Friday August 16
We are staying just outside the university city of Oxford, little place called Milton Common.
Now, as any womble will tell you, a Common is anything but. I wouldn’t call it common, but it is not uncommonly common to find anything resembling common folk on a Common. While the Common may have been designed with the common people in mind, it is only the uncommonly wealthy who can afford to live there. With their German SUVs, their Italian baby strollers and their Swedish au pairs, they stride about on the Common in their couture activewear, trying to convince each other that this is how the common folk live.
And that will do on the subject of the Common.
We were going to do a tour of Cambridge and Princy Di’s place today, but the forecast was a bit crap. Rain pretty much all afternoon, and Althorp Estate is only open in the afternoons. As tomorrow hinted at better weather, we decided to use the half nice half crap day (today) to look at Oxford.
According to the hotel staff, the best option is to drive to a nearby Park & Ride and take the bus into town. Given our recent experiences with cars and villages, this is a genius plan. In our part of the world, we see Park & Rides near airports. Go to a big car park, and catch a bus to the terminal. Excellent! Same theory here. I actually think it’s a great idea in many places. Keep traffic out of central locations, by providing a nonstop conveyor of shuttles to take people to where they need to be. It looks like Oxford has a ring road, that deflects traffic that don’t want to come into town, past. Those that do, can park outside the city and use the bus service. There seems to be at least 4 park & rides around Oxford, so it doesn’t matter which approach you take, they’ve got you covered.
Another great idea, and one that is also catching on.
There are still the villages, like some we have experienced, that have the main traffic route pared down to a (sometimes) single lane, before regrowing it’s lanes as it escapes the confinement of those ancient alleyways.
Most often, government bodies or local councils have created bypasses. The perceived death-knell of village commerce, they route traffic around the cute villages and other obstacles to progress. We were victims of this as we hoped to ‘happen upon’ a cute village in the Cotswolds. Not even a sign that says “This way to the cutest village you’ll ever see, look out for the souvenir shop, just past the historic pub, and the quaint olde worlde bakery. If you’re in a hurry, go that way and fuck off”
As these bypasses grew, they swept you past cute villages, industrial towns, and big cities. There were, of course, arguments on both sides. With a bypass, local business would lose the impulse buying, and the potential overnight guests, due to the slow progress of any and all traffic. On the other hand, local councils and businesses were funding the considerable and ongoing repairs to roading and infrastructure caused by people who were never going to stop and spend their money locally. The bypasses became the problem of central government, so that local government can concentrate on clever marketing to get people to make a conscious decision to turn off and stop in their town, with the express purpose of spending money.
So off we go, to the nearest park & ride. Sounds easy, huh. Not so much, it transpires.
So here’s me, who, with the cutting edge assistance of three versions of GPS built into my nice spanking new beamer, has brought us out of Scotland, into, through and out of Wales, and yesterday to the land of Shakespeare and then to here. With few errors. If you’ve ever done this, you will know that these mistakes happen at corners, intersections, and more specifically, at roundabouts. Oy vey, roundabouts are the bane of my existence!!🤦🏼♂️
You’d think it would be bulletproof, right? The map shows you the basic shape of the roundabout, how many roads lead off it, and which one you should take. Yes and no.
First, it lags. Just a second, but it does. As you’re watching your progress around the roundabout, not only in real-time out the windshield, but also in GPS-time on your HUD, sudden and stabbing doubts come crashing into your consciousness. Do I go out that one, or the next one? Am I in the right lane to take that exit?
Second, whoever is translating maps into lines on your GPS, gives us a little something to interpret. After all, things change, roads change, maps become obsolete. Sometimes features may not meet the threshold of detail required. So sometimes, there is a road off to the left that the GPS has completely ignored. Who cares, right. Nobody will notice it. Nobody except the one guy who lives on that road.
But what about roundabouts? I know it told me to take the third exit, but is it counting that little one there? It’s these little doubts that add to the voice in my head screaming “FUUUUUUUUUUUCCCKKK”
When you know the road, you know which turn to make, which exit is yours. When it’s your first time there, you are figuring all of that out in real-time, as the true shape and complexity of the roundabout unfolds before your eyes. As if to assist you, but only a little bit, your GPS is showing you where you were maybe a second ago. Maybe more. When you’re barreling down a motorway looking out for your exit 5.3 miles ahead, who gives a fuck about GPS lag. But when you’re at a roundabout, you are trapped in a highly choreographed ballet, when every other dancer, be it a Mack road train or a Fiat Uno, knows exactly where they are, where they are going, and how they are going to get there, and they expect no less from you.
