There and Back Again: A Student's Tale

Alas for the end.

But like all good stories, this story, too, must fade and vanish into the foggy air of London. Well, perhaps it's not to fade, but to evolve, for at the end of every tunnel there is a light, and at the end of one heck of a long plane ride, there is the culture shock of Caribou Coffee and $$$ signs and driving on the CORRECT side of the road. And snow. LOTS of snow.

I woke up this morning to a complex and vigorous rendition of a medley of music, such as "Linus and Lucy," "Tale as Old as Time," "Hobbiton," "Arabesque," and "Fur Elise." The six fantastical creatures who share my domicile greeted me in their own unique ways, some enraptured by my return, others suspicious of my sudden arrival, yet others shrugging their shoulders and turning back to their instruments. Good, they say. She's back. So let her fill the dishwasher.

And so I am home. And as the adventures change and shift like the various shades of a beautiful sunset, I smile, and hope you have all enjoyed seeing the photos and commentaries as much as I have enjoyed posting them.

And as I shall be seeing some of you soon - until then! And to the rest, adieu! Or until next time I find a magic wand or potion or box or ring to whisk myself away on another adventure. But that is another story, and so we shall save it for another day.

And wither then? I cannot say. But may the road rise to meet you, wherever it may lead ... and be sure to follow with eager feet. Anxious feet, tired feet, lazy feet, mired feet don't get you very far.

Wishing everyone a very merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year!

~ Catherine :)

Just a few more pictures to brighten your day :)

Here are, if you will, yesterday's adventures in a series of visuals aids!

A view of High Street from Carfax Tower, located right in the centre of the city ...

Carfax Tower itself, with two little men banging out the quarter of the hour - that's 96 times a day, 7 days a week ...

The Bridge of Sighs, which I am sure I have posted somewhere else ...

The Sheldonian Theatre, in a quite beautiful light ...

St. John's College (inside quad), where St. Edmund Campion studied ...

And, last but not least, the Eagle and Child (a side view). You can see the blue sign hanging above the door; I should have posted a close-up as well, but you can find that anywhere. Here, you see St. Giles', part of the street only, for the rest of it is on the left side of all those cars. The trees are quite lovely ...

Pix! Encore!

Anna, you asked for pictures, so here are pictures :D

Instead of sleeping in like a good girl (and like all the rest of the city), I decided to bounce out of bed at an ungodly hour and roam around in the fog.

First, we have a terrible, terrible photo of the Randolph Hotel. Big ol' fancy place, with Mercedes -es and BMWs constantly pulling up in front. When I become rich and famous, I am going to spend a month in Oxford, just to enjoy the luxury of saying I stayed at the Randolph.

Next a photo of the inside of the Fellows' gardens at Balliol College. Lord Peter's college, for those of you who don't know. MY Peter. I wasn't supposed to be in there (I'm not a Fellow! oops!) but I didn't see the sign until after I had taken the photo, so I'm pleading the fifth. Ignorance is not an excuse, and they don't even have a written Constitution over here, but ... oh well! So sue me!

These are the famous blue gates of Trinity College - from the inside. I knocked, and they opened to me. And from the gates, you can look down the loooong lawn (which, frankly, looks terrible when covered in frost, but I'm sure looks absolutely splendid in the summer) to see one of the college buildings. Beautiful old architecture; I love it!

Outside the door of Balliol, out in the middle of Broad Street, stands a marvelous Christmas tree, sent to the college by ... some Norwegian prince, I guess? Not sure; my connection to the grapevine is rather staticky. But it's a nice tree.

And on our right, we have the Sheldonian Theatre. I still have not been inside ... another excursion for this week! And surrounding it, a fence with very strange men's heads poking up and staring down at you. I don't know how strange the men were, but their heads rather ... well, they turn heads.

(sorry, that photo came out at the top. Wasn't supposed to do that ...!)

And last but not least, Blackwell's. The most brilliant bookstore in the world. Five floors of nothing but BOOKS. Me + Blackwell's = match made in heaven ... but *sigh* too good to last ...

And now, for something completely different:

I think I'm going to take a nap.

Week 8, Michaelmas Term: THE END

Sad face. It's over.

Papers done. All three of them. Hard to believe.

Tutorials done. Tutors gone. Going to miss them.

Admin asking for departure dates.

Admin sending out email to remind us to take all our stuff with us when we leave, and not leave behind garbage.

And not take any of their stuff.

Brain cells gone too. Gone on holiday; not coming back for ... oh, a good long time.

And tomorrow, I sleep in. Until ... until WHENEVER I WANT.

What on earth am I going to do with myself for a WHOLE WEEKEND?

*grin*

Yay for Snow!

One paper down, two to go! I'm on a roll!

Last night was our concert: Bach's Christmas Oratorio, which is absolutely brilliant. If you haven't heard it, go listen to it, and tell me you can learn to sing that in eight hour-and-a-half sessions, practice once with the orchestra, and then perform it all the night before a 12-page paper is due.

Who da girl???

And the paper turned out splendidly, too! (miraculously enough). The prof loved it. And I am happy.

Oh! And it's SNOWING! Which makes my week, like, exponentially happy. For those of you who don't like snow, all I can say is, we need to talk.

Oh! AND a couple of American students told me I don't sound American. I sound BRITISH! For those of you who know me, you can imagine how doggone flattered I am. I'm sure it will wear off the instant I set foot back in the Detroit airport ... ah, Detroit ... but for the moment, it's absolutely brilliant. :D

But then again, some British guy told me I sounded Irish. So ... well, I guess you can all be the judges of "how I sound" when I get back :)

Only two more weeks! I can't believe it! I am so looking forward to seeing you all again!!! ... but, *sob*, I am going to miss Oxford. Beautiful little city, Oxford. Full of lovely, quirky British people, with their lovely, quirky British ways. And I think the beauty of their Britishness makes up for their persistence in driving on the wrong side of the road ... *sigh* those Brits.

Week 7, Michaelmas Term: Ummm ....

Where is it? No clue. Can't find it anywhere. I'm sure it's around here somewhere ... maybe I left it in the library? Or under my pillow? Maybe it's in one of my essay files on the computer ... ? Nope, no where to be found. But ah, here comes Eighth Week! Final week of classes! FRIGHTENING! It looms larger and larger, creating dark and scary shadows on my nervous system. No consideration for my poor nerves ... !

This week is going to be absolutely crazy. Not only do I have thirty pages due within thirty hours of each other Thurs/Fri mornings, but we also have our choir concert (Bach's Christmas Oratorio, which is absolutely gorgeous; there are bits on youtube if you haven't heard it before), as well as starting to mentally prepare for packing.

