Greetings, O Ye Who Are Reading. Welcome to week 2 of "the Abroad Experience." This past week has been pleasantly academic, though as my due date nears, I begin to wonder if it was quite academic enough. Well, that's all as may be. As it is, I've finished a draft of my first tutorial assignment, involving Ovid's use of mythic digression and exempla in Ars Amatoria, and... oh, boy, I could go ON and ON about the man's brilliant use of Latin, but I shall refrain. Meantime I am currently stymied on Milton and Coleridge; I've got 2000 words min. to write about them and I don't... know... what... to... say....
But no doubt something brilliant will occur to me. Today I went and wandered around for a while, got myself thoroughly lost, and window-shopped for wool coats. But in the process I found a wondrous place. It is called, appropriately, Paperchase, and it is to me what a Chocolate-dipped Sparkly Vampire Store would be to most preteen girls. Attest, ye gods and angels -- the notebooks. The pens. The different colors and sizes of paper. The desktop organizers. The colors. The siren call of the reasonable prices. I know, rationally, that 10 pounds is $16.45. But it doesn't feel like $16.45. So I could buy two of the little linen notebooks. Or I could get one in leather for 50p more!
This place is not healthy, in sum, and if you want a souvenir from it tell me so I have an excuse to go back and buy ALL THE THINGS. Meantime I've decided to only eat parsnips and ginger beer so that I have more money to blow at trip's end.
Also found some awesome cemeteries. When I have time, eg when I don't have a 2000 word paper due in 2 days, I will go to them and brood and feel poetical.
Yeah, I really ought to be doing things...
So I will sum up with an observation on British culture and why I love it:
Staring is impolite. Going over and talking to someone is considered a little odd; they probably want their privacy; Lord knows this island is teeny and crowded enough without people going over and interrupting others' thoughts. Also, is there a queue here? Were you looking at that self-checkout station/post box/food item before I was? Wait, you're a LADY?! Go first. No. Really. GO FIRST. And don't thank me. No, it's okay. You don't have to look at me. ...well, okay, an awkward brief smile is all right, I guess, here let me return it. Now let me adjust my leather carry-all -- yes, I am a man. No, this is not a purse. Where are you from, anyway? Of course I carry a bag. The Queen's saddle-maker provided the leather! My grandfather carried tins of peaches around in it when the gerries bombed his house during the Blitz!
Oh, no, that's quite all right. No offense taken. Yes, these trousers are wool. No, I'm not going to an interview... I'm going to the grocery store. To pick up some nice parsnips. What do you mean, 'dressed up?' I'm not. I'm wearing normal clothes. ...yes, waistcoats constitute normal!!
Gracious, the colonies are still dreadfully uncivilized, aren't they. You poor thing.
-- And this is why I like it over here.
Now, for the ongoing saga of the Pub & Coffee Review:
3 Goats' Heads is kind of in a side street that's just this side of Sketchtown, but it's quiet and comfy and has lovely architecture. Barkeep wants to be a rock star; looks a little stoned and air-drums to his iPod, but provides lovely cheap beer. The stout is... not a beginner's stout. But it renders one VERY happy, once you can get it down.
Mission Burrito across the street from aforesaid pub is decent but overpriced. Their "medium" salsa is about as painful as tomato paste.
"The Missing Bean" espresso bar rendered me an Americano that was, for once, good. Very "cool" place; unfortunately, I think they know it. Bathroom sign is a print-out of Obi-wan captioned, "These are not the restrooms you're looking for."
The Croissanterie cannot do a cup of filter (that is, drip) coffee to save their lives; I'd almost rather free waiting room coffee. But, as I've said before: people don't quite get coffee over here.
If you're ever over here: find a food truck. Ask for chips and gravy. Feel Canadian.
And that, good people, shall be all -- except...
Border collie puppies. Still don't know if I want one, but darn it are they pretty!
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