Wildness and Wet....

This morning four intrepid souls from Crick Road House adventured their way to Port Meadow to see the sunrise. Kate, Nick, Jay, and I woke up at 5:30, stumbled our way to the kitchen for coffee, and set out in the dark to see the sun rise over the fields, leaving the others blissfully asleep and blissfully unaware of the mad adventures they were missing. It was gloriously dripping, muddy, marshy, wild, and - when the sun came out - all glittering. We came home three hours later with soaking feet, covered in mud, flushed, and exuberant.

This poem, by Gerard Manley Hopkins, could not more perfectly describe this morning (especially the last stanza):

Inversnaid

THIS darksome burn, horseback brown,

His rollrock highroad roaring down,

In coop and in comb the fleece of his foam

Flutes and low to the lake falls home.

A windpuff-bonnet of fawn-froth

Turns and twindles over the broth

Of a pool so pitchblack, fell-frowning,

It rounds and rounds Despair to drowning.

Degged with dew, dappled with dew,

Are the groins of the braes that the brook tread through,

Wiry heathpacks, flitches of fern,

And the beadbonny ash that sits over the burn.

What would the world be, once bereft

Of wet and wildness? Let them be left,

O let them be left, wildness and wet;

Long live the weeds and the wilderness yet.

O let them be left, wildness and wet;

Long live the weeds and the wilderness yet.

Ireland: Bringing the magic.

Can I just say: WOW.

We - Emily, Alison, and I - got there at 9:00 Friday morning, hit up an ATM and some coffee and breakfast, and an hour later as we walked down the middle of O'Connell Street, I said, "Guys, it may be too soon to say this, but I think Ireland is my favorite place in the world."

And Alison said, "I think an hour is way too soon to know that."

And I said, "No, because sometimes you just know. Like when you meet the right man and he just brings the magic. Dublin brings the magic."

She laughed at me then. But I was right. We had one of the best four-day weekends of the decade. I of course cannot do it justice in a blog post. But I'll do my best to paint a picture of it.

We stayed in The Shining hostel. Scary, right? Who would want to stay in a place called The Shining? I guess we're on a different continent from Colorado, so it's okay. Our room had five bunk beds, hot pink walls and flowery curtains. Roommates came and went but they were all nice and most of them went to bed early. I should mention: We never went to bed later than 10:00. BAM. It was awesome.

Bucket List: Stay in a hostel. Check.

When we got there Friday we found out we couldn't check into the hostel for four hours, so we pulled out Matt Brown's email/Marauder's Map and consulted it for something to do. We also asked the hostel lady. She said do Wicklow. He said do Glendalough. They were similar only his idea was better. So we did Glendalough.

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Day 1: Glendalough. The ruins of an old old old monastery up around two lakes nestled in the highlands south of Dublin. One of the most breath-takingly, indescribably beautiful places I have ever seen. *cue Sigur Ros song: maybe "Glosoli"* It was freezing, too, which just added to the lack of breath. I could hardly even talk, it was so gorgeous. I'll post pictures soon (probably mostly on Facebook). Dad, I couldn't stop thinking of you and wishing with every particle of my being that I could share those moments with you. You and the mountains are meant to be together. And I wanna be in the middle of that somewhere, too. Maybe....just maybe.....we'll go back some day. Who knows. :)

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Day 2: We did Dublin.

-Art Museum

-Trinity College

-Book of Kells: elaborately decorated gospels copied around 800 AD by Celtic monks

-Writers' District

-Some award-winning Yeats exhibit we stumbled upon. Fantastic - got me all into Yeats all over again.

-Dublin Castle

-Christ Church Cathedral

-St. Patrick's Cathedral

-The Temple Bar (didn't stay very long -- it was already NUTS at 5:30 pm - those Irish KNOW how to party)

-Grafton Street: muuuusaaaak! It's in a scene in Once and Damien Rice got his start there, apparently. It's a commercial street -- shops everywhere, musicians and street performers on the corners. Like Cornmarket here in Oxford only way better.

I [heart] Dublin.

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Day 3: This day we wanted to see some other random place in Ireland that would be different from Dublin. I kind of wanted to see Belfast because C.S. Lewis grew up there. But the lady at the Tourist Info place -- well, first let me just tell you about them.