PLUS it is getting COLD. You know, like the "Oh, I knew I had toes down there, somewhere ... where have they gone?" sort of cold. Yes.

Hopefully all is well back home; we STILL haven't seen a flake of snow, and I am really going to have to talk to the management about this because cold without snow is like winter without Christmas, or cake without frosting, or cocoa without marshmallows, or a one-horse-open-sleigh without jingle bells, or a tree without lights, or ...

Yes, Christmas is in the air. And I think I've caught it. And I probably won't get over it until, oh, mid-January. It's that time of year again ... ! YAY!

Wish me luck, and see you on the other side of Eighth Week! Aughhhhh!

Where's My SNOW? ... and Words of the Week!

I was promised snow. It's not here ... yet. I hope it comes soon, or I'm going to have to have some words with the management.

Well, you can never trust a weatherman.

Anyway, very Happy Thanksgiving to all y'all! I went out to the store this morning (very bright and early, in an enthusiastic rush) to get cranberries, but of course, cranberries are out of season. The stock boy assured me they were very much out of season, and not to be found. Oh.

But it's Thanksgiving!

But I'm in England.

Ah ...

Well, I am going to try again after lunch, and see if I can't find another store. Otherwise, I will have to resort to the dried version, and have some scones and tea with that. Not a bad idea ... !

Oh! And here are some photos of the gardens at Christ Church ... again. I really love the gardens! Absolutely beautiful. I can't imagine what they must be like in May or June!

And, for all of you others, happy feast day as well :D I'm going to treat myself to something nice ... not sure what. Maybe CHOCOLATE!

Oh! And, words of the week:

phthisic

maudlin

And yes, you get to look them up yourselves; aren't you lucky! Enjoy :)

Have a wonderful weekend, and see you soon!

High Street, Oxord

Lovely little street.

A patisserie; a bookstore; a game store; a physicist's house. What more could you want?

Week 6, Michaelmas Term: Make like a tree ...

And leaf! Here are some cool shots of the Christ Church parks along the Thames ... I took a walk this afternoon in the beautiful, warm, sunny weather!

Next week is our penultimate: I can only shake my head at the trickery of Father Time.

But this weekend, I have my Dante seminar paper to work on (did I tell y'all? I'm writing on Dante and T. S. Eliot. Two of my favorite authors!), and my final Jane Austen paper - my tutor is giving me two weeks for a final, longer project: I'm going to study and write on the Aunt figure in the six novels. There's at least one in every novel: think Lady Russell, Lady Bertram, Mrs. Norris, Mrs. Jennings, Lady Catherine de Bourgh ...

Poor Lady Catherine. She takes such hard knocks for just wanting the best for those around her! Only it ends up as snobbish meddling ... hmmm. Somehow, somewhere, there is a corollary here between her and a certain very meddlesome matchmaker ... ooooooh senior thesis, can you smell it???

And my 'courtly romances' tutorial paper - I'm reading Sir Gawain! Yay! - which technically isn't a courtly romance, but it's just sort of for the fun of it. And I can read Tolkien's translation! Epic win!

And now, for a bit of well-deserved R&R; I am taking the evening OFF, and I am going to waste it completely on youtube and writing. Ahhh, it's a beautiful thing!

Only in England ...

The British are a sensible people.

When they ask you for your name, they mean your last name; what does it signify if your parents call you "Emma"? 'Tis a much greater thing to be known as a Miss Woodhouse.

Instead of encouraging students to pull all-nighters or go on shopping sprees at 0-dark-thirty, shops close at a reasonable hour, in time for everyone to be home for supper.

Instead of expecting naive, immature teenagers to show more temperance than their twenty-something peers, the law allows [public] drinking at age eighteen. Freshmen appreciate this immensely.

Instead of allowing students to melt into the back row of an ampitheatre-like lecture hall, professors focus the spotlight on the individual and allow him to express himself easily, in a calm, private setting. No pressure.

They know you'll be tired, worn out after a hard day's work. Take some refreshment; have a cup of dried leaves dropped into boiling water.

Oh! And just so we can understand exactly what you are saying, we'll give each little square foot of country a completely, wholly uniquely-tweaked accent, so there's no confusion whatsoever over where you are from. We don't need to even ask; all you need to do is open your mouth.




... And then they go, and insist on driving on the wrong side of the road. What is up with that?

But the British are a sensible people.

The Rain

I don't think I've posted this one yet. I'm not sure if I like the rhythmn either, but maybe you will. Enjoy.

*
In England, in the summertime
It rains; or so they say. I've never been.
But then again, in autumn, when
The wellies come galoshing through the way
In rhythm with the never-ending chime
Of bells,
It rains.

The never-ending chime of city bell
Rings loud, rings long, and through a sleepless night
Reminds, rewinds, unbinds the mind
Of homework, duty, home - and ties so strong
Connecting with that strange familiar smell
Of cold
Wet rain.

An unwhole heart reflects on things,
On life, on love, perhaps on death as well -
The tolling bell, the morbid knell -
But murmur of a heartbeat does not lapse
In vain; instead, in pulsing rhythms sings
Along
With th'rain.

Enough of this! The rain still falls
And conversation stirs the soul
To surge, emerge from hole, like Mole
Or Rat or Bear, who know to not be shunned
They must emerge, and hear the others call
To play
In rain.

And here they come, galumphing up
With slickers, macs and hats. Enthusedly
They splash, they dash in mad, mad glee
Through waterways between mansion and shack.
The animals play, enjoy the bright clear
Colour
Of rain.

A little giddy, I smile too
And watch the paper tigers sweltering,
Absorbing glistening, glittering
Drops of liquid gems into their long white fur.
I glance out the window and smile at the blue
Bubbly
Rain.

Week 5, Michaelmas Term: Vaporized!

I'm slowly beginning to realize that, although I am looking forward to seeing family, friends, and home again, my time in Oxford is limited, and each time the tower bells ring out against the gloomy city sky, another hour in Oxford fades away with the last echoing chime.

