Day Forty-Four: Going home and making friends with wonderful wacky people on the plane!

Hello world. I have left London. I am sitting on the plane – in an aisle seat mind you! – next to an extremely interesting couple whose first words to me were “What’s ted’s [meaning teddy] name?” The lady has written a book called Paradise Proof, and is a self-proclaimed spiritualist. She wears a lovely turquoise cross around her neck and she is fascinating. I asked her what her favourite story from her book was, and though I probably shouldn’t write it here because it’s her story! Anyway, we had a riveting discussion about souls and names and the idea of Heaven! You know, people are amazing. They’re so so different and there are so many conversations to be had! It’s almost impossible to imagine all the things they know!

So, back to the start of today, because I have time now and I need to record life! After going to sleep so late last night, Laurie and I woke up pretty late. It was wonderful: she brought me a cup of tea in bed! We were going to sit and chat, but the new-fangled bed was on wheels, and so you couldn’t actually lean against the wall without the bed rolling forwards! So we had tea in the kitchen! After that, I made a final to-do list, involving all the itty-bitty last-minute shopping things. There was quite a bit still left to do – those random things that you need to go somewhere special to ding. Top of the list were some golf-gloves for Billy. En route to finding them, we visited Harrods, which is massive, imperial, and rather unreal. It doesn’t feel right to be in a building filled with so much money’s worth of goods. I think that my favourite part of Harrods was the bottom floor, replete with seemingly infinite jewels. I particularly like the excessive displays of sparkle! It’s as if the jeweler chose the most shimmery gems he could find, and then cut them so that they shone even brighter, and then put them altogether in the hopes of blinding anyone who happened to look at them. Maybe by blinding people the jeweler intended to blind them to the price!

We took a break in Hyde Park, at the Serpentine Café, where a nosy, obnoxious pigeon pestered us. He landed on our table, eyes riveted to the carrot cake. I tried to shoo him away, after asking him politely to leave. But to no avail. He was as determined to stay as I was to make him leave. It didn’t work so well because I am not very good at chasing stubborn pigeons. If they’re the sort that fly away if I so much as take a step towards them, then I’m fine. But if the wretched pigeon is brusque and unfeeling, I am useless. Anyway, we ate the carrot cake quickly and he moved off when he realised that there was nothing left for him to have. I even made sure that there were no crumbs left on the plate; whether this was because I didn’t want to share with the pigeon, or because I just simply wanted to eat all the cake is a good question. It was a SPLENDIFEROUS carrot cake. The cream cheese icing was incontestable. I would have had another piece, but I think it may have made me feel sick. Also, it was expensive!

So we trekked 6 and a half miles in search of a golf glove and eventually found one! Then we walked speedily back to Laurie’s house and moved my bags downstairs as efficiently and quickly as possible. This was a difficult task considering that the bags weighed 22.9 and 24 kgs respectively, two hand luggages not included. With help from some kind strangers at the various staircases, we made it to the tube station and onto the right tube – the Piccadilly line – reaching Terminal 4 about an hour later. Then we went to check my bags in, and the kind lady let my 24kg bag go without making me pay! After that, we made our way over to the Costa and partook in cappuccino-and-pastry. ‘Twas yummy! Then I thought I better get moving, so we said good bye and I headed through security.

Now for those who may be travelling soon: when you go through security, you are allowed ONE plastic bag of liquids, not two. And “liquids” includes foundation powder. I don’t know quite what they thought I was hiding in my skirt elastic, but apparently I have a metallic waist! This meant that I had to be checked with a strange contraption that looks kind of like a toilet brush, which they wipe(?) around the offending area. It has a piece of material at the end which then goes into what I presume is a drug checker or something. Fortunately, my waist is not illegal, and so it was all fine! I proceeded to the conveyor belt where two of my three trays were waiting for me. But where was the one with my red bag in it? Hah. It had been re-directed to the “poke through me because you’re pedantic” pile.  I had to wait – behind people who were technically behind me but didn’t seem to understand that pushing in front would not make their bag suddenly acquire magical powers that would allow it to emulate them and jump the line. Is it bad that I was quite leased when my bag was picked up (before theirs) and I was able to step in front of them? Anyway, like I said, it turns out that foundation and the last dregs of a tube of toothpaste also need to be put in a plastic bag. Eventually I made it out alive and with enough time to buy some water and get to the gate with time to spare!

The plane ride so far has been pretty uneventful, except for two things. First, I almost went to the airhostess to ask her if I could plug my laptop in because it wasn’t charging. I’d even gone so far as to turn on the little ‘assistance’ light. Fortunately no one came, because as I stood and picked up my laptop, I realised that it wasn’t charging because I hadn’t plugged it in! The second event was when I was in the bathroom and I didn’t know that the toilet flushing thing was automatic. So I let out a semi-squeal when I was busy brushing my teeth and then suddenly the toilet started flushing on its own! And airport toilet flushes are not quiet at all, so it was quite a shock! You’d think I would have learnt, but it happened again when I moved my arm to put my toothbrush away, and I got a fright again!

Oh and we had a yummy chicken curry affair for dinner, but there was coleslaw which was gross – as coleslaw is. The chocolate cheesecake was delicieux! There are about two hours left of the trip, and I don’t really want to sleep. Maybe I’ll sleep on the next flight! 

Day Forty-One: JUST ONE MORE CLASS

We're busy doing some group studying now, and I hope I'll be able to go to bed soon. In about twelve hours I'll be half way through my Photography exam, and then boom. It'll be over. I'll be done! I just have to make sure that I make it on time for the LAST time! I'm pretty proud that I haven't been late to class yet!

