Stop talking and get the fire going

The whole Venus and Mars story tells us that men and women speak different languages but what it never tells you is that they are most easy to translate in front of a fire – so that’s my recommendation for this, the most pyrotechnic of weekends.

Head out in search of the biggest flames you can find.

You’ll have read time and time again that communication is amongst the most important parts of any relationship.

My most effective idea to find out what really bubbles beneath the beautiful surface of so many of you fabulous ladies was to communicate with a cracking bottle of red wine and without a stitch of clothing between us.

With so many embarrassments, the inability to communicate became smaller in comparison, so the whole process became much easier.

At this time of year, the nudity would only be really advisable if a fire is within reach. But do refrain from turning up to a public firework display in the nude, claiming I told you to do so.

Tends to put the kids off their sparklers.

I think one should always try to start from the premise that most people are generally good. They’re most likely not aiming to wind you up, to making you feel unattractive or neglected, they’re just a very different species.

I regret to say that men are still interested, principally, in three things – they like seeing other men kick balls; they like hunting and killing, or what in modern times translates, whatever it is that we entertain our professional selves with; and they’re very fond of sitting down on the sofa and scratching. Don’t ask why, it’s just what seemingly delights the male species. Communication, affection and clearing up their socks are not a high priority, so we’re always going to encounter a spot of conflict.

My failsafe solution to any risk of a scrap is to get out the firefighters.

There’s simply no better way to reduce any pair of burks having a barney to simpering, affectionate doughballs, than to sit them near a roasting fire and open a good Malbec.

Harking back to Neanderthal times, men have an ability to become all wistful when gazing into a flame. It was where we planned the growth of empires and sketched out ideas for cave-extensions. It makes everyone a calmer, more effective communicator.

So, with bonfire night this week, if you're with someone, take them to the biggest fire you can find – I’d recommend South Parks.

I'm up for a little mischief

DO YOU know, Oxford’s a sleepy little city, and it’s ever so complicated to get the measure of. I’ve tried for eight years to kick a little life into it: you can lead a horse to water but you can never force her to drink. And yet, over the past week or two, I’ve seen such enthusiasm for change, I’ve seen so many people wanting to shout about what we’re good at and to achieve a little mischief that I think we may be making progress.

We’ve had an exciting few months, and it’s about to get a little more fun, with Movember and with Christmas across Oxford.

Just looking at the make-up of traders during a walk along North Parade this weekend encouraged me to believe that things are getting more exciting.

There’s now a fabulous coffee shop by the name of Brew and there’s even a produce store, to compliment my regular pub – The Rose & Crown, that I hold so dear.

It’s becoming quite the street of choice for North Oxford’s careful customer.

When, having failed to notice that the clocks were changing last weekend, up early and heading away from Nina the Narrowboat for some sustenance, I chanced my luck driving past North Parade to see if the shop might be open for those, like me, in search of ingredients for that hungover Sunday breakfast.

Anyone who has been out in search of some ingredients on a Sunday morning, feeling less than sparkling and therefore not wanting to show yourself to familiar faces, knows that you dart between the less frequented streets, hoping to get some food without risking being seen in such a dishevelled state. Well, I’m delighted to report that the North Parade Produce Store was not only open, but had shelves heaving with Sourdough breads, free range (real quality) eggs, full salty butter, chorizo and shallots – perfect ingredients for making Royal Scrambled Eggs – fit for a King – while I settled down to watch the Indian Grand Prix. If it wasn’t for having to turn up to work, I’d have had quite a splendid weekend.

And there’s something coming up, towards the Christmas period which I expect to knock the proverbial socks off Oxford as a whole.

I’m not able to say much, for the time being, but if you exist on the Twittersphere, follow @SnowFactoryHQ – it’s sure to be the most ridiculous thing you’ve seen in Oxford for a long while and it’s all starting to take shape right now.

Oxford is slowly drawing together a band of Mischieveers, people who are keen for such a fabulous city to actually be impressive for the visitor and resident alike, in more than just looks.

At the moment she’s a bit like a pretty girl, who is a bit vacant when you speak with her, and that’s no good.

So, it’s good to see some people giving her some substance.

Students used to have spare time to do so but now they’re chasing grant repayments before they’ve even arrived in Oxford it falls to us, the residents, to add some shine to the city.

If you’re a prospective Mischieveer and want to be involved with some silly stuff which adds enjoyment to this humdrum existence, then get in touch – the more the merrier.