I feel I've been here for a lifetime, yet I haven't seen or done a thing! With so much to do, and so little time, I manage to make the most of my walks through the city, or days in the library, or an occasional stop in a pub, but I guess that's what it means to live somewhere, and not visit. I've been living here, working here, studying here, and so I know the backways to get to places; I know the shop hours, and that Sainsbury's is better than Tesco (some will argue, but I am convinced); and that if you want to cross the street in front of a bus, just be sure there are no bikers on the other side! I'm not a tourist, but a temporary native, so to speak, and I smile to myself when I hear Americans on the street, or watch the Koreans with their cameras stand outside the colleges, or when I can flash my badge and walk right into the Rad-Cam as groups of tourists and visitors flock outside the fence in the blustery drip-drip-drip of Oxford rain, and gape and pretend to listen to the tour guide, but really wish they were me ... and so I guess, that although I haven't climbed Carfax Tower, or seen the Oxford Castle, or taken an open-top guided tour on a big red bus, I have gotten to know the city, the university, that real, authentic Britishness of Oxford, which you can't get from buying a ticket. And, looking at it like that, I don't think I've missed a thing.

11/11 is Rememberance Day here, same as Veteran's Day in the States, and so I bought a poppy. It's not an American poppy, but I think the sentiment is the same, and when I wear it, I think of all those who have fought and died - not just Americans, not just Britons, but all the countless, nameless dead who served their countries in the name of freedom and justice. Today, St. Giles was blocked off for a memorial ceremony by the war memorial; as I type, the bells have been ringing for the past thirty minutes in honor of the fallen, I expect. Dona eis requiem.

I'm writing on Persuasion this week, and as it is Jane Austen's final, finished novel, there is a certain "autumnal" feel to it, as they say; Anne Elliot is no longer in the prime of her life, and neither is Jane. It's a bittersweet novel, though happily ended; a good read, though not my favorite. It's about the navy, after all. ;)

On a happier note! our Bach Oratorio is coming along splendidly; we are actually starting to begin to almost sound like the recording!!! It's such an exuberant feeling!

Yes. Did I say I have papers I should be writing??? Well .... !

Hope you all have a wonderful day, and week, and if you don't hear from me again until next week ... be good, have fun (but not too much!), study hard, work hard, play hard, read lots, improve your minds, meddle not in the affairs of dragons, for you are crunchy and taste good with ketchup.

JASNA mania

Ooooh, that actually sounds cool. Good word, mania. Woody sort of word.

Anyway, bit of side-tracking semi-homework, semi-geekness, semi-writing, semi-nonsense: a webpage comparing the frequency of certain words in Jane Austen's novels and letters with those of her contemporaries.

http://www.jasna.org/persuasions/on-line/vol26no1/graves.htm

It's just one of those things you have to see and read and feel intellectual about.

:D

And back to saving the universe, one ... word ... at ... a ... time ...

Do you notice ... ?

... how I tend to post in spurts? silence ... NOISE! ... silence ... NOISE! ... silence ... in the library, at least.

Anyway, to give you a hint [at what, I'm not sure, but do not bother me with trifles] as to the nature of those words: they all are found in Eliot's "Four Quartets" which, if you haven't read, you ought. They are terribly pithy and profound and confusing and bewildering and a little maddening and absolutely fantastic.

Word[s] of the Week: 5th Week!

So, as I've not given you words for a good long while, here's THREE to make your day, AND, as an extra bonus, I'm going to let YOU look them up!

[read: too lazy, too brain dead, too much in the middle of the problem of allegorical personification of personality traits in Guillaume de Lorris' Romance of the Rose to get up out of my seat and rummage around in this book-filled building to find a dictionary. Don't worry, it sounds much easier than it really is.]

Terpsichorean

Haruspicate

Chthonic


Enjoy! And do let me know, because I'd love to find out what they really mean!!! Maybe someday ... *can someone hand me that dictionary please*

Jellicle Cats

Knowing me, you won't be surprised to hear, that I'm calooing and calaying all around the library. Yes, about a paper. Yes, about dead white guy poets. What you might be surprised to hear, is that it's a paper on Dante. And T. S. Eliot. And pyromania.

...

Actually, that's probably not very surprising, either. But anyway, I just wanted to say, it always amazes me how this:

Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.
What might have been is an abstraction
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Only in a world of speculation.
What might have been and what has been
Points to one end, which is always present.
Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden. My words echo
Thus, in your mind.

And this:

Growltiger was a Bravo Cat, who travelled on a barge:
In fact he was the roughest cat that ever roamed at large.
From Gravesend up to Oxford [yay!] he purused his evil aims,
Rejoicing in his title of 'The Terror of the Thames.'

[and for those of you who don't know, yes, the Thames does reach up all this way, with its long and bony fingers, and touches the tip of the city, so you really can go punting ... on the Thames ... in Oxford. Just usually not in the middle of November. Though I hear that April is a cruel month, too.]

... were written by one and the same individual.

Just wanted to share :D

Week 4, Michaelmas Term: Melted ...

... into a blissful nothingness, with little more than memory to stoke the dull ashes. But I am mixing metaphors, and with that, I'll leave you to it.

Yes, another week gone: and very little to show for it. The highlight was indeed an unexpected trip to the Ashmolean museum this afternoon, with a friend, where we discovered the special exhibit of the Pre-Raphaelite artists. As students, we were allowed free admittance, and there began a delightful three quarters of an hour where I, enraptured, chortled and cooed over the glorious images, while she wondered at my enthusiasm. The Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood actually came after the painter Raphael, in the 19th century, but their style/technique/concept of art was supposedly from before Raphael's influence. Some famous Pre-R artists include William Holman Hunt, Dante Gabriel Rosetti, John Everett Millais; you'll probably recognize some of their paintings better than their names, so take a mo and look them up! I particularly like Hunt's "Miranda and the Tempest" and "Lady of Shalott." Rosetti did a number of works of Dante and Beatrice. Millais has a beautiful painting of the Holy Family, as well as a really good portrait of John Henry Newman, interestingly enough. And, did you know, Edward Lear, the nonsense-poet, also dabbled in the fine arts? With quite some success, in my opinion! I was amazed at how much depth of expression the writer of

There was a Young Lady whose nose,
Was so long that it reached to her toes;
So she hired an Old Lady,
Whose conduct was steady,
To carry that wonderful nose.

could reach. Quite an enjoyable afternoon!

And now, for Emma, that incorrigible young woman; will she ever learn to truly think of others? Perhaps Mr. Knightley will be able to cure her of busybodiness. We shall see!

FYE#4

A quote from Gottfried von Strassburg's Tristan:

“One reads in the old Tale of Tristan that a swallow flew from Cornwall to Ireland and there took a lady’s hair with which to build its nest - I have no idea how the bird knew that the hair was there - and brought it back over the sea. Did ever a swallow nest at such inconvenience that, despite the abundance in its own country, it went ranging overseas into strange lands in search of nesting materials? I swear the tale grows fantastic, the story is talking nonsense here!"

All I want to know is if it were an African swallow or not ...

