An Oxford Long Weekend ii)

So to the Conan reference:

I went punting with Caroline down the Cherwwell and then, erroneously down the Isis. Oh yes, the Thames is called the Isis here in Oxford: if you have a problem with that I would suggest... no in fact there is no remedy, you have to live with it.

So we packed some sandwiches and a bottle of Spain's finest £4.99 wine for a trip down stream. And indeed it was down stream - I had the bright idea of suggesting we 'drift' for a while, enjoying some wine and scenery. Sure, pleasant enough, but once we left the sheltered Cherwell waters and were on the high seas of the Isis, drifting took on a new pace. I don't know whether it was the Iberian imbibition or not, but I thought that working our way back upstream wouldn't be such a hassel. In a way, it was.

Eventually we came upon a fork in the river up ahead - the left was guarded by a long hanging bridge with DANGER written on it im imposing red letters - the right was a lock, to take river life to the next level. Time to turn around, and so it began: I in the back, not quite being able to reach the bottom of the canal with the punting pole and thus getting very poor purchase, and Caroline in the front with the small paddle, which is there mainly for show and doesn't really work so well in these conditions, even though we were in probably only a 3 on the Beaufort Scale (that's right...)

Eventually with some heave-hoing we got back to the relatively calm waters of the Cherwell, stopped for some food and continued back to base. There we saw a puntload of Eastern Europeans whom we had passed earlier in our saga. There was a woman at the till (bow) with her legs trailing in the water, trying to 'help' with casual strokes with the toy paddle. Amidships were two people who were drenched to the bone and in need of some chilling out medicine, but by far the best sight was the punter - one rather large bloke with arms the size of kettles (I was searching for inspiration around the room, and the next best was detergent bottles.) He was well and truly over punting - the look in his face made it clear. Added to his overall frustration of the day was perhaps the most comical site, at least for me - he was not so keen on technique and thus was standing hunched over grabbing the pole with both hands and, instead of pushing off the base of the canal, he was using the pole in the same way as a kayaker. All this did was make large splashes to the already drenched people in the punt and cause them to move around in a circle. He was getting more and more ready to kill someone and indeed, the perfect world would have been one in which he raised his head desparingly to the heavens shouting, KRUM GIVE ME STRENGTH. I laughed heartily then manouevered the punt away from the beast, lest he not appreciate the comical side.

Ah Conan.