment in British society towards class domination.
Brunch is a particular love of mine. Between the poached eggs at Brasenose brunch, the coconut pancakes at The Handle Bar Cafe, and huevos rancheros at the Oxford Brunch Bar, there is no shortage of weekend brunch options in Oxford. The Breakfast Club could have been a perfect addition to this lovely list - alas, it did not make the cut.
All it takes is for me to catch a glimpse of a boy on a VOI and I’m out. It’s now possible to designate a character trait as a red flag and rule someone out completely. What happened to second chances?
It feels natural to carry sadness for moments missed, for the advice that might have been shared, and for the unique kind of love that could have shaped your life.
The facts of Oxford are far ahead of its fictions, creating a peculiar disjunct in the identities of its undergraduates. Each student must battle with either “I’m not your stereotypical Oxford student!” or “I am your stereotypical Oxford student!”
Education folklore has it that for many years, students at MIT have scrawled the acronym ‘IHTFP’ (I hate this fucking place) around campus in an attempt to express disdain for their university. After two years at Oxford, I can now report that students here often experience similar feelings.
At every late library session or rainy walk back to college, I think back to my days in fluorescent-lit, outdated offices. I think of riding a busy bus, an hour each way. I think of pointless, drawn-out meetings. And I think of all the time I wasted for no good reason.
Having spent a ridiculous amount of time working(ish) in Oxford cafés, these are some of the top tips and tricks I have learnt about attempting to navigate Oxford café culture.
We’ve all been there. The perfect opportunity for a night out, potentially foiled by the un-attempted essay due tomorrow at 4pm. An age-old Oxford conundrum.
My friends and I had approached the trip with the motto ‘catch flights, not feelings’, and it appears we completely forgot to add ‘or parasitic infections’ to that list.
