In Easter, which was now a while ago, Donna and I went to Oxford. On the way back we had to stop for an hour or so in Milton Keynes. Some people understand the universe in terms of binary oppositions, others go as far so as to suggest they are a structure that underlines the natural order; after visiting Oxford and Milton Keynes on consecutive days I was inclined to agree with them.
Wandering through Oxford is almost always a satisfying experience, excluding the occasional busy summer day when the streets are invaded by the 'coloured back-pack' wearing invading hordes, who cling to the benches outside McDonalds on Cornmarket Street like fluorescent limpets to the hull of an old wooden ship. Your feet clip clop pleasingly along cobbled streets as the whiff of mystery and academic vigor creeps over the colleges stoical walls. Off course what actually goes on behind these walls is probably far less romantic and far more Conservative than I'd like to imagine but it's fun to pretend.
It's an inane thing to say but it's old, and this is off course what gives it it's character. Whether it's the spherical erection of the Radcliffe camera or the squidgy center of one of Ben's Cookies, you can feel (or taste) the currents of history flowing through it and it's all the better for it.
Returning to our theory of the day- BO (not to be confused with B.O) we can only conclude that if there exists an Oxford then there must also exist a Milton Keynes. Milton Keynes is a rat run, a rat run for rats the size of cars, and I truly hope that some day a nuclear experiment gone awry will deliver this very plague upon it's parallel roads and endless roundabouts. Apparently Milton Keynes began it's life (conceptually at least) in the 1960s, this would lead you to believe that a psychedelic wonderland would abound but what one actually encounters is the grid system's wet dream. I'm throwing practicality as a concern out the window but the place stinks. Straight lines and open space between nothing but faux marble and grey skies make for a deeply uninspiring combination. The room of the temporary bus station in which Donnamo and I spent a soul destroying hour should be transposed to the stage for the perfect modern interpretation of 'No Exit'. The wonderful peroxide splattered specimen who served me the worst coffee ever would of made an intriguing Estelle and the Valet would naturally become a stage coach bus driver.
Here's the thing, if the world were a giant Milton Keynes then what kind of world would it be(aside from being one that was very friendly to the aforementioned Mega-rats)? Glancing at my book shelf I can see a number of titles set in, featuring or meditating on Oxford and it's easy to see why, just think of Morse. A quick glance at www.mk-arts.co.uk reveals 'Debenham's' upcoming festival of arts as the highlight in May's cultural calendar. I can't help but wonder what Betjeman would make of it all... I know what both Donna and I made of the chips though.