Have you ever been driving someone through town, and just as all four wheels are inside the intersection, they shout out “Turn here!” Is it just me or does everybody’s inside voice go “YOU’VE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME”
That’s where the stress comes from. But that’s just another day at the office, right? Roll with it. That’s what we all do. When we make a wrong turn, GPS-inspired or not, it easy fixed. Turn around and just do it again, right? Right.
Today was a little different. Today, when I misinterpreted the 3 versions of GPS showing and telling me the way, my mistake took me onto a fucking motorway. No stopping and no off ramps for 10 miles. Remember we’re in MILES over here. Fuck.
Need the obvious be stated? I think it need. WE WERE NOT AMUSED.
There were words spoken. Parentage called into question. It’s going to take about half an hour to fix this fuckup, the round trip required to get us back to the intended car park.
In the nick of time, I have a cunning plan. Please restart the GPS and ask it for the next park & ride.
Ok, that’s just 10 minutes away. Crisis not averted, just deflected. At least the next two roundabouts to get there were easy ones. Lucky really, because I was holding my breath for each one.
So we get there, put our coats on (it’s starting to drizzle), and head for the covered bus stop.
It’s about a 20 minute drive into the centre of Oxford. I’m not going to pretend that we have ‘seen Oxford’, but we had a wander around city centre. It’s not as quaint as Stratford-upon-Avon, there are lots (and lots) of big historical building, all of a scholarly design. Everywhere you look, the buildings are University. Probably the country’s most prestigious university, it has grown exponentially since its medieval beginnings.
We found Oxford Castle. Really, it’s tiny. Was it a dolls house for some forgotten princess?
We found church spires. Again.
We found a Marks & Sparks. I think Sarah will need to attend meetings when we get home.
We found the coolest place to get lunch. Sarah had been craving Thai, so that’s where that conversation ends.
I must admit, the restaurant is so great. Photos can never do it justice. Oil drums and bathtubs repurposed as seating. So much detail I have no idea.
We are staying just outside the university city of Oxford, little place called Milton Common.
Now, as any womble will tell you, a Common is anything but. I wouldn’t call it common, but it is not uncommonly common to find anything resembling common folk on a Common. While the Common may have been designed with the common people in mind, it is only the uncommonly wealthy who can afford to live there. With their German SUVs, their Italian baby strollers and their Swedish au pairs, they stride about on the Common in their couture activewear, trying to convince each other that this is how the common folk live.
And that will do on the subject of the Common.
We were going to do a tour of Cambridge and Princy Di’s place today, but the forecast was a bit crap. Rain pretty much all afternoon, and Althorp Estate is only open in the afternoons. As tomorrow hinted at better weather, we decided to use the half nice half crap day (today) to look at Oxford.
According to the hotel staff, the best option is to drive to a nearby Park & Ride and take the bus into town. Given our recent experiences with cars and villages, this is a genius plan. In our part of the world, we see Park & Rides near airports. Go to a big car park, and catch a bus to the terminal. Excellent! Same theory here. I actually think it’s a great idea in many places. Keep traffic out of central locations, by providing a nonstop conveyor of shuttles to take people to where they need to be. It looks like Oxford has a ring road, that deflects traffic that don’t want to come into town, past. Those that do, can park outside the city and use the bus service. There seems to be at least 4 park & rides around Oxford, so it doesn’t matter which approach you take, they’ve got you covered.
Another great idea, and one that is also catching on.
There are still the villages, like some we have experienced, that have the main traffic route pared down to a (sometimes) single lane, before regrowing it’s lanes as it escapes the confinement of those ancient alleyways.
Most often, government bodies or local councils have created bypasses. The perceived death-knell of village commerce, they route traffic around the cute villages and other obstacles to progress. We were victims of this as we hoped to ‘happen upon’ a cute village in the Cotswolds. Not even a sign that says “This way to the cutest village you’ll ever see, look out for the souvenir shop, just past the historic pub, and the quaint olde worlde bakery. If you’re in a hurry, go that way and fuck off”
As these bypasses grew, they swept you past cute villages, industrial towns, and big cities. There were, of course, arguments on both sides. With a bypass, local business would lose the impulse buying, and the potential overnight guests, due to the slow progress of any and all traffic. On the other hand, local councils and businesses were funding the considerable and ongoing repairs to roading and infrastructure caused by people who were never going to stop and spend their money locally. The bypasses became the problem of central government, so that local government can concentrate on clever marketing to get people to make a conscious decision to turn off and stop in their town, with the express purpose of spending money.