P.S. Mea Culpa

I have been put in my place. From One far more knowledgeable on the subject than myself, I have been informed of yet a third representation of "Mansfield Park," which, I must admit, does bear a close resemblance to the novel. I've only seen clips, but the 1983 version seems to do justice to Mary Crawford, Lady Bertram, Henry Crawford, and Edmund, although I am as yet unconvinced regarding Fanny. Perhaps I am merely partial to the 2007 version ... but the 80's style of dress and hair, and cinematography, can only pale in comparison to our double blessing and curse of modern technology.

Thus humbled, I leave it to you: which is your preferred version of the three? And yes, that means a week-long marathon of Mansfield Park. I give you Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday to read the novel (at 50-odd pages a day, that's a considerable amount), and then Friday, Saturday, and Sunday to see the three versions. Virtus tentamine gaudet! And see how many younger siblings (or scientifically-minded friends) you can bore into exhaustion with regency costume, "excessively diverting" language, and ten thousand a year?

*WARNING* : RANT

For loyal Jane Austen fans everywhere: BEWARE the TREACHERY of the 1999 version of "Mansfield Park."

Ok, that's a little extreme. Let's put it this way:

This week, I'm writing my paper on Jane Austen's novel "Mansfield Park." Having never before read the book (shocking, I know!) I was very much excited to spend some 3 or 4 hours doing so, and calling it "homework" only made the story all the more exciting! Anyway, reading it, as I did, with as intellectual and analytic an eye as I could, I formed a very solid idea in my head of the plot structure, themes, and especially of the characters. So it was with some hesitation, but an exceptionally strong curiosity, that I looked up the film on Youtube. The version I found first was the 2007 Masterpiece Theatre (which, by the way, I must add: I love MT, and have yet to be disappointed!) version with Billie Piper and James D'Arcy (not a prominent role, but fun to recognize nonetheless). It was EXCELLENT! I loved it! I was so happy to see such wonderful portrayals of all the characters! Of course, as a TV version, it could only go so far with plot, resulting in the cutting of a number of scenes, BUT NOT to the detriment of the overall piece. The characters were beautifully true to the story.

NOT SO for the 1999 version. Admittedly, Edmund is more the dashing young fellow in this version, and the scenery is to die for, but from the very start, from the very first scene Fanny is all wrong. After reading the book, you can hardly bring yourself to like the girl, for all her awkward, humiliating, humiliated, insipid, self-deprecating humbling awkwardness. She hardly speaks a word, has no wit or opinion or thought to speak of, crumbles and cries and quakes before the world - and yet, in spite of it all, she is gentleness itself; kind, patient, is not envious, is not puffed up. She is charity itself. And popular opinion is against her because of this: because she thinks only of others, because she is willing to be subservient and silent upon every reproach. Critics whine: why doesn't she stand up for herself? Where's her backbone, her individuality, her personality, her determination, her strength? What they don't understand is that her weakness is her strength. In her silence is her voice.

Not so our little 1999 heroine,the self-assured upstart snarky little bright young thing. In her first scene, she's making up stories to comfort her younger sister. From the incorrigible young age of nine, she's interested in the issue of slavery. For pete's sake, if you read the BOOK, she bawls the entire trip to Mansfield, the entire first week there, and then off and on during the next eight years. EIGHT YEARS of pining and whining. And feministic pouty little miss adventure-and-curiosity has the nerve to stare petulantly into the camera and tell us how bored she is. "Voracious" reading? WRITING? Quirky? Yes. Funny? Maybe. Accurate? Emphatically NOT.

[And, on that note, NO subtlety whatsoever. Which is the essence of Austen's writing and wit ... I wince and wince and wince at the portrayals of Mrs. Norris, Tom Bertram, Rushworth, etc. But that shall be another rant, another day.]

[Oh! and the seduction scene in the East Room? KOWTOWING to our modern day society who have no brains or wit enough to understand what's going on unless it is played out in detail in front of them, to the great perversion of characters ... Edmund? For example? SERIOUSLY? And Mary: CREEPY.]

Why portray her as Alice in Wonderland? Why portray her as Jo March? Why portray her as Jane Austen herself? Or even Lizzy Bennet? Why portray her as anything other than Fanny Price??? Let the other girls stick to their own stories! Fanny has enough people pushing her around and telling her how to behave; can't we give her a little room and let her BE HERSELF? Isn't that what modern society has been drumming into our heads these past, what, fifty years?

So, maybe I'm a purist. So, maybe I'm a perfectionist. So, maybe I'm reading too much into the story ... or staying up too late at night. Very probably yes. But while studying literature, it becomes all the more obvious and irksome when such great works are misrepresented; and it also becomes vitally important for these works and their characters to be well portrayed for the *sigh* dare I say it? Uncultured masses. Ok, that sounds snobbish. Let's say, the general population. Those who haven't read the books, but get dragged by the hair to see the films (or fall asleep in the middle of them on the family room couch). And for the not-so-general population as well, those who have read and enjoyed and can appreciate the books; are they not irritated ... even the slightest bit ... to see things shown in ways they are not meant to be? What about future generations,when books become extinct and stuffy old archeologists turn to ancient, worm-eaten fragments of VHS film for their information, holding the shreds up to the light to see images of strange people in bird feathers and large hair, ornate dresses (probably worn for complicated rain-dance or sacrifical rituals) and bizarre footear; and the discovery of a DVD player will win the Nobel Prize! Just think of how they will be able to see us all ... *sigh*

Ok, getting extreme again.

Anyway, READ THE BOOK. READ THE BOOK. READ THE BOOK.

Then use your God-given gifts of intelligence, reason, and free will - watch the films, and form your own opinions. [now that I have told you what to think, muwahahahahaha]

Until later!
Yours truly :)







And just sayin', Mary Crawford looks TERRIBLE. Lady Bertram WORSE. But Julia is BEAUTIFUL. MOLLY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

... if you haven't, READ and SEE and DELIGHT IN Mary Gaskell's "Wives and Daughters." Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful!

Olives and Cameras

No, I have not been taking photos of olives. That would show a higly disturbing lack of sleep, and a highly disturbing level of boredom (I'm such an easily-pleased and -entertained individual as to render this quite, quite .... well, nearly impossible). However, I did just spend the greater part of the afternoon in the Radcliffe Camera (the big round building generally mentally associated with the Bodleian - and no, I've no clue the why or wherefore of the "camera" part, but it's named after

IOHANNES RADCLIFFE M.D.
HUIUS BIBLIOTHECAE
FUNDATOR

as it is formidably inscribed upon the lofty wall)

Wow. That was a long parenthetical tangental digression.

