Bryson places the city of Oxford into a particular category: One must be British to like it. Though he admires its older buildings and grudgingly acknowledges its academic credentials (while skewering the obsolescence of its education), he finds the city irredeemably unattractive otherwise—too much modern interference. He believes that the city has been subject to local apathy and general ineptitude in planning.

He decides to visit Sutton Courtenay, where George Orwell is buried. He reflects upon the many great figures who hail from Britain, whose tombstones express only humility.

Bryson decides to rent a car for his tour of the Cotswolds. Though he is not very comfortable with driving, he knows that a car is the best way to access what he wants to see on this tour. Despite being mystified by the car’s controls, the author makes it to Woodstock, whose preserved homes and lovely landscape he enjoys. He then goes to Bladon, where Winston Churchill is buried in a simply marked grave. He also visits Blenheim Palace, finding its grandeur incommensurate with the modest achievements of the Duke of Marlborough, in sharp contrast to Winston Churchill’s humble memorial.

The car prevents him from fully enjoying his time traveling through the Cotswolds.