So off we go, to the nearest park & ride. Sounds easy, huh. Not so much, it transpires.
So here’s me, who, with the cutting edge assistance of three versions of GPS built into my nice spanking new beamer, has brought us out of Scotland, into, through and out of Wales, and yesterday to the land of Shakespeare and then to here. With few errors. If you’ve ever done this, you will know that these mistakes happen at corners, intersections, and more specifically, at roundabouts. Oy vey, roundabouts are the bane of my existence!!🤦🏼♂️
You’d think it would be bulletproof, right? The map shows you the basic shape of the roundabout, how many roads lead off it, and which one you should take. Yes and no.
First, it lags. Just a second, but it does. As you’re watching your progress around the roundabout, not only in real-time out the windshield, but also in GPS-time on your HUD, sudden and stabbing doubts come crashing into your consciousness. Do I go out that one, or the next one? Am I in the right lane to take that exit?
Second, whoever is translating maps into lines on your GPS, gives us a little something to interpret. After all, things change, roads change, maps become obsolete. Sometimes features may not meet the threshold of detail required. So sometimes, there is a road off to the left that the GPS has completely ignored. Who cares, right. Nobody will notice it. Nobody except the one guy who lives on that road.
But what about roundabouts? I know it told me to take the third exit, but is it counting that little one there? It’s these little doubts that add to the voice in my head screaming “FUUUUUUUUUUUCCCKKK”
When you know the road, you know which turn to make, which exit is yours. When it’s your first time there, you are figuring all of that out in real-time, as the true shape and complexity of the roundabout unfolds before your eyes. As if to assist you, but only a little bit, your GPS is showing you where you were maybe a second ago. Maybe more. When you’re barreling down a motorway looking out for your exit 5.3 miles ahead, who gives a fuck about GPS lag. But when you’re at a roundabout, you are trapped in a highly choreographed ballet, when every other dancer, be it a Mack road train or a Fiat Uno, knows exactly where they are, where they are going, and how they are going to get there, and they expect no less from you.
Have you ever been driving someone through town, and just as all four wheels are inside the intersection, they shout out “Turn here!” Is it just me or does everybody’s inside voice go “YOU’VE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME”
That’s where the stress comes from. But that’s just another day at the office, right? Roll with it. That’s what we all do. When we make a wrong turn, GPS-inspired or not, it easy fixed. Turn around and just do it again, right? Right.
Today was a little different. Today, when I misinterpreted the 3 versions of GPS showing and telling me the way, my mistake took me onto a fucking motorway. No stopping and no off ramps for 10 miles. Remember we’re in MILES over here. Fuck.
Need the obvious be stated? I think it need. WE WERE NOT AMUSED.
There were words spoken. Parentage called into question. It’s going to take about half an hour to fix this fuckup, the round trip required to get us back to the intended car park.
In the nick of time, I have a cunning plan. Please restart the GPS and ask it for the next park & ride.
Ok, that’s just 10 minutes away. Crisis not averted, just deflected. At least the next two roundabouts to get there were easy ones. Lucky really, because I was holding my breath for each one.
So we get there, put our coats on (it’s starting to drizzle), and head for the covered bus stop.
It’s about a 20 minute drive into the centre of Oxford. I’m not going to pretend that we have ‘seen Oxford’, but we had a wander around city centre. It’s not as quaint as Stratford-upon-Avon, there are lots (and lots) of big historical building, all of a scholarly design. Everywhere you look, the buildings are University. Probably the country’s most prestigious university, it has grown exponentially since its medieval beginnings.
We found Oxford Castle. Really, it’s tiny. Was it a dolls house for some forgotten princess?
We found church spires. Again.
We found a Marks & Sparks. I think Sarah will need to attend meetings when we get home.
We found the coolest place to get lunch. Sarah had been craving Thai, so that’s where that conversation ends.
I must admit, the restaurant is so great. Photos can never do it justice. Oil drums and bathtubs repurposed as seating. So much detail I have no idea.
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