During these cold winter months, in which – thanks to that pinnacle of British construction, breathable walls – I wake up in a freezing room, I find great solace in hiding beneath my blanket.
My best memories of gallivanting around Europe were of parks. They were found in the tranquility of self-reflection as I enjoyed the serenity of nature, clutching my too-expensive coffee and watching the ducks swim about in the river as the cold winter wind whipped the fallen leaves off the ground beside me.
Appearing before an audience at the Mary Ogilvie Lecture Theatre, the talk marked the end of the ambassador’s tour around British academic institutions, to publicise the work of UK Friends of Palestinian Universities.
On being accepted into Oxford, everyone warned me about the reading lists. “You’ll be reading eight hours a day,” they said. At the time, it sounded almost romantic.