As far as quirky traditions of dubious origin are concerned, the question when it comes to this ancient University of Oxford is where to begin.

To the outsider, things an Oxford student accepts as part of daily life seem utterly bizarre. There are the carnations that have to be carefully selected and worn on each morning of exams, with a colour corresponding to each day; pink for the first, white for all the middle exams, and red for the last exam. I have cycled from one end of Oxford to the other to deliver carnations to panicked finalists, and lost sleep wondering if mine will die in the intervening exam-days. Showing up with a flower brown at the edges would be social suicide. Then there is ‘sub fusc’, which is a combination of attire which has to be seen to be believed; a waistcoat-cum- Harry Potter cloak, with a white bow tie for men and a waitress-like black ribbon for girls (always the fuzzy end of the lollypop). Part of this strange ensemble is carrying a mortarboard with you at all times; you can be fined for not having it, and fined if, in a pique of rebellion, you dare to put it on your head. So they become glorified pencil-cases for most students. It is also received wisdom that students have the right to swagger into exams brandishing a sword and a glass of brandy, though I’ve never seen anyone take advantage of this particular luxury.

There is the one Oxford College that is allowed to kill and serve swan (it is a crime punishable with jail everywhere else in the UK as all swans belong to the Queen, though Liz is said to enjoy it regularly.) Magdalen College has a deer-park and the deer are frequently served up for dinner to the students. A more regular gastronomic experience is Formal Hall, which happens every night in college, where students have to wear gowns (those who get firsts- the highest grade- can wear long cloaks) to dinner. Here long Latin graces are read out, a different one for each college. They can be up to five pages long (St.Hilda’s, my college, ever succinct, only has two words). No one can leave until the High Table- consisting of Tutors- has left (I’ve seen people lose the will to live if they need the loo), but on the plus side wine and port flow freely; the port has to travel anti-clockwise and can never stop, so they are jolly affairs. A hazardous tradition of ‘pennying’, that is, stealthily sneaking a penny into the glass of an unwitting friend, who then has to down their drink in one, has evolved to make a tedious dinner pass more quickly. The rules are strict, and there are notable differences, such as the need to have the glass in your hand, between the hardcore Oxford and lightweight Cambridge approach. Cambridge students are, incidentally, ‘filthy Tabs.’

Then there are the annual traditions, which are excuses for much alcohol consumption and general merry-making. On the first of May the famous Magdalen Boys’ College Choir climb to the top of the tower and sing medieval songs at dawn; the students all stay up drinking all night and jump off the nearest bridge into the river. There is the Merton college tradition, on the day when the clocks go back an hour, of walking backwards around the college lawn drinking port for an hour at midnight, it is said to be quite a sight, students and professors alike tumbling one by one. An ancient rivalry between Brasenose and Lincoln College is said to stem from a riot in the 15th Century, when a Lincoln student was denied refuge at Brasenose when being pursued by peasants. To mark this outrage, to this day Brasenose offers Lincoln students a free glass of beer, but it is spiked with poison ivy. On the same day the students of Brasenose have to walk around Oxford striking buildings with sticks to mark the historic territory of the college, and local school children are invited to Lincoln where students throw hot pennies at them from the roof. No one knows where this tradition came from; it is probably an excuse to throw hazardous objects at children. Complaints from parents have been received. The annual race of college tortoises also draws a crowd.

No student’s life here would be complete without the obligatory Tutorial war-wounds. ‘Tutes’ are weekly classes with tutors of various levels of mental stability with no more than three to a group. I am no exception. I have had a tutor who conducted such classes entirely on a bright purple bouncy exercise ball, and one who told me to stop taking notes, because I ‘don’t need a record of my own ignorance’. Oxford is replete with myth and tradition; to live here is to accept late nights preparing for Tutes, that the free alcohol is the reason behind most wacky traditions, and the odd headache from the bells (Christ Church tower tolls at Ten p.m everyday once for every member of the college. There are over 200 members.) The most successful approach is to stop asking questions and accept the eccentricities of life here.