[Aside about people] We stumbled upon this place within the first ten minutes of being dropped in city center on Friday morning. It was right next to the ATM we were directed to. Can anyone say: Divine guidance? :) A note about Irish people (at least the ones we met): They are incredibly friendly. It was a big change from Oxford. I'm sorry but the British don't like confronting or being confronted by strangers. Irish people, they seem to love it. We couldn't stand on a street corner for more than three minutes before someone came up and said, "Where are you trying to get yourselves to?" So the people at the Tourist Info Center loved us ("Bless me, three Oxford scholars??!?") and helped us so much. And gave Alison way more pamphlets than she knew what to do with. (I think she ended up with at least three pamphlets in French for the Book of Kells.)

Back to Day 3. The Tourist Info Lady told us if it were her, she would go to Kilkenny: quaint, quiet, snug, with castles. We thought it sounded perfect. So we took the bus for two hours to Kilkenny which is south-west of Dublin. The night before it had snowed so the bus drive was past fields and villages under a sleepy blanket of snow (also, it was Sunday morning, so everything was hushed). Beautiful. Kilkenny was just small enough to explore all day and be done with a cup of hot chocolate by 5:00 to head back to Dublin. Lovely.

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Day 4: Coastal villages around Dublin. Namely, Howth, Dalkey, Killiney, and Bray.

Howth was probably my favorite but that might be because we spent the most time there and had the most energy because that's where we started. I mean, think "Ireland" and Howth was it. Those movies you see where they're walking on a grassy path along a cliff overlooking the sea? Yeah, that's Howth. We climbed straight through the middle of town to the Summit (two or three miles? -- it felt like a freaking marathon). I think I took a million pictures. It was incredible. We also saw seals. You can ask Alison about that. It was probably the highlight of her LIFE.

Dalkey. We basically got off the train, walked through town, decided not to pay to see the castle, perused a few bookshops (because Emily was trying to find a copy of some William Blake book) and got back on the train. I feel like I should go back and do it justice one day.

Killiney. Two words: Bono's house. ;-) Yes, it was there. And I can see why. One of the most beautiful views in the entire universe, I'm pretty sure. Killiney is basically one really steep hill. Honestly, by the end of the day, between Howth, Killiney, and Bray, we had basically climbed three mountains. So in Killiney, we ran out onto the beach and skipped pebbles into the waves and then finally got up the guts to wind our way through the EXTREMELY RITZY neighbourhoods to the park on top of the hill. (And when I say "hill" think, like . . . Mount Everest.) That's where we saw Bono's house. We weren't sure which one was his at the time, so we just took pictures of all of them. His was under a tarp. I guess he's renovating.

Top of the Hill: Killiney Hill park. The park in Once where she tells him she loves him. Oh yeah.

Bray: We were so exhausted by this point (our food consisted mostly of carbs and chocolate so you can imagine how my blood sugar was not sustaining itself) that we didn't do much more than walk through town to a coffee shop. But Bray is beautiful. It has another giant hill.

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Then we headed back to Dublin and to the airport and arrived back at home-sweet-Oxford at 4:00 am this morning. Today I finished three analysis paragraphs, went to a tutorial with Josh, and cooked dinner for my food group. And it was all totally okay because Ireland is still a refreshing breeze in the back of my mind. Also, it's just good to be home again.

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Random other things we saw/did/experienced:

-Most of our meals were baguettes, cheese, and Nutella. So cheap. So NOT nutritious.

-There was almost no point in this whole trip that I wasn't cold. I seriously could not get warm. It was kind of dreadful. It's much windier on the east coast of Ireland than it is in the south/middle of England. Just sayin'.

-Let's just say we didn't shower much. I shouldn't even include that fact in this blog. Hunt won't let it go.

-I bought Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief in Dublin for four euros. Yes, I did. And I read it out loud to Alison and Emily when we waited for buses. And then they got hooked and we all three finished it before the trip was out. Now I have to locate the sequel. It's funny, I read the American version of Harry Potter and the British version of Percy Jackson. It's like I'm confused or something. (And, yes, there are differences in the two versions. Minor, but funny. Like when Percy was wearing a knitted tank-top. Wha--?)

-I thought about Sarah more constantly than I thought it was possible to think of one human being.

Wow, that was a novel. James Joyce would be proud. (Only probably not.)

Go to Ireland some day. :)

[Music - Lisa Hannigan; 'cause she got her start in Dublin, too!]

Out the door....

...for Ireland!!!!

Be back Tuesday!!

