When I am away from my city of birth and people ask, where I am from, the response I give always, always is greeted with the same irritating remarks.
-“Oh, wow, so you go to Oxford University?”
-“You must be posh.”
No, beyond the extravagant sprawl of University owned buildings there lies villages. Where the semi-intelligent working class live. We intrude the city to work in overpriced boutiques, only organic cafes and ‘five pound a pint’ pubs. But I, and all my average friends, love the city. No, we do not attend the University but the state funded college. And as much as we try, we will never be posh.
However, we know Oxford. The back routes, the best night out, who to contact for the quality drugs. Intruders who claim they understand the pulse of my city, only know a limited fraction of Oxford and the diverse ways of life here. The city they live in guarded by the pampered gargoyles cemented to prosperity.