Rhodes House

I left work at 1 PM, heading to the club, where I met up with the Membership Officer and other members of the club, including the club chairman. We then all piled into cabs and made our way to Paddington, where we stood around for a bit waiting for our train. It was an incredibly hot day, and I almost felt bad, wearing a sleeveless shift dress whilst all of the men were wearing suits with the top button done up to the very top. Yet even that didn’t stop me from excusing myself from conversation at one point to go get myself a water. Interestingly, I learned that the little shop I went to was having a promotion, one drink for £1.40, but two drinks for £2. Hence, I got my water and a Diet Coke for the next morning, so I could have my “morning coffee” as usual!

We got to Oxford and took cabs over to Rhodes House, which I’d never been to before. Really lovely place, although after a while all old grand Oxford places start to look a bit the same. I was intrigued however in the memorial in the front gallery, that one of the countries listed was still “Rhodesia”. Some people may argue that such a thing is imperialist, but I’m sure most people in Zimbabwe at this point think back on the days when they were Rhodesia with fondness.

The staff needed some time to set up, and I’d been invited by Pork Pie to a lecture at Balliol, but in the end the sunshine and a drink proved to be too tempting. Rather a shame actually, because later on I heard that the lecture had been really outstanding, where the guy spoke for an hour without notes, without pausing or losing his train of thought. Perhaps that would have been good to go to.

In the end however, we went to the King’s Arms for drinks. Got chatting to the other members about this-and-that, when some random guy in the pub noticed one of the men’s ties, and asked if we were members of a club. This led to a minor exchange that indeed we were, and about the old joke that one “wouldn’t want to be a member of a club that will have me.” To which this random guy responded, “Let me show you something.”

I think we were all wondering what on earth this guy was about to take out, and perhaps a bit worried, as sometimes being a member of a private London member’s club doesn’t go down too well with some people. But all was explained when he reached into his bag and pulled out a tie with ducks all over it, and then flipped it over to reveal the tag on the back. “The Groucho Club”. We all got a good laugh out of that one, and were impressed with the man’s quick thinking on that one. I was also just impressed, because I’d never met a member of the Groucho Club before, as they’re all supposed to be so frighteningly creative and artistic, it’s all wonderfully exclusive.

Soon enough, it was time to head back to Rhodes House, where the reception was beginning. I spent the next hour being a good little socialite, circulating and talking to numerous groups of people about the club, explaining why I liked being a member and why it was so good to join. I felt in some ways like I was making a very small dent in the crowds, as there were over 300 people there, and I was just circulating, talking to small crowds of 3-4 people at a time, trying to give my little spiel over and over again. As I told the same stories and little bon mots to each group, and some points I was definitely getting confused, wondering if I was repeating myself to the same group and sounding like an idiot.

I did end up chatting to a very nice young man who studied history, and our conversation ended up veering totally away from the club onto the topic of why history is so fascinating. He was so charming to talk to, and so interesting, I definitely found myself thinking, “Why don’t I meet more men like THIS?” It’s people like him that I pretty much came to England for, he so clearly exemplified the type of man I like. Yet, I had to remind myself that he was probably 22 at best, so had to keep smiling and wondering where I could find a bit older version of him.

Also talked to some MBAs who were totally fun, and so I ended up exchanging cards with all of them. I shall have to remember to e-mail them all later.
After 2.5 hours of talking and drinking wine (I was feeling quite tipsy from the circulating waiter who kept topping up my wine glass), finally we were done and it was time to go home. All of the other club members were going to dinner in Oxford, but I had declined in favour of going to have dinner with Nikola. In truth, I think this was a very wise call, as I was a bit tired of club company for the evening, to be honest!

So I walked down to Cowley, met Nikola, and ended up getting into a conversation about Roman baths (to settle an argument that had come up in the bar earlier, which I had promised to take up with my friend who was a professor of Ancient History. It’s so handy having people like that for friends!) Then he suggested I change, and we walked down the street in search of dinner.

We ended up ordering pizza at a local pizza place, and then whilst waiting for it to cook, we went across the street and got ourselves some beers. Then went back to pick up our pizza and walked home, and then just had a very chilled out evening, catching up and talking about everything under the sun, including that one of his ex-girlfriends was now dating a girl, and that another was getting married this very weekend. I’m truly not sure how I would react if I found out that someone I used to live with had come out or married someone else, so I was rather impressed with how chill he was about the whole thing. The conversation then got onto the topic of why we’re attracted to the opposite sex and why it’s hard to imagine being gay, and also just how being with someone and having sex regularly is sort of how humans are designed to be. Made me think about how I’ve really had enough of this celibacy nonsense....but of course, what can I really do about that until I find the right guy?

At last Jen came home and we chatted a bit more before everyone turning in for bed. Such a lovely night however, the sorts of great evenings catching up with friends that we don’t have nearly often enough.