Anyway, camera. Yes. And after discovering parallels between Jane Austen's life and the life of Mary Gaskell's fictional heroine Margaret Hale from North and South [READ if you have not, and then SEE and DELIGHT in, among other things, summer snow!] and that George Eliot [Middlemarch: READ and then SEE and DELIGHT in ... well, lots of stuff] considered 'art' the nearest thing to life [curious concept, but I love it!], and other such brilliant and probably wholly unuseful-outside-academics [my knowledge as I know it] facts ...

Anyway, yes. Point being, in this blissfully distracted state of mind, I was in the process of returning to the dorm when I passed by an olive stand. Anyone who has had the misfortune of passing through the condiments aisle, yours truly in tow, will assure you that the only hitherto successful method of ungluing my consciousness from that heavenly assortment of little glass jars is to pick one off the shelf,put it in the cart, and then walk away with the cart. Now, of course, I paused. The mad rush of shoppers were forced to swerve around me as I stood in the middle of the walkway and grinned. I grinned and grinned and grinned: I had MONEY in my POCKET, and there were OLIVES for SALE! And the olive man stuck one on a toothpick and held it out to me. I put it to you: how could I refuse? And so I skipped gleefully home with a box of fresh, oily, over-priced olives clutched in my hands. Somehow being over-priced means they must be perfection itself, right? Well, they were.

And now, after an excessively diverting blog post on OLIVES (notice how you can spell 'I loves'* with those letters :D) I am off to finish reading Mansfield Park, in the high hopes of completing it before dinner, so as to allow myself a few moments afterwards to youtube [notice the verbing!] the film. I watched the first few minutes, and then realized I should probably finish the book before seeing the film *sob* like with everything; but it's good motivation to read! ... not that Jane Austen ever needs a visual representation to complete or justify her existence! NEVER.





* as in "I loves 'em" ... though that would require an "em" somewhere in there. EMOLIVES? emo lives? OLIMVESE? like Inglese? a very golf fry ... gravy flo ... I dunno.

Week 3, Michaelmas Term: Flown Away!

This week is no more; it is gone to meet its Maker; it is an EX-WEEK!

And unfortunately, there's not much to say about the poor fellow. He lived a good, though much too short, life. He never made much of himself, but lived quietly at home, trying his best to be cheerful despite the general tension in the family due to the stress of work. And now that he is gone, the weirdly warm weather has left with him, and the great gusts of grey winds blow in to seize us all and chill us to the bone. He is no more! He quite exploded, actually; and it was about time he made up his mind to do it, too.

Good riddance!

Anyway, yes, much too much in a bizarre mood to have anything real to say, not that there is much real to say, anyway. I could write a book on how much I love the libraries, but I think we've just about killed that topic. It is an EX-TOPIC! even if it does continue to cry, "I'm not dead yet!" I think we've had about enough.

And now for something completely different.

Along the edge of wilderness of green and gold and brown
The running water flows, and ceaselessly
The steady stream of trickling ripples down
To meet a paragon of pathways, meet
And cross and overlap where no one sees
The point. An ideal point, so cautiously
Removed from view; the running stream forbids
That glance, that apprehensive look so neatly
Cast upon the sacred apex, yet hid,
I alone, among the leaves, encouraged
By the chilling breath of dismal doubt
And fear, I leapt to great conclusions, seized
The day, and ran to find if I alone
Were able, among the rest, to stand above
And look below on windswept fields
Of empty green, and others full of golden sands,
Where no man had dared explore before.
I alone. I stood, I looked, I wept to see
The emptiness; and no one knew.
I wept, and would have cast my eyes
Upon some lesser good, some lighter fate,
I’d change the beauty for a calmer glory,
But another song swept past my ear
Encouraged me to look another way and seek
A different view; could I not meet
The paragon of pathways, meet and glance
Along the point of ideal truth and see
The running waters flow and trickle down
The ceaseless stream, the landscape
Of unapproachable dreams?


A bit of something I threw together during one of my more distracted moments. It flowed very easily, which was pleasant, but I'm really not sure what it means. (And NO, it wasn't even a sugar high! I think it was more just a general unwinding ... and a little lack of sleep ... !) But enjoy anyway!

Hopefully next week will bring with him some more exciting adventural presents; I'm afraid the last poor fellow was caught unawares and dragged away before he could even consider leaving me anything. I've become such a spoiled child :)

Autumn in Oxford

Today some friends and I took a walk around the University parks; what a glorious day! Although the air was brisk, the sun was shining and warm, and the leaves were beautiful. Enjoy the photos!

The quad here is Keble College; we popped our heads in through the door. Very nice quad! Beautiful old brick.

The ducks were hilarious. This couple had bread, and the birds WANTED IT! They flocked around, squawking and honking and flapping and chasing each other; they even came up to us, looking at us expectantly, demanding a snack. We didn't have anything with us, so the birds stomped away, all huffy and cranky. Highly entertaining. :)

Week 2, Michaelmas Term: DISPARU!

She's murdering Time! Off with her head!

Well, what can I do? He's such an impertinent fellow; he keeps playing games with me. We run round and round in circles, one week after another, like squirrels scampering up and around a tree, higher and higher and higher ... not realizing how far we've gone, I keep following, trying to run all the faster! And then KABOOM! It all goes up in smoke; the tree and squirrels disappear, and there stands old Time, shown to be who he truly is: old, grumpy, impatient, and unwilling to budge for even a moment. I'm coming, I'm coming! I tell him, but he only pushes me all the harder forwards and forwards, faster and faster and faster and faster and AUGH! My paper is due! - you know how that goes!

Anyway, another week blasted into the past; onwards and upwards! I can't believe I've only posted twice this week; is that normal? That seems rather infrequently, though I haven't really been paying attention. Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin' into the future ... and yes, no worries, that's the only line I know.

Hope all is well with y'all; I'm going to try to go 'round the city tomorrow and take some more pix to liven up this little brown slab of cyberspace wallspace. Anything anybody wants to see particularly? Let me know, I'll try to be obliging!

Rain

Today, it RAINED. A good, strong, proper British rain. Only sad point: I didn't have my wellies on :( Next time!

Now, guys, we have just a few minutes for Flattery 101. Learn from the best!

« Since my lady of Champagne / Wishes me to begin a romance, / I shall do so most willingly, / As one who is entirely at her service / I anything he can undertake in this world. / I say this without any flattery, / Though another might begin his story / With the desire to flatter her. / He might say (and I would agree) / That she is the lady who surpasses / All women who are alive, / Just as the foehn which blows in May or April, / Surpasses the other winds. / Certainly I am not one / Intent upon flattering his lady; / Will I say: ‘as the polished diamond / Eclipses the pearl and the sard, / The countess eclipses queens’? / Indeed not; I’ll say nothing of the sort / Though it be true in spite of me. / I will say, however, that her command / Has more importance in this work / Than any thought or effort I might put into it.”

