Returning to Oxford

After spending three weeks at home, I came back to the UK at just about the worst possible time. A day before my flight to Birmingham, I got a notification on my phone saying that my train to Oxford had been cancelled due to the coming heatwave. Rather unhelpfully, the Trainline app did not offer me an immediate refund but graciously offered me the option to take another train – with the next available train leaving more than three hours later. I decided, therefore, to take the bus, which seemed like the smartest option until I considered my cumbersome two pieces of luggage. Still, I did not feel like splurging on a taxi on a day when drivers were likely to hike their prices, so I just got on the plane and hoped for the best.

Arriving in Birmingham during a heatwave was quite the experience. Instead of being funnelled through a corridor, we were sent down the stairs straight onto the tarmac, which allowed us to experience the Saharan heat as though we had just arrived in Sharm El-Sheikh. Having been told to expect the worst, however, I was pleasantly surprised by a refreshing breeze.

As I was making my way to the bus station, I heard my fellow passengers talk about being “able to catch” something within the next four minutes. I surmised they were talking about public transport, so I checked my Trainline app to see whether this was relevant to me. To my great bafflement and relief, I realised they were talking about the train to Oxford. The train I had not even considered taking because I was sure I would miss it had been delayed so significantly that I would just be able to catch it. I made a split-second decision to ditch my bus, which was still about an hour away from arriving, buy a train ticket, and quickly make my way down to the platform.

As it turned out, my haste was misplaced. The train took a few minutes to arrive by the time I had descended to the platform, which probably should have been a warning sign (though to be fair, there probably would have been warning signs not to take the bus either). I was the last person to squeeze onto the wagon, and with all seats taken, I was left standing in the corridor with my two pieces of luggage and a bunch of other unfortunate souls. The train ride that was supposed to take an hour ended up taking twice as long.

Nevertheless, there were a few silver linings. While the corridors are the hottest part of the train in the summer, I wound up straight in front of an air vent. Furthermore, contrary to my expectations, I was in nobody’s way and did not have to get off and on with my two suitcases, as the doors kept opening on the opposite side to where I got on. Truly, as I looked upon the sweaty face of one fellow passenger who kept having to move out of the corridor to let people through, I felt blessed in our collective misfortune.

Once I got to Oxford, I left my additional suitcase in the attic at Saint Antony’s and proceeded to a friend’s apartment in Headington. A few months back, we had agreed I would cat-sit for her while she and her partner went on vacation, and she would let me stay with them for another two weeks after they got back. With my one suitcase, I gave up on waiting for a bus that would take me to the centre and simply walked there, after which I spent a good half an hour waiting for the bus to Headington. It seemed Britain’s infrastructure had completely crumbled.

Nonetheless, make it to Headington I did, and the next four weeks were relatively smooth sailing. The heat wave had given the cat diarrhoea, but he was all back to normal within two days and could happily resume his favourite activities, like biting computer cables and pulling socks from clothes racks. One time, he almost escaped through a window I had opened to air out the hall after he made a particularly stinky stool. Grabbing him by his tail, which he foolishly left dangling down, I yanked him back in and never opened the window again.