The Reviewer is an extraordinary creature who believes they’re doing a public service. They may warn potential customers about a slow waitress in Slough or a stale scone in Padstow. They may encourage tourists, confirming that Stonehenge is impressive or that The Cotswold Wildlife Park rhinos seem happy.
Since becoming a tour guide, I have found myself in the bullring of public judgment. It was something I didn’t think about until I was in the arena, and now that I’m in, my self-esteem relies on a stranger’s opinion.
It’s got so bad that after a tour, I tirelessly refresh the Trip Advisor app (I downloaded it) in a mix of hope and fear of my verdict. It’s an unhealthy relationship that I have with my fellow human beings, So to restore the power, here are some reviews of my tourists:
★★★★★ – The book club who arrived on my tour after a lengthy lunch and were ready to party.
★★★★★ – The Scouser who insisted I was the spitting image of Jodie Comer and suggested I could replace her in the sequel of Killing Eve.
★★★★★ – That Australian Dad.
★★★★ – The Swedish boys who requested that we do the rest of the tour in the pub – and so we did.
★★★★ – The American Doctor who asked me when the pigeon population came to Oxford. (I explained that in 1403, they flew into the city, just like they did in that Hitchcock film.)
★★★- The 19-year-old boy who yelled out that he didn’t believe any of my tales.
★★ – The frazzled Californian ex-lawyer who began yelling at someone in the middle of Radcliffe Square for no apparent reason. Interesting, but uncomfortable for all.
★ – The woman who demanded that I pause after every sentence for 10 seconds, so she could translate my English-speaking tour to her French dad – I didn’t.
★ – The girl who yelled at me because she couldn’t go into Divinity School then proceeded to point to every building, asking if we could go inside.
★ – The pensioner who kept rolling her eyes at my jokes…
(Dear pensioner – you may not find me funny, but my reviews say otherwise…)
THE QUACK 