Fifth-Week Blues

[Music - Ryan Adams, Heartbreaker]

There's this thing in Oxford called the "fifth week blues." You can probably guess what that means. After fives weeks of research, libraries, lectures, papers, critiques, tutorials, grades, criticism, battering -- well, who wouldn't be a little tuckered out? A little despondent? Fifth week is the low point, apparently: the point during term when you suddenly realize you are rather exhausted but there are still three weeks (and five papers) left.

It's fifth week.

I'm finding the fifth week blues to be manifested in my life as missing home more. I've always missed the people at home. But this is just straight-up missing the familiarity of Americanisms. On the bus ride back from London on Tuesday, as we passed tall, narrow, stacked chimneyed-house after tall, narrow, stacked chimneyed-house, I felt like yelling, "I'M SICK OF ALL THESE TALL, NARROW, STACKED CHIMNEYED-HOUSES THAT ALL LOOK ALIKE!!!!!!" Give me a good southern wrap-around porch or I might die. I feel like I've had enough Tudor architecture to last me a lifetime.

I think it's just one of those weeks. We're tired, a bit downtrodden, and we all went to a mandatory lecture yesterday on applying to grad school after which even the boys were ready to cry and most of us were like, "Awesome. Thanks for making me feel like the rest of my life is going to suck no matter what."

Also, today the weather is just miserable. (Bear with me: I promise this whole post won't be depressing. :)) I was grumpy and slightly despondent this morning as I wrapped a scarf around my head and prepared to brave the heavy dark drizzle. I cut through the University Park to get to the English Faculty Library and the paths were a muddle of mud puddles (haha - "muddle" is like mud and puddle mixed together). It was one of those [Rosa from Sabrina's Spanish accent]: "Why God? Why I am here??" moments.

And then I looked up and realized that the soggy fields of the University Park were covered with flower buds. Fresh, beautiful, delicate flower buds. Each with sparkling drops of rain clinging on.

It was one of those most beautiful moments -- a breath caught in the chest, a bending down to touch, a soft petal on the cheek.

"It's God shining through to me, I guess."

I picked one and put it in my pocket. When I reached in two hours later and rediscovered it, it had bloomed. In my pocket!

::jaw drops::

Emma Plaskitt, my C.S. Lewis in Context tutor, told us to just get out of town and shake off the blues. She's really glad we're going to Ireland. Y'all. She is the most amazing woman. Kate, Emily, and I want to be her when we grow up. I only meet with her every other week because it's my secondary tutorial, but I look forward to those meetings so much!! It's fantastic. Everything we talk about is fascinating and exciting to both of us. Also, she really likes my writing. That's always nice. And this week was a secondary tutorial week which means I got to meet with Emma.

On a fairly disconnected-from-anything note: Here are a few pictures Kate took of the snow that day the weather was being "freaking confused." :) This was right after the sun had been shining on her picnic lunch.

(Playing in the backyard!)

(Mia, Me, and Nick -- they were all laughing at how much snow had accumulated on my hair)

So I guess my point is: Even though it's definitely been "one of those weeks," I can say nothing better than to point out that Ash Wednesday was right in the middle of it. A group of us walked down to Magdalen College for their Ash Wednesday Communion service and it was beautiful. Reminders that "From dust you were formed and to dust you shall return." But that's not the end.

This week: An exercise in JOY. :)

This Weekend....

WE ARE GOING TO DUBLIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Right now, in an effort to get all my work done before we fly out, I have to go write a paragraph each on three "gobbets" for Shakespeare. Isn't that a funny word? They're selected texts taken from Macbeth that I have to analyze, basically.

So I'm writing a paragraph of dense analysis on three monologues from Macbeth: "Glamis thou art...", "Is this a dagger...", and "To be thus is nothing...". Here's Josh's assignment:

"You should come up with a paragraph of commentary for each. The point with these is to set the passages as concisely as possible in their dramatic and literary context. What is important about these lines? What themes and images from the rest of the work do they contribute to? Why are these moments important to our impressions of the characters? Be careful to avoid restating what goes on in the passage, but comment on its place in the work as a whole. It is a difficult exercise because it requires deciding what is MOST important to say about the gobbet and play as a whole."

But it is OKAY because FRIDAY WE'RE GOING TO DUBLIN. (That's my new mantra.) And my last tutorial with Josh was actually reeeeeally good. I even got a "This is almost exactly what I was looking for" assessment of my paper. And as I was walking to the tutorial, talking to myself (you know, pep talk), I realized that the whole reason I came here was to be challenged. And this is exactly what that looks like. My academic writing is getting so much better already.

