Nott What You'd Expected...

They Say Bad Things Come in Threes

I'm waiting on number 3. Yesterday the LCD screen on my beautful camera mysteriously shattered while in my pocket, and today I feel sickish. So, using the rule of threes, most likely i'll chop a finger off tomorrow at work.

I hate to linger or settle in some kind of funk, some depressed state of loathing, but this whole camera thing could not have come at a worse time. Considering my current financial state, exploding cameras are probobly on the top of my list of SHIT THAT I COULD REALLY DO WITHOUT RIGHT NOW. Maybe the flu is a close number two.

Shattering financial futures aside, this weekend reaffirmed the total sweetness of the flat crew. Mark and Carol were paternal as usual, we complained about hiking as is our nature, and all in all it turned out great.

First we visited a coal mining museum, tucked neatly in the slushy mess that is snow-covered England..... just imagine the wettest, most optimal snowball snow you've ever experienced, and cover a small island nation- that's snow in England.

The mine was 450 ft deep, pitch black, and inhabited by a small man with the thickest accent i've ever heard while here in the UK. His pronunciation of common words like 'water' were so far skewed from the Americanized words that whenver he asked questions or told jokes, we stood around looking completely clueless. The best part about his tour, aside from wisecracks and jarbled accent, was his use of nicknames- being the ogre in our group, i became Big Lad. Each girl had a nickname- ranging from Dorris to Florence, names which were shortened depending on the situation.... "C'mover here, Flo".... "Pick this one up, Big Lad"

good stuff.

Howarth, our destination, was the home of the Brontes, literatures' Partridge Family, the Jackson Five of novel writing. We're currently reading Wuthering Heights (well, we should be, I haven't quite started), and so the appreciation was heightened by constant referneces within the town to certain books, characters, or family members.

The weather was drippy, cold and oppressive. The night was spent in a YHA (Youth Hostel Association... the best reccomended and regulated you can find) that looked more like Professor X's mansion in the XMen movies than a hostel. The place was HUGE, and its outside was comprised of bricks similar to those found on Alnwick Castle (Harry Potter Castle), while the inside was amazing- huge ceilings, a ballroom, a dining room, a lounge, etc.

We spent the night playing Scrabble (it's no Upwords.... that's all I'll say....it's no Upwords), and lounging in the girls' room until they became to tired to entertain.

It was at this point that I discovered my broken camera, and at this point that I needed my new favorite TV Show Undeclared to console me rather than delve into Wuthering Heights.

Today - in a move very Bronte of us- the gang hiked the moors, a winding, hilly, wet, windy mess of English landscape that can only be described as desolate and fitting for a dark, brooding 19th century novel.

Our last stop was in Saltine or Salt something... a town built away from the nearest town by a mill owner in the middle 1860s for the sole purpose of creating a Utopia-like city, free from alcohol or other distractions. The owner built schools, hospitals, and even rows and rows of identical houses for his workers. Creepy? Yes. Wrinkle in Time meets Charles Dickens? Why not. Still, it was neat.

The mill has since been turned into a David Hockney gallery/coffeeshop/home supply store (think IKEA on crack)- it was super modern, super european, and super expensive. Made me feel artsy and cultured. As if I didn't feel cultured enough rooting through the Bronte's childhood home....

This week is looking busy- find a new LCD screen, work 12 hours, say hi to Gramps and Gram (show them Notts, hang out in London for a few days), and read Wuthering Heights while studying for other classes which shall remain nameless....

Can't wait.

posted by Kevin @ 8:07 PM