- Chretien de Troyes. Command of words. It's a beautiful thing.

Oxford: Inspector Lewis ... and Hathaway :)

Ok, so, those of you who have seen the PBS Masterpiece series "Inspector Lewis" or even have heard of it will imagine my "wait, what?" moment of astonishment, surprise, and a little wimsical glee when Hathaway passed me in the street this morning. At least, it looked awfully a lot like him, and he had a handful of serious-looking persons about, with a policeman or two thrown in for good measure. I was on my way to the Eng Fac at an ungodly hour (considering it is Sat) and I was walking down Broad Street, almost to Blackwells, when I glanced up (only tourists stare about and look at things in Oxford; those who know keep their eyes glued to the pavement)to see this group of people pass by, with this really tall blonde guy in the centre, talking on his cell phone. (I thought it a bit too creepy to post a picture here, but for those of your curious enough, little grey cells + google does wonders). He didn't see me *sob* and I was too polite (or just too out of it, take your pick) to stop them and interrupt and be all touristy and ask for an autograph or something, so I just kept walking. I was even too out of it to notice if Lewis was there too ... but oh well. Probably my closest brush with claim-to-fame ever, but it was cool :)

Anyway, back to Sense and Sensibility; To be sensible or not to be sensible, that is the question! ... and "sensible" had an entirely different, nearly opposite meaning, in Austen's time, so choose wisely!

Week 1, Michaelmas Term: GONE

WOOSH. The sound of my life flying by!

Just got out of my Courtly Romances seminar. It was really fun; the professor loved my paper, which definitely makes my week. It also makes all the work worth it! All those long, dreary hours by myself, huddled over some moth-eaten collection of crunchy, flattened trees ... but I think I used this metaphor already.

Anyway! So, next week: Sense and Sensibility, and The Knight of the Cart. I'm looking forward to both :)

Can you believe a whole week has gone by since last Friday? Completely impossible. Of the eight weeks in an Oxford term, I have completed an entire week! One-eighth of the term is GONE! Never to occur again! So sad. And I'm already receiving pre-registration email from back home! Can you believe it?

Anyway, off to read, and write, and read some more :D Caloo, calay! I chortle.

Yay for Catherine!

Okay, okay, so, I'm not the one for whom we are cheering ... exclusively.

Pretty much this entire week I have spent my time chained to a desk, huddled over some ancient book or other, with stiff, cracking pages and a moth-eaten binding, in order to produce an amazing little piece of literary criticism, if I do say so myself. Thank you, thank you ... autographs after the photographs, if you don't mind. The atmosphere in which these decrepit volumes reside is not only condusive to such work, but also fascinating in and of itself.

Item one: The Bod. Where they have so many books, they don't know what to do with them, so they hoard them away in deep, dark cellars somewhere, only to emerge when requested by some geeky student who absolutely must have such-and-such a volume in order to complete his masterpiece of a thesis. Or term paper. Or tutorial paper. *ahem* Upstairs, in the airy but slightly dizzying halls of the Upper and Lower reading rooms, books line the shelves which line the walls, sandwiching in between an assortment of readers, busily pouring over [that is not the correct term. Is it "poring"?] this assorment of books.

Item two: the Eng Fac. Tucked away down a shady sort of longish roundabout crazily curved length of road, this library holds some thousand works on and by Jane Austen. Ok, maybe a bit of a hyperbole there .... and it's not a hyper-bowl, like the super bowl; but you can see for yourself in this very funny link I found on a friend's blog (Julie, I don't know if you're reading this, but if you are: I love your Corner!)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nIvrDsnKuQ8&feature=player_embedded

Item three: The Taylorian. Humbly hidden behind the imposing Ashmolean (which, is quite the experience itself ... but we'll save that one for a rainy day), the Taylorian houses a large collection of linguistic works and volumes in other languages. Like the Bod, Taylor also keeps its books tucked away in the recesses of its domain, yet unlike the Bod, these recesses are accessible to the common man. And if anyone wants a year-long game of hide-and-seek, this is the ultimate location.


But as for Catherine. With regards to me, I wrote and presented my very first paper of the term, and am now very excited. With regards to the paper, it was on Catherine Morland, heroine of the supposedly anti-gothic novel "Northanger Abbey." However, as I proved - or attempted to prove - in my essay, the novel is not really anti-gothic, or even satirically gothic, but rather satirically conventional. It's a long story. But it was fun. Do read the novel if you haven't! Catherine is a sensible sort, once you get to know her ;)

Light

I'm not sure where this came from; the first half I've had for a while and just needed something to close it off. I think Christina Rosetti did something similar, but I can't remember what it's called.

Enjoy :)

From the rising of the river to the setting of the sea
There is light within the window; there is light within the tree
There is light which pours upon the ground and soaks into the earth;
There is light surrounding meadows and a dance of gleeful mirth.

From the rising of the river to the setting of the sea
All the colors of the rainbow spread their garments out for thee
And the wind that shakes the barley and the heather and the rye
Cannot brush away the sunshine that comes tickling my eye.

But what is light? And what is mirth? And what’s this joy of life?
Is it beauty? Is it goodness? Or the end of painful strife?
Is it music of the heartbeat trembling through the winter air?
Is it softly smiling faces out when no one else is there?

From the rising of the river to the setting of the sea
The truth and wisdom of the years come rushing up to me
And in the midst of deep, dank darkness of a world as hard as coal
There is light and love and cheeriness which permeate my soul.

Pix! Again!

The blog is starting to lose its colour, so I'll treat you to some cool shots (and yes, I seem to be using the word "cool" a lot today, not sure why; sorry) from Blenheim. There were a lot of roses. Yay! Colour! (don't you love creative spelling?)NOW I'm going to go write my paper.

Big Grin

I feel like such a scholar. I went and studied in the Bodleian today. *grin* *excited wave of hands* *little head dance thing* I've no idea what happened this morning; I can't for the life of me remember. I expect there was some sort of breakfast, and making of the bed, and maybe some studying? but it seems so long ago.

Very weird.

