My birthday adventure (as it had been written on the calendar – and I wasn’t told where we were going) began when setting off from the house – on foot – in 21°C temperatures: number 5 in our road had a bush in the front garden with very pretty red berries on; the garden wall of a house nearby had a random pair of sunglasses on it, it didn’t smell very nice on the next road, an interesting leafed plant (that Google later thought was an Oak) was at the top of an avenue, a structure that appeared to be holding a huge number of garlic bulbs was visible in a retirement flat window, and what may’ve been a massive grey Labradoodle was being walked and looking very cheerful.
The defibrillator that I’d previously noticed remained on the wall by the funeral directors, the now maybe regular market was on the high street and the road next to it, there was a queue for eyebrow threading in the shopping centre; and out the other side, I wondered if a place called Giggling Squid actually served squid (and wondered if I’d wondered that before); the amount of fast food for sale was revolting, there was a vape shop, a betting shop, more burgers and pizzas, and the gardens had a couple enthusiastically snogging each other on a bench. We crossed the bridge, went under the underpass (where there were odd electronic advert boards); and the station was reached just before 1.30pm – where the ticket barriers were open, and the very colourful paintings remained on the tunnel walls.
I forgot when we reached the platform because there wasn’t long before we got on a train to Oxford – and on there, seat confusion occurred (we sat down after Mum told a couple that they were sat in our seats – and once seated, realised that might’ve been wrong)(but we stayed seated). Seagulls were sunbathing somewhere I forgot; a tarmac factory wasn’t far from Banbury, a creatine monohydrate substance was advertised on a board there, and the fields further along looked parched. A man (early 50s and thin) stood at the end of the carriage had his sunglasses on his head and was enthusiastically munching a sandwich; and Google Maps didn’t want to tell me where we were. Clouds were nice puffy white ones; and at 2.16pm, Oxford was stopped at, we got off, and Mum led the way out.
A taxi driver told us a hotel was only a 5 minute walk, and I immediately forgot the directions given, so followed Mum while trying to hold my bag and notepad and photograph stuff all at the same time. A sign said something I forgot because we had a look in an estate agents window, a bus had a ‘fight night’ advert on, a street with something I forgot at the top was turned down, and there was the gate of a college; a ‘The Lion Brewery Gate’ was on St. Thomas’s Street, and Paradise Street had a very pretty stream next to it…
…a lot of health and safety notices, and a very old looking stone building opposite the hotel we then entered. Diddly Squat Farm habanero chilli chutney, empty bottles of Diddly Squat Farm cow juice, and lots of pairs of ‘The Great Lambo Sock’ were on display and for sale; and packets of Nobbys Nuts were what I had time to notice also on that shelf – and then we went to a room, and the Wi-Fi took some fathoming. Once connected, the Met Office said it was 20°C, and I asked Google Maps for a route to the Ashmolean Museum – and forgot when we left.
On the way, I saw a bloke smoking, a pigeon with one curled up foot was managing to hobble, we crossed quaking bridge; and New Road, Worcester Road (which smelt of onions and garlic due to a big Nandos on it) (as well a college), Beaumont Street, and possibly a couple more roads/streets I forgot; and just before we got to the Ashmolean Museum a foreign couple asked me for directions (so I said I wasn’t local).
Inside, a stripy haired lady told us lots of stuff I forgot and gave us a map; then I photographed several partially disintegrated sculptures on the corridor to the cafe – where cinnamon buns looked like strange toadstools, babyccinos were on the drinks menu. A woman had a Musidoku book poking out of her bag; and it was approaching 4pm when we moved: we went past some massive stone sculptures (several of which were headless), up some stairs – and the first room was about altarpieces; the second seemed to be called The Fox Strangeways Gallery – where there was a plug in fan spinning, paintings of a lady feeling a skull, a small sculpture of a foot, a painting of a man trying to wash by a fountain, and lots of paintings of people feeling up themselves or feeling up others.
A small statue of a man who may’ve been feeling up a lion was on a table, a couple of others were of animals trying to massacre each other; what was labelled as a some sort of (I forgot what) ‘pierced splat’ was a wooden armchair, and then Mum almost got caught between automatic doors into the Weldon Gallery – which had a big painting entitled ‘Blowing Cold’ in it. A painting of a man at a table with vegetables on who seemed to be holding a musical instrument, a painting of a lady clutching a small sheep, and 1 of a collapsed dog (titled ‘a dog lying on a ledge’). A green-ish coloured room was about German and Flemish art and had a lot of oil on panel stuff in it; followed by the David and Margita Wheeler Gallery – and I saw a small statue of a wild boar, and a head described by an information board as ‘the agonised head of the dying laocoon’. An oil sketches room included one of a collapsed tree; the room after that had an ‘eight day equation clock’; and a small green and quite dark room has a lot of silver spoons (and Mum pointed out a foldable spoon and fork).
Spoons and plates were amongst the next rooms contents; various types and sizes of stringed instruments and a couple of tapestries so big I couldn’t quite get them into the camera frame; and then we got into a lift with a couple of foreign accented staff going down to the kitchens.
Ikat robes, a state cap (that I thought looked a bit odd), dolls in academic dress from the early 1800s, and more I forgot came before lots about code cracking, inscriptions and ancient scripts; then we went into quite a dark corridor that was all about money, and I tried to photograph as much as I could – as it was approaching closing time. A spinning table behind some glass had a big (and fake) skull on it – and fake fruit; and we had to leave just before 5pm.
I forgot the route to Beaumont Street, we popped out opposite the Randolph Hotel and several doors from the Playhouse – which was advertising something to do with Ruby Wax, continued back to the hotel, and made it at about 5.15pm.
