At last, a post!

Three weekends ago my family went to Oxford to see Zak after his matriculation (nope, I have no idea what this is either and I'm fairly sure I've mispelt it) and I had a very strange experience. Unfortunately it's taken me a good few weeks to write about it so the magic may have disappeared a little...

On Sunday morning I had a very strange feeling. It was like a kind of warm fuzziness inside me. Could it have been pleasant surprise? Optimism? Surely not... But then, I can honestly see no other way to explain it.

It wasn't due to the start of our day in Oxford: naturally the maps we'd printed out had no street names (nice one, google) which meant Soph and I spent a horrifying amount of time running around after my dad trying to find out where we were going. 

Eventually we located ourselves and began speedily walking towards St Anne's when we heard a small cough followed by an 'excuse me'. However, being antisocial and desperate to avoid the embarrassment of turning round we ignored whoever it was and kept walking. Fortunately, my Dad did eventually decide to be a normal person and we realised that the man stood in the middle of the street clutching a line of pompoms was trying to catch our attention.

This was not as bizarre as it sounds, since they were my pompoms. Anyone who has been anywhere with me outside of college will have seen my bag with this wonderful embellishment. Heartbreakingly they are prone to falling off, which had inevitably happened.

So well done Oxford, you are nice people who give people back their pom poms.

What a strange sentence.

But this isn't the only thing that left me feeling warm and fuzzy. Later in the day my mum needed to return Sophs debit card to her so we went to pick her up from Zak's, intending to return the card to her then, and then went out for a pub in a nearby town.

It was only when we were cosily sat near the fire when Soph asked for her card back. At which point my mum said she'd given it to her... and so began a couple of hours of desperate searching, to no avail. Eventually when all hope had been lost and we were driving home, my mum suddenly pointed at a small triangle on the windscreen wiper and said, 'wait, that's not...? no... it can't be!'

Consequently we spent the next 20 minutes driving debating whether or not it could be card. Finally we got out and checked. There tucked behind our windscreen wiper was my sisters debit card!

Whoever the insanely lovely person was that picked up the card outside St Anne's, I hope you too are feeling warm and fuzzy.

Who says England's going to the dogs? Oxford officially has the nicest people ever. Dammit, now I have to go to uni there. Once Oxford rejects me, here I come Oxford Brookes...