The Last Day, Really, In Oxford

Must be that time zone thing.  It's Friday and Chuck & I are working from a walkabout written up by two lovely locals last night.  Rachel, who has lived here all her life & Jan, the five foot firecracker responsible for bringing us over here.

We start at the Bodlean Library, which argues with Merton's claim of being the oldest.  The Bod is one of five copyright libraries in Britain, so every book, magazine and newspaper published in the UK is obligated to send a copy here, gratis.  A van pulls up each day with more.  Underground and at a remote facility they have more than 21 miles of bookshelves.  The oldest part of the Bod is built along the same lines as the Merton - vaulted ceilings, very tall racks, single plank benches running down the aisles - but the beams in the Bodlean are beautifully painted.  Only four of us on the tour, and Claire the decent docent had been a librarian there since 1968 "when Chas retye-uhhed from the Fauz-un Suhvice,"  retiring only when "they brought in those computah things.  I rally don't like them atall."  She was a doll, quick with the conspiratorial aside, enthusiastic about every detail, every gargoyle like her own child (I can expecially relate to that).  One of those in our tour had written a book and published it through a vanity press.  "I only published 100 copies, and it damned near broke me.  Then the copyright libraries demand the first five off the press!"  All books at the Bod must be read in situ.  This is not a borrowing library.  The aforementioned author axed if, perhaps since it was his book, boughten and paid for, he might get to take the copy out for a walk at lunch.  Claire reeled backward, clutching her breast, gasping for air ,"Oh No! Nono   NO Nooooo nononononono!!!!   !!!    !!!!! When King Challs asked to borrow a tome on national security, the poor librarian who had to decline his request litrully risked her veddy life to maintain the protocol of the labbry!"  A silent toast to this doubtless diminutive but steel spined mistress of the muses whose only joy each week was bathing her mother.  Probly.