One of the great seats of learning may have been a few short miles away.

An eternity on a bike but on clear Oxfordshire days the journey was the best.

Past Wendlebury, past Stella’s house, a journey I undertook many times back and forth.

Bicester in the winter felt desolate, days when all you wanted to do was go into town,

Down Sheep Street and look in the record shop, spend hours looking at one creative album sleeve

As the man behind the counter played the same music over and over again.