If ever a place to be a tour guide, it’s Oxford. There is an abundance of material that tourists are willing to pay to hear about; the university, Harry Potter, Alice in Wonderland, Narnia, Inspector Morse…
Us in the ugly green jackets are not the only ones to realise that there is money to be made out of confused Americans questioning where Hogwarts’ dining hall is. In fact, when tourists plod onto Broad Street, they have no idea that they are stepping into the Wild West of guides.
The gate at Trinity is not just an entrance to a college but a guide’s territory that can’t be invaded by another. If some geezer comes into town and thinks they can put their signboard anywhere and start touring – they have another thing coming.
There was once a beautiful man with golden curly hair who once tried to start his tours near us Greenies, and well, Head Greenie wasn’t haven’t any of this, and the golden hair man was never seen again.
As the tourists walk down Broad, the guides come alive. It’s like a Toys “R” Us aisle filled with automated dolls that start talking if they sense movement nearby.
“Bike tour starts in 5 minutes!”
“Wanna see inside a college today good man?”
“Sir, do you know that Oxford is haunted?!”
It’s dog-eat-dog out there. If there were guns we would be using them, but there are not, and so the heckle is the only weapon.
“How do you not know Christopher Wren’s middle name?” a blue-badged guide will yell at a student guide in front of their group. Call yourself a guide; I bet you don’t even know why Oxford is called Oxford!”
You learn the hot spots pretty quickly. St Mary’s Passage, a narrow alley containing the Narnia Door, is where many battles have occurred. If two separate tour groups turn up at the same time, then the tourists will find themselves standing in the middle of a crossfire of facts about C.S Lewis.
Then, there is the Harry Potter tours. These are the most lethal. You must have thick skin to attempt to step into this battlefield. The guides are constantly trying to outdo each other with props and costumes. Now we’ve got to the point where fully grown men, who started off with just a Gryffindor scarf, walk around the city in full gowns and a sorting hat. Short of one doing the whole tour with a broom in between their legs – I’m not sure how it will all end.
It’s unexpected to say the least. I thought it would be a happy, fluffy environment to go into, especially compared to the boardrooms of Soho, but I’ve come to realise that there’s not a world more blood-thirsty, more cutthroat – than the tour-guiding world of Oxford.
THE QUACK 