Bourton-on-the-Water

This marks the beginning of what will hopefully be a quartet of blog entries on tourist hotspots around Oxford, England, with distinctly unprofessional photography and subsequent editing carried out by yours truly. So, we begin with Bourton-on-the-Water, part of the Cotswolds - one of the UK's AONBs. Fortunately for me (and, probably to a greater extent, you) the photos will do most of the talking; a picture speaks a thousand words, after all. I will be tempted to list what each of those thousand words are, of course.

This is the River Windrush which flows through the heart of the village. Although there's no sign of showy boats or Italians playing romantic music, it's easy to see how BotW is often compared with Venice.

As the Windrush deepens you can only cross on the footbridges such as the one above. Just in front of this one, on the left side of the image, you can see a ramp leading into the water: surprisingly, that's a legal road for vehicles, although I think anything smaller than a 4x4 is unrecommended.

These trees are the sentinels of the route if you will, hanging over the river on the left and the lane farther right. If any naturalist (or someone who simply isn't ecologically ignorant) can identify them for me, then please do.

This is the shallower end of the river, where plenty of children and dogs can be seen paddling and splashing. The creatures at the top are, as I imagine you've discerned, ducks. According to my auntie, specifically they are mallards, and while I love a good argument I'm in no position to disagree. If it gets your back up that I've bothered to capture one of the most commonly sighted species in the country, then scroll the hell down. :P

Haha! Another duck!

...And another...

...Everyone loves a good duck...

...OK, I'll stop now.

How did that end up here?

Moving swiftly on...

This gift shop is one of the traditional places you'd expect to find at any British tourist destination. In keeping with that tradition, there are several cafes serving cream teas, a chippy, and a couple of sweet shops.

A shot of my uncle and auntie with what I thought was a nice, scenic backdrop.

A motor museum on the other side of the bridge pictured earlier. On the left you can see a model car seemingly fashioned from wire.

A war memorial in the village's central park decorated by floral wreaths. Precisely what it is memorialising I don't know as the only inscriptions are the names of the fallen. It is most likely one of the many monuments for WWI/II, situated all over the country.

I felt this tree was sufficiently oddly shaped to warrant a photo. :P Look closely and it resembles a teddy bear, I reckon.

A view of one side of BotW...

...And the other side.

We only perused the entrance of this park, but may return to it later.

Upon closer inspection through the bars it's possible to spot some fish which I believe to be trout (don't ask me which kind). If you can't put your finger on them, try the next photo...

Yeah, they're much clearer here.

These are waterfowl captured just inside Birdland's entrance. On most pictures I've reduced the bright glare, but in this instance it gives the birds' feathers an elegant shimmer. See? I can be artsy-fartsy! Oh, and if you're curious to find out how I knew what they're called, given my limited knowledge of..things...

...Here's your answer. :P

Part of the entrance to the rather lazily named Birdland.

Another one of my auntie Helen. The section of the water where we saw the waterfowl is behind.

And to end we have this peculiarity, on the other side of the bars you saw earlier. Aesthetically it's..er..not up to much, so I can only surmise that it's imitating a wasp to scare something off, but I can't think what or why. Ideas?

Thus concludes my cyber-tour of Bourton-on-the-Water. You'd better have smegging enjoyed it, because the image tool on this site is rather awkward, so it took an age to structure. Providing the weather is fine I shall return with a similar presentation of Kidlington soon.

Catch you later,
Ryan

Advancement, progress and all things suggesting forward mobility

It has occurred to me that I haven't blogged in more than a month, which is woefully reminiscent of my past habits. Usually my life trundles along on an uninspiring monotone of predictability, but in actual fact a lot has happened since I last gave electronic, textual voice to my various musings. I am currently snuggled up in a delightfully comfy double-quilted bed in my auntie and uncle's Oxford home, gleefully finding any excuse to use my brand-bloody-spanking new laptop (link to photos and specs...).

That's one new development. I feel slightly guilty that my parents bought it for me, especially given its high-end price tag, but it's not as though I pleaded them sycophantically to buy it; and even if I had, I wouldn't have asked them to part with anything like as much cash. Thing is, my parents have fewer chances to mollycoddle me now I am not living with them, and dad in particular sees financial and material generosity as a decent substitute for that. No matter, what's done is done and the end result is a gorgeous piece of kit with an illuminated Acer logo on the back. Nice.

So, what else is new? Well, over the summer I'm pleased to say I've had what I term 'meaningful' employment - i.e. work that's above the minimum wage and that you feel is serving a purpose beyond slave labour for opportunistic companies. In short, I switched from student to teacher. First of all I was tasked by my Russian tutor (also the co-founder of a local language school) to assist in the teaching of English to Russian students, who were visiting Devon for a fortnight. The pay wasn't brilliant, but to experience the classroom environment when the shoe's on the other foot was valuable, and it also gave me opportunities to brush up on my Russian, which notoriously dwindles during the summer (I'm not at school, so it doesn't stay fresh).

Secondly, from Tuesday to Friday this week I taught some of my uncle's employees (he runs a security firm) basic Russian. The reason for this is that they have a Russian client, who is, let's say, quite the VIP. I would love to gossip, but I signed a confidentiality agreement, and it's all very hush-hush, which in a way is quite exciting, heh. £50 a day for that, and I may be doing some more in the coming weeks. I'm hoping the client will be at home if/when I return, just so I can shake his hand and reel off a quick conversation in Russian with him. That would suffice as a claim to fame for me. :P

What else? Family springs to mind. My dad's side in particular was rattled by the recent passing of my step-grandfather. I feel sorry for my dad and his three siblings: they had to endure the deaths of both of their biological parents at a young age, and now the closest person they had to a parent is no longer a part of their lives either. My dad and my uncle Ian (who I'm staying with at the moment) were left predominantly responsible for funeral arrangements, solicitors, the will, and the clearance and ongoing sale of the old property. This is partly because they are the two eldest of the next of kin, but also because, gently put, they're the two with the money, responsibility and worldly wisdom to organise everything. The situation was exacerbated by the suddenness of granddad's death and his lack of life insurance.

Still, everything proceeded as smoothly as can be expected. I probably only saw my step-granddad a dozen times, and of course he wasn't a blood relative, so I always had a fairly neutral feeling towards him. My cousin, Allison, however, was close to him, and it was sitting next to her at the funeral that made me tearful. I fully expected to remain dry-eyed, but I learned so much more about Brian Loughborough during the ceremony, and with that clearer perspective on his life, the finality of death dealt a firm emotional blow. I was just so upset for everyone in the family who was close to him. The world is a cruel place sometimes, a fact that was epitomised in the graveyard as I read the epitaphs of a boy aged 9... a girl aged 6... a boy aged 18 months. Tell me, how can anyone say there is a benevolent god watching over us when I can walk past something that makes my heart shrivel like those infant tombstones? Even if those poor children are in heaven, the bereaved are not and have to endure that heartbreak for as long as they live. They can't even commit suicide to be with their loved ones sooner, because suicide is a mortal sin punished by eternal damnation. If that is the moral code of a loving god, then he doesn't deserve to be worshipped.

Sorry for the maudlin nature of that last paragraph. This is a space for me to air my thoughts, and I feel better for having done so. If I have offended anyone of a religious persuasion with my comments here, then I apologise, but please at least see the logic behind what I have said. That is the only negative aspect of my life I can think of right now, so it ought to be more cheerful from here on in.

Later,
Ryan