Last Minute Details
All of the toilets in England are made by the Armitage Shanks company. I notice this every time I pee, but have yet to note it as something uniquely English that I'll always subconsciously remember....
The bike was officially stolen, and was reported missing by the second wave of flatmates returning from The Lion. "Good news, I think" said Mark upon hearing the report.
I bought a jacket that makes me feel smart. Which is really what clothing should do. Make you feel things? It has fake leather patches on the elbows. Makes me feel intellectual, ready to teach.
Last day in Nottingham until April 22. I have a paper to write, hostels to book, train reservations to procure, and things to pack. Also, this whole Senior Year classes registration thing that could potentially change my life. Life changing even.
Off to H&M for some... stuff.
48 Hour Mystery
Brandon noticed the black bike was left out in the front patio area for the second straight day.... kindof a strange place to leave a bike, considering two had been stolen.
"Oh yeah," Mark replied...."I've been trying to get it nicked"...
Turns out, the bike is a piece of shit. It would cost over 65 pounds to get it fixed, and new bikes of the same stature go on sale for 75 pounds tomorrow. In an effort to save the cost of taking it to a dump or a steel mill (or wherever you take crappy bikes), Mark followed the advice of the bike shop owner.
Apparently, when the bike guys are looking to get rid of a piece of merchandise, they leave it in an alley on the way to afternoon tea, and it's gone before they arrive.
So far, no luck on getting it 'nicked'... on the way to The Lion, I moved it out into the street in hopes of attracting young hoodlums, but our trip back found that the bike had only moved 30 feet. The theives of Nottingham are discerning.
the times, they are a-changing.
Long, chilly walks back from the pub provide time for discussion- and, as most buzzed talks this time of year, the topic of re-entry again re-entered the lexicon. Especially while in the midst of a shitstorm of confusion about senior classes (for a quick update, i'm thinking 5 years might be the only way i'll graduate....more on this later?) , I realize how much i'll miss this place and the opportunities it has provided. Travel, life skills, independence, a bustling city atmosphere, a new exposure to a culture, a new point of view in global issues, and a set of 8 close friends.
Two months and counting? Who's counting?
....France in 36 hours.
_____________________
note to self:
Don't forget.....
"Should we save our forks or spoons?"
"You've never seen ____________? What's wrong with you?" (silverware clanging)
Life in the Left Lane
I once read that, in order for things to be come habitual (pardon my french), all you needed to do was complete the task or action for 21 consecutive days. At this point, it becomes routine, becomes habit, becomes a part of day to day life that no longer becomes a conscious decision.
7 months and 10 days (give or take) abroad, and habits are adjusted in more minute ways than I ever could have guessed.
Something cute and tourist-attracting like, say, driving on the left side of the road, is commonplace. My brain doesn't recognize it. I could care less. Granted, two month long breaks in the EU has a strange re-entry effect on right/left side driving consciousness, but in walking across the city of London or traversing Dublin, I rarely raised my eyes to the left. LOOK RIGHT signs say- trying to save as many foreigners as possible.
I'm sure there are others- the accent, i suppose, has become commonplace and less ear catching. Again, some allowances should be given for hilarious words or usage, but otherwise, it's just another day in England.
I tried to explain my trepidation in 'doing a British accent' to Nick while visiting London, and maybe it stems from a complete immersion. It's difficult, once you have a full understanding or full spectrum of dialects to imitate, to pick one and stick with it. Even in trying to mimic the Nottingham accent, one could run into strands of Manchester, Liverpool, London, and if you're really terrible, some Yorkshire or even Scottish.... maybe it comes from thinking I was always really really sweet at accents, but having a new found respect for the difficulty in complete accuracy, it seems like a lost cause.
With 2 months until re-entry, i can't imagine how it will go down. Anna's already assured me that getting her to step on to the plane will be the hardest part- kicking, screaming, sobbing- the whole bit. I'm not entirely inclined to disagree.
When past Notters told us how tough it was to come back, we could never have grasped what they meant- especially in our first few months here, when acclimation seemed impossible. Now, it's coming all too soon.
Nantes on Thursday.
Dijon this time next week.
Rome after Easter.
In the meantime, i have plenty of planning, writing, lecturing, and reading to do/attend.
Green Fountains
Why is it that, no matter how sweet or how kickass a weekend can be, a bad Sunday night can kick it in the balls?
While I won't go into detail for fear of elevating my heart rate and causing me to throw cutlery, it should be intimated that I left London on a train (a 2hr train to Notts) at 430, and arrived to a snowy, slushy hell hole 4 hours later.
Anger now subdued thanks to Honey Nut Flakes and Greys Anatomy Season 3 Episode 7, I feel like I can now dive into an awesome weekend in London.
Looming over my head is a journal entry due tomorrow, lecture for TV Cultures, Nantes/Spring Break in less than 5 days, and the fact that the flat will be without power from 8am until 5 tomorrow. (roughly translated = stress and no heat, just as a cold front moves in. Murphey's Law, just in time for St. Patrick's day)
Avoiding homework on Thursday night, I took a huge apple and made an app-o-lantern.
Worth taking a picture of, probably not worth explaining further...
