Sunday, October 21, 2007

A letter to the cyclists of Oxford

Dear Cyclists,

Do you see this long, paved area here? Does it look like a road? No. It doesn’t. Do you know why that is? That’s because it’s what we call “a pavement”. And “pavements” are meant for pedestrians.

I know that “pedestrian” is a very long word and may be hard to grasp at first. So let’s break it down. The Classical Latin root “pedestr-“ means “going on foot”, and the suffix “-ian” means “of or belonging to.” So, a pedestrian is one who goes on foot.

Now, would you indulge me for a moment, my dear cyclist, and look downwards. No, not there; that would be rude. Look at the part of your setup which makes contact with the ground. Is it your feet? No? Then what can it be? That’s right! Wheels. So, do you think you can validly be called a pedestrian? Think carefully… are you “going on foot”? No.

When riding around Oxford on your bicycle, then, you might want to consider that those long, paved areas are meant for people who “go on foot”, and that the flat, tarmacked areas we call “roads” are intended, nay designed, for those who “go on wheel”: cyclians, as we may call them. There may be a lot of other cyclian traffic (cars, say, or lorries) in your way, but you must remember that they are your fellows; you belong with them.

So, when it’s rush hour and Oxford’s narrow pavements (built for little medieval people) are full of anxious workers rushing home to their warm fires and comfortable wives, it would be just super if you could keep to the roads, and not whizz through the crowds at 100 miles an hour, leaving a mess of mangled pedestrian bodies in your wake and shouting obscenities at those who get in your way.

And when there are signs saying “cyclists dismount” on busy thoroughfares, that does mean you too. Unless of course you’re one of my students and late for a tutorial. Then you’re legally exempted.

With all best wishes,

EJ

Thursday, October 18, 2007

A letter to my landlords' cat

Dear Moppet,

Since I came to live here, you and I have become great friends. We chat about current events and the price of cheese, and you are very attentive about grooming me when you think I need it. (N.B. Some humans find being licked a little disconcerting. Strange, I know, but you may encounter some resistance even if they clearly need to be cleaned.) In return for your attentions, I feed you when your parents are away, and give you limitless cuddles. This has been a remarkably satisfying arrangement for us both, I think.

I was, therefore, quite surprised that you felt you had to provide me with further proof of your friendship today. Leaving a small gift for me in the kitchen was so terribly thoughtful of you, and I was quite distracted from my original intention of making lunch when I saw it. Having admired it (and the feathers it shed over the entire floor) for a suitable amount of time, I scooped it up reverentially into a top-quality Primark plastic bag, and deposited it as a suitable offering for the Oxford City Council sanitation workers. You will find, next time you visit the kitchen, no trace left of your sweet gift; I knew you would not want others to see evidence of your generosity.

In conclusion, I must say how glad I am that we have become friends, and that there is really no need for any more gifts. You should save them for when your parents return.

With love,

EJ

Friday, October 12, 2007

Temper, temper