But after lunch I headed off to the English Faculty (in American, "department") library, where I found, much to my inner geek's ecstatic delight, "The Romance of the Forest," by Ann Radcliffe. This book, along with many others, such as Radcliffe's "Mysteries of Udolpho" form the core of classic gothic romance novels, which Jane Austen tends to mock/satirize/mimic in her own works. She also makes reference to them, particularly in "Northanger Abbey" - her novel I am writing on right now! "Romance of the Forest" is mentioned in "Emma;" remember, when Emma asks Harriet if Mr. Martin has yet taken her advice and read it ... ? *awkward moment for Harriet*! But it all turns out well in the end, everyone lives happily ever after, Emma has much more important things to think about than Mr. Martin ... ! *I heart Mr. Knightley!* Just had to get that in there. Anyway, so a bit of cool background historical literary stuff.

Then, after the Eng Fac, I made my way to the Bod. I love the Bod. Just sayin'. It's a big, imposing building with Latin scrawled across its doorways and creaky old staircases, FILLED with books. Old books, new books, weird books, blue books. And everyone in there seems so intellectual and scholarly. I felt quite small and ignorant without any huge round glasses perched precariously on my nose, or without a leaning tower of books slipping off my desk, or without my matching bowtie and fountain pen set.

I dont have a bowtie. But bowties are cool.

But I did have cool books to read, and fun papers to write, and a nice sort of freshman feeling of "I belong!" even when you really don't ... ? Y'all know what I mean. It's cool.

But I did find a cool book by Marie de France, known for her Lais and courtly romances and French poetry and stuff; she's written this really kind of strange, kind of funny, kind of neat poem (in french) called "St. Patrick's Purgatory," and the story goes that God showed St. Patrick a secret passage to Purgatory - something inbetween Dante's dark wood and the corner rooms in "Clue" ... never mind - and there are people guarding the entrance, and a knight named Owen eventually goes down there and has to resist the temptation of ten different temptations ... which is sort of strange because it's like the devils are tempting him to be punished ... ? I'm not sure, I was sort of just paging through it, I wasn't supposed to be reading it! but in the end, of course he prevails with grace and wins and comes home and lives to tell the tale. So that was neat; what I didn't understand was the connection between Marie de France (who, incidentally, is called that because she comes from France but actually spent time at Henry II and Eleanor's court in England, FYI) and St. Patrick. Or Ireland. Or Purgatory. But it was cool!

Now: making the connection between Jane Austen and the gothic style. I have 12 pages of notes for a 6-8 page paper. MAYBE I should start cutting things down a little ... !

It's only just begun ...

Today, I spent all day in the library. That is, libraries. It was amazing. :D

I got up early to spend some time in St. Peter's library, which is open 24/7 - the bookworm's proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy. When the other libraries started opening up, I headed over to the Taylorian, located right next door to the Ashmolean museum. The Taylorian holds a lot of books on linguistics and languages, including French medieval poetry. I spent some three hours pouring over the amazing Middle French texts of Marie de France's Lais and other such medieval courtly romances. I knew there was a reason for memorizing the future subjunctive!!!! YAY!

Now here's something from "La Chatelaine de Vergy," and it's about this knight, and a lady, and they fall in love ... you know the story. But anyway, the knight is sad, because he's betrayed his one true love - well, it was sort of accidental, and sort of forced, but it was betrayal in the end - and he's all upset because he is in the middle of a dilemma and has to make a choice between two situations - ideally, he'll pick the lesser of two weevils ... but that's another story.

Et tandis qu'il est plonge dans ces pensees,
ne sachant quel parti est le meilleur,
l'eau du coeur lui monte aux yeux,
a cause de l'angoisse qui l'etreint,
et coule sur son visage,
qui en est mouille.

Eh, ok, sorry about the painful grammar; it's all correct letter-wise, but the accents are missing ... and YES, there is a reason to accents, and this is it.

But anyway, essentially, he's crying, but the phrase "l'eau du coeur," water from the heart, which wells up in his eyes and tumbles down his face, was just so beautiful, I had to share :)

Aaaanyway, notes to type, the world to save, and Guilder to frame for it ... SWAMPED.

Talk soon! :)

MY LIFE is BACK!

... well, for all of fourteen hours. But it's gonna be a good fourteen hours. *nods head* uh-huh! Exams DONE! And now I am going to run around the block screaming "caloo, calay!" at all the tourists in the pouring rain ... or is it running in the pouring rain? or screaming ... ? anyway, gonna do it, then eat dinner, then probably spend the rest of the evening doing nothing whatsoever. It's gonna be BRILLIANT!

:D

Out of the Mouths of Geniuses

And now for a little wisdom from the omniscient Dictator-for-Life Calvin, stuck as a misunderstood genius in a first-grade world.

Fine print: These quotes have no bearing on my present mental or psychological state of being. Really. And they should have no bearing on your mental or psychological state, either. However, were you to read, comprehend, understand, and/or draw parallels between your personal and/or academic and/or work and/or social life and these quotes (see below) the following side effects may and probably will occur: laughing, LOLing, ROTFLing, chuckles, giggles, grins, rolling of the eyes, shaking of the head, slapping of the forehead, frantic emails to me, frantic emails from me, distraction from daily duties - including momentary, temporary, and permanent distractions - immediate urge to contact and share quotes with others, immediate urge to look up quotes, immediate urge to look up new quotes and/or share with others, random quoting of C&H - lasting anywhere from September to March - and the very possible irritation of others around you. Please consider your environment and spread as much C&H as possible.

Enjoy. I do.

*
"I'm just very selective about the reality I choose to accept." -- Calvin
*
"I have plenty of common sense, I just choose to ignore it." -- Calvin
*
"Sometimes I think the surest sign that intelligent life exists elsewhere in
the universe is that none of it has tried to contact us." -- Calvin
*
The purpose of writing is to inflate weak ideas, obscure pure reasoning, and
inhibit clarity. With a little practice, writing can be an intimidating and
impenetrable fog!" -- Calvin
*
"The only skills I have the patience to learn are those that have no real
application in life." -- Calvin
*
"Why waste time learning, when ignorance is instantaneous?" -- Calvin
*
"Is it a right to remain ignorant?" -- Calvin
*
"Weekends don't count unless you spend them doing something completely
pointless." -- Calvin
*
"Thank you. before I begin, I'd like everyone to notice that my report is in
a professional, clear plastic binder...When a report looks this good, you know
it'll get an A. That's a tip kids. Write it down." -- Calvin
*
Calvin : "I think we have got enough information now, don't you?"
Hobbes : "All we have is one 'fact' that you made up."
Calvin : "That's plenty. By the time we add an introduction, a few
illustrations and a conclusion, it'll look like a graduate thesis."
*
"There's never enough time to do all the nothing you want." -- Calvin

Never Steal a Book

A bit of wisdom, courtesy a professor, courtesy some dead medieval guy with a bit of a personal vendetta.

