We retired afterwards to The Trout. The man behind me when getting on the bus lives in Wolvercote, and observed that everyone who comes to Oxford goes to The Trout. Suddenly, I felt as if I was repaying a cosmic debt by attending the wedding dinner: all my trips to Oxford balanced out by my pilgrimage to a pub on the banks of the Isis. Out on the patio, we saw small deer skitter by on the opposite shore, admired the resident peacock on the roof, and boggled as two carrier jets - silhouettes the size of large passenger planes - flew slowly by together, nearly wingtip-to-wingtip.
I realized right away that I was seated at the children's table - not literally, but we were all academic siblings, having studied with the same supervisor. It was a delight to catch up with them, and be introduced to other people, some for the sake of common academic ground, others because they were fixtures of my friends' lives, people I knew existed for years, but had never encountered. I met one scholar of spices, and another person who is a potential London dining companion. MIdway through the evening, we drew up our chairs all together, and there were limericks, toasts, and a round of singing "Happy Birthday" to three of us whose birthdays are this week.
I would have gone to the History of Science Museum this morning, had it been open, but it isn't until twelve. So instead, to the market, for cheese, sauce, and fruit, freebies of prepack cereal on Cornmarket, and the train to sushi, and then home.
