Shit cribs

Never mind Jericho, welcome to Cowley. This buzzing South Oxford hub is the number one location for the discerning student, famous both as the old home of the achingly cool Fuzzy Ducks clubnight, and for an apparently limitless supply of groups of four or more boys carrying Tesco bags while talking about Fifa. Many come here to experience a part of Oxford that ‘feels like a real city’. Well let me tell you, there’s nothing more ‘real’ than Andy’s Cowley mansion, the sweetest crib so far.

I just bloody love it when houses make philosophical comment and from the moment I arrive, it becomes clear that this one will not disappoint. I’m greeted by the sight of a withered Lava Ignite ticket, carefully laid across the doorstep in an ironic and cutting comment on the Oxford clubbing scene and the demoralising ephemerality it entails.

While other houses in the surrounding area are meek and inoffensive, this savvy abode boasts a distinctly raised consciousness, it’s multiple onion-like layers of irony providing some pretty top notch meta-banter.

Outside, there is nothing to tie bikes to, but I know Andy is just putting on a façade when he describes the fact that they haven’t been stolen as a ‘fucking miracle’; in truth, their apparently unguarded nature is an example of his enduring belief in a collectivist vision of human nature.

Endearingly, Andy attempts to appear cynical and jaded – he mentions that he was recently robbed of the lettuce in his doner kebab by a belligerent bag-lady who ran off screaming ‘fear my wrath’ – but I know it’s all a cute disguise, the flirt.

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The kitchen is home to some of the most powerful and sizzling light-bulbs in the country, these luminous bad boys providing hours of endless sight, even deep into the night. This is top notch lume, defying the darkness to create a cosy milieu in the stylishly decorated room. Andy tries to be modest about the lights – ‘it feels like some sort of torture chamber and is starting to cause me severe pain in both eyes’ – but I sense some latent pride in their power.

Moving into the living room, I’m stirred by what appears to be murmuring from the stylish basement conversion. Heading downstairs, I chance upon an incumbent and unidentified Chechen vagrant, sleeping peacefully on the floor [fig 5]. Andy has no idea who he is – ‘he always sleeps here and often steals my milk’– but our photographer accidentally wakes him, leading to some humorous play-acting in which he imitates embittered and undecipherable rage. Here at The Tab, we like jokes as much as the next paper and we heartily engage in some cheeky back-and-forth with the fellow, his use of the phrases  ‘burn, burn, burn’, ‘shut up and leave’ and ‘fuck off you c**t’ just elements of the guy’s witty, light-hearted banter.

In the elegant bathroom, I encounter a charming feature in the cosy juxtaposition of toilet and sink. This sage landlord understands that every tenant can get caught up in the hectic Oxford lifestyle and needs to be able to do all bathroom activities simultaneously.

Andy’s jovial claim that ‘I always hit my knees as I stand up and I think my housemate’s contracted E.Coli’ just goes to show that sweet cribs make for barrels of endless laughs and japes.

Another bloody inspired Oxford crib. With next year’s accommodation plans looming, who knows where’s best to live. One thing’s for sure, you won’t go too far wrong in Cowley with Andy’s palace of pleasure.