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This week Elea Geerlings, Lara Berger, Will Lutz, and Matthew Pillsbury came to our side of the channel (they're spending the term in France) and visited us in Oxford! We gave them the tour and spent the evening chatting and getting all our gab out about Covenant because we finally could do it without feeling guilty. :) Then yesterday Hutton, Kate, and I went with them to London and spent the day hanging out and showing them the sights. And last night, we crashed at the house they're staying in and watched When Harry Met Sally (which I LOVED).

There is almost nothing better in life than meeting with old friends in a new and strange place.

Shakespeare and Rugby.

[Valentine's Day jam -- Paolo Nutini. Thanks to Collette for reminding me.]

There's this part in Clueless where Alicia Silverstone's character, Cher, is talking to her stepbrother and his pretentious academic genius girlfriend in the car. And the obnoxious girlfriend is philosophizing about something Hamlet says and Cher butts in with "Hamlet didn't say that." The girlfriend looks at her like she's a total idiot and says - her tones dripping with disdain - "Um, I think I remember Hamlet accurately." And Cher, clueless but correct, comes back with "Well, I remember Mel Gibson accurately and he didn't say that. That Polonius guy did."

When I'm sitting there with Josh, sometimes I feel like he is staring back at Cher. Sometimes I just want to burst out, "Look, I'm not STUPID. I know my Kenneth Branagh."

To-Do Today: Finish paper on Henry IV, Part I, comparing the four main characters. Easy enough, right? Right . . . .

Yesterday I watched my first rugby match. I mean, it was on TV not real-life, but it was still the first time I had ever been exposed to what rugby looks like: Namely, a bunch of really scary-looking men running around and around and around chasing a ball and randomly piling on top of each other and wrestling till the ball flies out of the pile and then they start running around again. That is legitimately what it looked like. Really weird.

But Sam Brewit-Taylor, our British Junior Dean, was very available to answer all of my mystified questions (such as "Are they actually trying to get anything accomplished or are they really just running around?"). So I'm beginning to understand the game. It's like a combination of football (American), soccer, quidditch without brooms, and water polo. Boom.

THE OLYMPICS ARE GOING ON AND I HAVEN'T WATCHED ANY OF IT. ::angry face::

OK, paper time . . . . .

(Prince Hal is my Shakespeare crush.)

Happy Valentine's Day. :)

Joy.

"It takes time to be funny. It takes time to extract the JOY from life."

[Music - Simon & Garfunkel]

I get super-creative blog ideas whenever I have to write a paper. That is actually not the case right now. But it did just occur to me as often being the case.

OK, so I have been mad-crazy in the mood to watch Elizabethtown for about three weeks now. Only I can't find it in this frozen town. AAARRRRRGGGHHHH. I love that movie so much. Katie Powell and I both realized that it's in our top ten favourite movies ever. I feel like it's one of those that is either in your top ten or you hate it. There's no "on the fence" for this one. (I mean, that's a generalization, but generally speaking . . . .) Someone who fell in the second category recently asked me how I could love it so much. I thought good and hard about it for five minutes and decided that I love it because it's about deep human suffering -- but pushing through that suffering to find the life that exists deep down through at the bottom of it. (To use an image from the film itself: like a single green vine pushing through cement.) It's about surviving. It’s about joy. Real joy, that is deep and profound because it springs from brokenness.

And this concept has been something I've been mulling over for the past week or so. Mom sent me a package in the mail last week that was full of delightful things: a "Who Dat Nation" t-shirt, four Mardi Gras masks, and Champagne for the Soul: Celebrating God's Gift of Joy by Mike Mason. That book is slowly affirming and transforming my ideas of God's purpose for His children. I have always suspected, hoped - and now have a real rationale behind it - that life is about joy. And I'm pretty sure now that it is. It's wonderfully packed with astounding statements like "Why not be happy all the time?" but also "Joy loves our brokenness best." Joy is real and deep and only becomes realer and deeper the more closely you fight for it in sadness.

I got an eight-page letter from Sarah today (we both like writing and each other more than almost anything else in the world -- thus, our correspondence requires that we overdo ourselves) and she wrote this quote from the book:

"Joy may seem an upbeat sort of feeling, but the direction of joy isn't always up. Often to be joyful we must go down -- down through the noise of racing thoughts, down through the swirling chaos of circumstances, down through the deceptive appearances of life, down into the still waters and green pastures at the heart's core."

