A Final Perspective: A Fond Farewell?

I have decided that the time is ripe for me to write a summary of my thoughts and feelings as I prepare to leave Oxford. With my impending final examinations, it has never been more clear to me that these moments represent the culmination of my three years here. That my time admidst the spires, dreaming or otherwise are coming to a close. Tutorials, boat races, nights out at the pub, old rooms up rickety wooden staircases, kebabs after a night out, Blackwell's bookshop, lying on lawns on a warm afternoon, dining while served in hall, glorious and endless shelves of books, one on one tutorials, essay crisis: all these will soon be part of a chapter of my life which will be closed.

What did I expect when I came? A thorny question, probably important to consider as a comparison to the real thing. But Oxford has hardly had it fair, especially after Evelyn Waugh. I haven't read Brideshead Revisited, but the essential characteristics have permeated everybody's perception of Oxford. Of course, there is the no small matter of eight centuries of learning, of old buildings stooped under the weight of learning accumulated there. Libraries chock full of old dusty tomes, croquent on the lawns on a long summer's day. Watching the rowing by the river, Pimm's in hand. Long dinners replete with wine and port and oft-repeated anecdotes in equal measure.