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2002 - Exeter College - University of Oxford

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Damian M. Taylor (2000, Jurisprudence) looks back on<br />

his first year at <strong>College</strong><br />

BEAUTIFUL<br />

SOUTH<br />

My <strong>Exeter</strong> experience began to take shape on<br />

a balmy summer’s evening three years ago.<br />

The hazy images <strong>of</strong> a 16yr old placed <strong>Oxford</strong><br />

at a distance ‘somewhere in the beautiful South’ as<br />

I left ambivalently for the college open day, waving the<br />

red brick chimneys <strong>of</strong> Lancashire goodbye from platform<br />

four <strong>of</strong> Preston station, taking my first unknowing<br />

steps towards the legendary spires. Soon the die<br />

was cast as the indefinable attractions <strong>of</strong> <strong>Exeter</strong>, once<br />

imperceptibly sensed, propelled me determinedly, almost<br />

pre-determinedly it seemed, through UCAS, interviews,<br />

A-levels and the rest, until suddenly I found<br />

myself in October 2000 standing in the porter’s lodge<br />

saying,<br />

“Damian Taylor, Fresher.”<br />

Term started early for me as I was invited to preseason<br />

soccer training with the Blues squad and, rather<br />

nervously, I joined the first session after one day <strong>of</strong><br />

unpacking and reassuring my mother that I did know<br />

what a washing machine was and that I would<br />

remember to feed myself.<br />

Socially, Fresher’s week could have been blitzkrieg.<br />

The rapid onslaught <strong>of</strong> friendly but bewildering faces<br />

seemed never to stop as one function followed another.<br />

More worryingly, potential lifelong friends, colleagues<br />

and peers were likely to be around you now – and you<br />

had to find them. The lottery <strong>of</strong> life and friendship<br />

was being drawn in front <strong>of</strong> our own eyes, sometimes<br />

in unusual circumstances. It is, for example, not yet<br />

normal to walk through college in October dressed in<br />

a Hawaiian shirt, shorts, sunglasses and beach hat,<br />

casually carrying a pineapple, but this was the manner<br />

in which I met some <strong>of</strong> my best friends at the college<br />

‘beach party’.<br />

<strong>Oxford</strong> was rapidly becoming a gluttonous feast<br />

<strong>of</strong> sport and socialising, but soon a letter in my pigeonhole,<br />

warning <strong>of</strong> a forthcoming tutor’s meeting, brought<br />

me back to sober reality. The meeting was perfectly<br />

agreeable; being given a hefty reading list and two essays<br />

to do in a week’s time was less so. But learning to cope<br />

38 EXON - Autumn <strong>2002</strong>

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