I made a mad dash to the train after class on friday, and met Mom and Darol at St. Pancras as planned, around 430- we immediately headed for our hotel near Oxford Circle, and then walked our way to Piccadilly for some much needed food and possible nightly entertainment.
We tried to get into Laugh City or Second City or Something City, the premier comedy club in the UK, but tickets sold out before we made it to the door.... people were camping out for tickets at 430, and the box office didn't even open until 630.... so..... in its stead, we saw a shabby man holding a placard for a five-pound comedy club (a bit cheaper than the 16 that City was touting) and we went for it.
Five acts later, feeling giddy, much targeted for being the only Americans and sitting in the front row, and entertained (acts included such material as Iraq, jellyfish, chav pack hunting, robbery, Iraq, and... Iraq), we went back to the hotel for some much needed sleep.
The next morning was spent snubbing the tube and walking all over London. In the 50 or whatever odd hours I was in London, I walked more than 20 miles. No joke. The weather was amazing, and we took advantage of it. First, we walked to West End for theatre tickets. Then back to Picadilly. Then back to West End. Then to Trafalgar. Then to Buckingham. (hour early for changing of the guard), so to kill time? We walked to Big Ben. Then back to Buckingham. Then to the Eye. Then along the river until our legs could take it no longer. We reached Vauxhall, a stop barely in Zone One (we walked so far that their tickets were almost void on the tube).
In the process, we saw the Changing of the Guard, as well as some strange procession of men with suits and umbrellas. We also procured tickets for 39 Steps, a comedy showing on Picadilly, and made our way back for a nap..... but not before enjoying a frothy Guinness in celebration of St. Paddys and watching some Ireland v. Italy rugby on the plasma...
39 Steps was different.... a comedy set in the UK during the 1930s?, it was based on a kind of murder mystery... the main attraction is the crazy characterization- the cast is only 4 large, and there are over 100 characters (not sure if that's true....maybe 100 changes of character?) The plot was not the funniest, but the execution and over the top acting was great.
I showed Mom and Darol to a modern Asian noodle place, Wagamama, where i melted my face with the Chili Chicken Ramen and we downed some very authentic Japanese beers (Tiger, Asahi). Good food, very modern, very posh.....ish...
At this point, i met up with Lisa and Shane in their derelict hostel before taking the tubes to meet Nick and his friends.
The hostel was an experience- a dirty balcony, some spilled red wine, and a few crappy pictures...
Nick's been living in the Vanden House (just off of the Vanden Passage if i'm not mistaken).... the same place that Heather stayed for Fall semester, and where Central College runs their London program.
We ate some snacks from Sainsbury's local and hit the town- Not to be outdone by my morning travels on foot, we marched for days..... Our first stop was a trashy, smokey boat on the Thames, where we played drinking games and were stared at by a Napoleon Dynamite lookalike until bar close.
We gave up and headed further away from the VandenHouse, and debated going home before the tubes shut at midnight..... and decided we would stay out, camp out in the Vanden House, and hightail it home...
We walked for a while, stopping at closed bars along the Thames until deciding to cross the Millennium Bridge near St Paul's and managed to grab a night bus to Trafalgar, then made the trek across St. James back.
I gave up trying to walk the whole way back to Oxford, and set my alarm for an early tube ride home.... unfortunately, the tubes didn't open until 7, and I had London to myself for 45 minutes as I walked back.....
It was amazing to watch the sunrise, as well as take part in a Walk of Shame on St Patrick's day's aftermath.... These guys enjoyed themselves....
I came back, slept for a few hours, and was awoken by Mom and Darol leaving, bearing the burden of carrying my huge ass 50 pound bag of clothes back with them to the states.... It was sad to see them go, but I am grateful to be able to share some of the places and people that I've met here with them- to have faces put with names, and to have people who have actually been to all of the places I type or talk about.... If I can make it 7 months, I can make it another 2...
I went back to sleep, ate breakfast, watched my Hollyoaks, drank some tea, and checked out...
Unfortunately, no one was checking their cell phone, so I wandered London for awhile, walking back through Piccadilly and West End, seeing Trafalgar being set up for the Festival, and again through St. James before (completely coincidentally) running into Nick and his friends in a back alley...
The weather was amazing, picturesque... almost fake.... kids were out with dogs, running and playing... a dad took his daughter by the hands and spun her around- seriously, it was like an allergy commercial on crack...
We made our way to Trafalgar for the parade- it was well decked out, Green fountains, thousands of Irish wannabees, some huge bags of balloons, and The Guinness Tents.
The drunks were in full force, as these dancing morons showed.....
The green water was wind-whipped into the faces of partygoers... a taste of things to come...
The parade was pretty lame.... a bunch of Irish people sporting their flags and whatever... The best parts were the Giant Stilt St Patrick, the mass of bobbies, and some Carnival-looking dancers....
After about 15 minutes, the weather turned all to shit.... We're talking hail, rain, sleet.... crap, really.... kind of how Notts has been for the last two days....
People scattered, and we headed back to the hotel. Mike and Nick and I went to The Feathers, a local pub for some food and drink, along with a little football.
This entry seems more like a report than an entertaining recap of the weekend, but.... In conclusion, everybody headed off to Harrods and some museum while I went to St Pancras an hour early. I got on my train, it took 4 hours, and now I'm finishing this two days later.
The end.