Or, as Claire from Elizabethtown would say: "I want you to get into the deep beautiful melancholy of everything that's happened."

But also: "Make time to dance alone with one hand waving free!"

"This country is freaking confused!" - Nick Dalbey

I'll get back to my descriptions of the people in this house, but I feel more like just describing bits and sketches from the day right now.

Nick's comment in the title of this post was prompted by the weather today. He and I spent most of our morning/early afternoon at the kitchen tables as other housemates passed in and out, some staying for a while, others just long enough to fix a cup of tea. He was working on a paper for Anne the Scary Eye-Shadow Lady (i.e. his tutor) and I was just moseying about, hypothetically reading Henry IV, Part I. Through the course of the morning, we saw rain, mist, blue skies, more rain, sleet, hail, sunshine, and heavy heavy snow.

At one point - one of the sunshiney points - Kate decided to try reading outside. She had tried this yesterday but as soon as she got settled the sky had promptly dumped a large amount of rain on her head. However, as Daniel noted, she is bad-a**, so this previous obstacle didn't foil her eternal optimism. We looked outside a few minutes after she left the kitchen and there she was, all joyfully propped on two garden chairs, reading her book in the golden sunshine. "Aw, look at Kate! She's so happy outside," was roughly what Nick said. Three minutes later - or maybe less - it was sleeting like there was no tomorrow. Kate came in, slightly wet, slightly bedraggled, and super pissed.

In the next half hour, the sleet went away, the sun came out, and then the real clouds came and dumped a good half-inch of snow on everything in sight. We played in it. ("We" being Kate, Mia, Nick, and me.) Then the sun came back out.

Our conclusion is that this country - or at least its weather - is freaking confused. Some of us girls have had a few serious conversations about how to best ward off depression if the clouds refuse to lift. But so far our precautions have been fairly unnecessary. There have been unexpected days of intermittent sunshine and honestly the weather here has never been as bad as it is up on ol' Lookout Mountain. At least we're not in the clouds.

But there was a moment today, as I was pouring my tea, that my spirits suddenly and unaccountably sank. I turned around and realized: the sun was gone.

Here's what will keep us going on those long gloomy Oxford days: I'm sitting in the warm and cozily-lit living room with Emily and Daniel and just overheard their conversation.

[totally sincere voices]

Emily: "Oh, I just love our Crick family!!"

Daniel: "Dude, we are so cool. Thank you guys for being so great."

Oh my gosh and Shane and Nick just walked in with a cup of tea for everyone.

Aw!

Time to enjoy a warm cup of tea with friends. . . .

WHO DAT?!!

We take a break from our regularly scheduled programming for an important celebration:

THE SAINTS WON THE SUPERBOWL !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

THE CURSE IS BROKEN !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

HELL IS FROZEN OVER !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I can't even begin to describe how ecstatic we all are, except to say -- if you haven't seen it yet, go find yourself a real live member of the Who Dat Nation and ask them how they feel about the Superbowl. It will be the epic reaction of the century.

I only wish I could have watched it with my family and SEEN Gran cry (and cried with her) and heard Grandad yell alternately in despair and exultation and then danced around the living room and screamed at the top of my lungs without being self-conscious, knowing that no one would hear me anyways because they're all screaming just as loud. I wish we could have gone parading down Royal Street (and Bourbon and Decatur and Canal) together.

BUT, it was still fairly awesome to watch it here in Oxford. And, in their absence, I screamed loudly enough for most of the family.

But mostly I'm still in shock. The Saints have sucked our whole lives (it feels like) and now suddenly: WE WON! WE WON! WE WON!!!!!!!!!!! Redemption, baby, redemption. It actually happened.

I love you, family -- post me some pictures of that hoppin' party I know you had.

http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748703427704575051711620520860.html?mod=WSJ_WSJ_US_News_6

^^An article I really liked -- this writer gets the spirit of it pretty well.

People I Live With, Episode 2.

Crick House, Basement, Room #10: Emily Muilenburg, Genny Peterson, and Irene Messelt.

