ANG IS ALIVE: Definitions of cold

If you weren't aware, from living in Australia with it's tropical winters, there is more than one definition of cold in the UK. Upon my arrival I was registering about a ffffuuuucccckkk on my cold scale. Bear in mind this is the heighest setting on my scale, from times spent at Threadbo and early mornings in Canberra for a year 6 excursion to Parliament. Actually the first three days were a mild four degrees. My brother laughed his arse off at me while I prayed my genes would kick in, during a walk of Burbary Castle and its Neolitic ridgeway. They did not. I may be the wimpiest white person to ever come to the UK. I caved bought some extra winter layers including thermals and am trying to mentally prepare myself for a trip around the highlands of Scottland, where it has been easing at an average of -4 degrees.

But I should write about Swindon and the quick trip to Oxford. Swindon the home town of my brother Warren, and the competent branch of the Office series is a small southern town about an hour outside of London. It developed along railway lines and played an important part in train production of the early 19th Century. Train memorbila can be found throughout the town including artworks in the outlet shops, I wanted to take some photos but I realised it would be the equivilant of taking photos at DFO factory outlets in Australia. Despite my brother's assertions that Swindon is an ugly town, I managed to find some pretty areas around the park and original houses built by the train company for its railway workers.

Swindon Park

I also took a small trip to Oxford with Warren. We visited the tourist centre, I bought a really "cool" library bag with Alison in Wonderland talking to a Dodo and lamely carried it around the streets of Oxford, to the amusement of passers by. We tried to join a walking tour but unfortunately they were booked out, so we bought a little tour book and walked around ourselves.

Oxford is a town dripping with student life and academic influence. We passed monuments to matyrs of the Protestent Church executed under orders of Bloody Mary and we went through the halls of Christ Church College, paying a ridiculous £6 entry fee. Can you imagine paying at UNSW to take a tour of the Roundhouse? Well this was, I realised, somewhat cooler as we walked past portraits of Henry VII and Elizabeth I. In each of the Churches I lit a candle and marveled at the stain glass windows, which photos can't do justice to. Before coming home to Swindon we happened by a bookstore which sold £2 books. I went a little crazy, coming out with a Dickens, book of poetry on World War One and a biography of an academic suffering multiple personality disorder called A Fractured Mind.

This New Year's Eve I will be going up to Old Town for a few drinks with a couple of seasoned English drinkers. I definately won't be going drink for drink.