He who steals thys boke,
May he dye the deth,
May he be frizzled in a pan...

Not sure the significance of frizzling, or even if there were any pans large enough to hold an individual during the Middle Ages, but I'm pretty sure the message is clear. Crystal.

No touchee. MY BOOK!

Word of the Week! #3

There is no spoon! ... just sayin'.

ONTOLOGICAL

- pertaining to the "philosopical study" of existence, the state of being, definition and meaning of reality, metaphysics. Thank you, Wikipedia, for throwing into my life yet another undefinable definition for some undefinable entity. Try using THAT word iin your everyday conversation ... or listening to people who do!

That Infernal Man!

How can anyone dislike Dante, particularly D.L.S.' translation of Dante, when there is this much FUN in it???

"As one who wills, and then unwills his will,
Changing his mind with every changing whim,
Till all his best intentions come to nil,

So I stood havering in that moorland dim,
While through fond rifts of fancy oozed away
The first quick zest that filled me to the brim."

LOL. Just do it!

Pineapple-Flavoured Bubblegum

Yesterday, it rained. A good, strong, melancholic British rain. Today, the sun burst up like a bubble of pineapple-flavoured gum and seems to have gotten stuck all over my window. I suppose the man in the moon will have to come and clean it off tonight, but for now, it's stuck for GOOD.

Today we have our last lecture of our integral course, something on the Middle Ages and the Church and Heresy. That should be interesting ...

And agenda for the weekend: Study, Sleep, Study, repeat. We have our integral exam a week from today, and I'm gonna ace it if it kills me! *cross fingers!*

After that, it's Dante, Austen, and Romance. Of the Rose. Y'know, the medieval kind ...

AND induction into the all-exclusive, uber elite club of the century: the BODLEIAN.

*geeky moment*

Silence in the Library!

Blenheim Palace

Yesterday afternoon, a few of us decided to take our own mini field trip to Blenheim Palace, home of the 11th Duke and Duchess of Marlborough and birthplace of England's most famous prime minister: Sir Winston Leonard Spencer-Churchill.

You can read about his life in detail, whether online or in a book, but here are a few facts:

Churchill was born 30 November 1874, two months prematurely. He graduated from Sandhurst after failing his exams not once, not twice, but three times ... ! He served in Bombay and India, then during the First World War as First Lord of the Admiralty. He served two terms as Prime Minister, painted (very well!) as a hobby, smoked Havana cigars, was made an honorary Citizen of the United States, and was related to Diana, Princess of Wales (nee Spencer).

Unfortunately for us, we were unable to photograph the inside of the palace, but if you visit the website, you should be able to find some pictures:

http://www.blenheimpalace.com/

We were, however, able to visit and photograph the extensive gardens, to our great content! The estate is over 1200 acres, containing many gardens, fountains, wooded areas, a hedge maze, rose gardens, and a butterfly house! Here are some fun shots of these areas. Enjoy!

The Blog

To all my dear readers:

Many, many thanks for reading! To my great astonishment, my blogger stats page shows over 1,000 page hits since the end of August! I am amazed; I had begun this blog as a convenient way of keeping a handful of family and friends up-to-date with my adventures, and it seems that it's reached a lot more people than expected! A fabulous and frightening proof of the incredible powers of the internet!

... unless all the hits were from one person, a thousand times over ... hmmm, highly suspicious.

Anyway, updates soon!

Word of the Week! #2

APHAERESIS

1) leaving off the beginning of a word, used often by poets and hillbillies
- example: 'coon for racoon, 'nuf for enough, 'gain for again, 'mongst for amongst

2) extracting part of the blood from a sample and using it for something and putting the rest back in. Not sure what that's used for, but probably good to know.

FYI!

Windsor!

Today, we had our last - but most emphatically not least - field trip: Windsor Castle. The entire trip was absoulutely fabulous; the castle, home to Her Majesty the Queen, was beautiful, inside and out; unfortunately, for privacy reasons, we were not allowed to take photos of the inside, so I'm afraid you'll have to make do with googling them, if there are any! However, I don't think I missed a single angle from outside; here's a couple, so enjoy!

The gardens were beautiful, even this late in the season; the guards amused us with their stoicism. Inside, we saw the most detail-oriented dollhouse I have ever seen, enough to make even Playmobil grow green with envy (if ever possible!).

The St. George cathedral, located within the castle walls, presented another fine specimen of medieval architecture.

Having completed the tour, we all broke for lunch and then went along our merry ways to explore the town itself. A friend and I took a journey down the river Thames - not by boat, but along the shore - to gaze upon the fowl there. Did you know: all the swans in England are owned by the Queen?

After deliberating over ice cream, not once, not twice, but three times (and coming away empty-handed each time), we took ourselves off down High Street (NB: it seems that every largish town in England boasts a High (i.e. "Main") Street, a Queen Street, a Market Street, and a St.-Somebody-or-Other Street, or some combination thereof) towards Eton College (no worries, to those concerned that we were depriving ourselves of edible enjoyment. We eventually settled quite contentedly for tea and scones).

Ah, Eton. This prestigious "college" is not an American idea of "college," or even an Oxford idea of "college," but rather a French idea of "college," or high-school. We were curious to see Eton, maybe some ancient architecture, maybe a rugby game in a faraway field ... did someone say culture shock? We paused our walk momentarily to step into a nick-nack shop, only to be confronted by half-a-dozen teenage boys in tails. Coattails. Vest, tie, collars, trousers, and coattails. Immensely impressed, we quickly ducked out to continue our promenade ... and soon found the entire area swarming with uniformly-clad peers (not the noble kind, the social equal; though I daresay enough of their percentage would have been aristocratic enough for the term to be so used). After discovering that the college buildings were none of them open to satisfy public curiosity, we sauntered back up the hill towards the castle, where we eventually found a little tea shop and sat down to rest our feet.

I would have taken pictures of the uniform, had I not felt that would have been slightly inconsiderate and disconcerting to the young gentlemen. You can probably google up some images of "Eton uniform" and see for yourselves ... FYI, some notable Old Etonians include George Orwell, Bertie Wooster, Ian Fleming, James Bond, Hugh Laurie, Lord Sebastian Flyte, Bear Grylls, Captain James Hook, Captain Arthur Hastings, Lord Peter Wimsey - not to mention the royal princes William and Harry.

After tea, we made our way back to the bus, for an hour-long trip home of eavesdropping on fellow students discussing health care and the second amendment. I could only think to myself what a pain it would be to have to wear an Eton collar, all day long ...