(Emily is the blonde and Irene is the brunette)

(Genny: there were pictures of her closer up and with people, but I really like this one)

They live next door to us and they are the ones that are awakened at mad hours of the night by our squealing and gibbering when we don't go to sleep when we should. (By "we" I mean Hutton, Alison, and I. See previous post. ;-))

Emily: Oh my gosh. Can I just say, instant soul mate? That's what she was from day one. She's one of those sweet, pensive, happy, easily touched, motherly types. She is an English Major, too, and is taking C.S. Lewis in Context as her primary tutorial (that's my secondary) so we get to read Narnia and other awesome fantasy novels together. She can generally be found curled up on the couch in the living room either sleeping or reading a fantastically interesting book. Or skyping her boyfriend, Cody, back in the states. She also spearheaded the reading-aloud of Harry Potter and keeps us on task.

Irene: She is one of the four people in the house from Biola University in California. She rivals me in loudness (but for some reason, I still get all the flack for it) and is always excited about something. She randomly decided to fly to Rome for a weekend to meet up with friends from Biola. It is a belief prevalent among the rest of us that she just went because her boyfriend was going to be there. (But who can blame her?) She wants to get TWO doctorates: one from seminary and one in psychology studies. I think she wants to be some kind of brilliant counselor.

Genny: This girl is super good at being invisible. I feel like I hardly see her. But it's only because she is an incredibly hard worker and is usually at a library somewhere working on papers. She says she's just a slow worker, but we all know she's just diligent. She kind of strikes me as a no-nonsense person, but she's still open to try any kind of silliness. Also, she has this way of asking you a question where her voice gets lower and more sincere and she leans forward and looks directly into your eyes. It makes you feel like you're the only person in the world that she wants to listen to. A good feeling.

Room 10, everyone. Stayed tuned for our next episode in which Mia, Angela, and SAM make an appearance!!

People I Live With.

So I was skyping Sarah last night and the dear little blog came up and she had a suggestion for its improvement: Stop nonchalantly mentioning people we know nothing about and tell us about them instead.

The result of which is that I'm starting a new blog series entitled: "People I Live With." (Creative, no?)

Today's episode will be featuring my room. Crick House, Basement, Room #11. Residents (yipes! I almost said "inmates"): me, Alison Gore, Laura Hutton, and Amy Capo--Cappo--Cappa-- I obviously can't spell her last name. Amy C.

(Left to right: Alison, Laura, Amy)

Alison and Laura are both Covenant-ers. (WOOT!) Laura lived on my hall and Alison lived down the hall from me on 3rd Central. So we all know each other really well.

Alison: She is an English major so obviously she's awesome. She's studying Old English and Old Norse here so obviously she's a nerd. But a closet nerd. Alison and I cook together for our food group on Tuesday nights, which means singing along to LADY GAGA (or some other awesome music on my grooveshark, such as: Justin Bieber, Kanye, Train, Phoenix, etc.) and lots of screaming and exclaiming over the food (such as "If we cook it long enough, it can't be toxic!").

Laura: Well, she and I were really close before we even came here. She's a music major and she's studying Musicology here. She is my voice of wisdom, commiserating partner, and the one who will tell me, "Hannah, you are a great woman and great women do great things." We pretty much need each other.

Amy: She is NOT from Covenant so she is a new friend. I just want to say: She is braver than most to be able to face rooming with three girls who already knew each other! DANG. She is obsessed with leopard print, Harry Potter, and angsty teen punk music. Also, in a crowd, we can always find her because she almost always has that bright pink hat on. She also needs only about five hours of sleep a night.

Room 11 everyone. Stay tuned for more. :)

Oxford: Where your best is never good enough.

This is apparently a tagline that graduates have given the lovely university which is Oxford. And that's how I feel every Monday at 5:00 as I'm saying goodbye to Josh, my Shakespeare tutor.

Fun Facts about the UK (inspired by Robbs). Simon told me these:

-It is illegal to die in the House of Parliament.

-Any stray whale's head on the beach is the king's property. So if you're walking along the beach and happen upon a whale's head, don't touch that thing. Also: the tail belongs to the queen.

-In York, it is only legal to kill a Scotsman if he's holding a bow-and-arrow.

I need to get back to my book (The Man Who Was Thursday). How's this for beauty:

"In the wild events which were to follow this girl had no part at all; he never saw her again until all his tale was over. And yet, in some indescribable way, she kept recurring like a motive in music through all his mad adventures afterwards, and the glory of her strange hair ran like a red thread through those dark and ill-drawn tapestries of the night."