Day Forty: ESSAY NEARLY COMPLETE

And once again it's very late and I have not yet made it to the land of Nod. I am sleepy and saturated with every fact that can possibly gleaned from the two books I have out from the library about the Albert Memorial. I am also feeling slightly sick because of the two chocolates I ate about an hour ago, and the yoghurt that went down after them. Oh and the cup of tea. But you know, despite all that, I'm a happy chappy! My essays are basically done, which is fantastic because I can now actually enjoy these last few days without the heavy, dark, and ominous cloud shadowing my every step, and breathing cold and angst-ridden breaths through my window. HAH. 

The sun came out and dried up all the rain and Sarah can go and enjoy mochas again. 

I think that's why I haven't really been able to do much consistent and fruitful essay-writing in Waterstone's: I want to enjoy the experience so much that it just doesn't seem write to be forcing myself to work there. Today was a little bit different because I was on page seven, and I knew what I wanted to talk about for the rest of the paper, so I actually wanted to write! In the end, it turned out that I went up to twelve pages and I actually enjoyed the process. I also changed spots mid-way through my pot of tea, which helped. 

So that's me, essays nearly done and London nearly done and so much to look forward to and so much to wish would never end. Life is strange like that. I'm sure I have heard that somewhere before, or read it, or seen it, that you can't experience the loveliness of the future if you keep looking backwards. That's why I try so hard to live in every moment, and squeeze everything out of every moment. If I didn't live like that, I think I would go mad. I mean, sometimes I think I probably do go mad because I'm so focused on trying to live that the actual living is forgotten! But most moments I do live out my philosophy, and it makes looking to the future a wonderful thing, and remembering the past even better. Colours are a big part of that, I think. And people's faces or clothes too. I like to notice those sorts of things: the golden tea cup, the red teapot, the purple coleslaw salad and the muddy brownies. That man with the wild mustache, and the other man with the mustache that looked like it had run into his beard in a freak accident many years ago, but resolved the situation amicably and decided to settle in where they'd collided. 

The sweetest father-son pair sat down at the green couch today. The little boy was so excited to eat his lemon-drizzle cake and his hot chocolate. I loved his sense of wonder when he sipped the little cup and his dad said that that was his and the big one was the little boy's. He was so excited to have the big cup, and he just couldn't contain his excitement! In fact, he told his dad three times that he'd thought that the little cup was his and that the big one was his dad's! He reminded me of myself a little bit, when I find a connection or a realisation and I just can't keep quiet about it. I think the dad must have been a 9-5 working day dad, and he took his son out sometimes to spend time with him and help him with homework. They were doing fractions, and the posh, officially-suited daddy clung comically tightly to a brightly coloured book titled "How to Help your Child with Maths". The little boy was very sweet, but also apparently very confused about what fractions were, because he would enthusiastically say "that's five tenths" and then his dad would stare intently at the question for quite some while, by which time the little boy had piped up with another, very different, answer! It was a tender spectacle, especially when the pair of them sat with their legs crossed in the same way, leaning on their hands in the same way, mirror images of each other. I wonder if it's a genetic thing, or if the little boy was deliberately copying his dad. Either way, it was so sweet!

Right, to tell the honest truth, I would like to go to sleep now. I did almost everything I needed to today, bar filling in the empty and rather sparse posts for the last two days! I can probably do that on the plane though.

Tomorrow is another day! 

Day Thirty-Nine: More work and Andrew

Why is it that right at the end of a this trip, I have to do things. There's reading and reading responses and class in an actual class, and no trips or excursions, and no dinner parties, and no new coffee shops.

Why is there no time for that.

Why has time suddenly picked up all her luxurious skirts and traded them for block-y slabs of dreary black and white text and too-bright computer screens. Her dress is ugly, cold, glaring, it is no longer hazy and unknown. She does not have time to go adventuring and instead she must sit and be proactive and restrain herself. She does go shopping, once. But not real shopping because she is leaving soon and she does not want to waste. And now it is late and her reading is not done and her skirts are unfinished because she has not finished making them. But she has so much to do and it will all get done.

As you can see, I was a little upset! 

But on the plus side, I got to see my long-lost-but-recently-rediscovered twin today, and we explored London and that was wonderful!

Day Thirty-Eight: Laurie and a picnic in Hyde Park

The seagull squawks above our heads

And soars on and on and on and on.

It calls our frustrations up into the air

And takes them with him on and on and on.

Over the deep white oceans of clouds,

Through the blue-tinted air and the smog

On up to the sun the sea-gull soars,

Chasing it on and on.

Our worries they follow and all fly away,

Burnt up in the sun as it sinks.

And I and the lavender sit by the water,

And slowly, the lavender blinks. 

I spent the day with Laurie today, we had a picnic in Hyde Park, I wrote four pages of my essay, and then I sat by the water and wrote this when the seagull squawked overhead.

Day Thirty-Seven: ELDERBERRY GIN

I started the day a little waif-like. I had lots to do and I didn't feel like doing any of it. I felt restless and unfocused, and so although I did force myself to sit and do my readings, it was really hard! Eventually I couldn't sit still anymore, and so I went to collect a package from an Amazon locker in an eerie car park. The lockers were a gorgeous shade of yellow, warm and sunflowery, and completely out of place in the grey underground car park, with the alarm going off erratically somewhere in the caverns of the dark corners I couldn't see! You have to scan a bar code from an email, and then the locker with your package in springs open and it is so exciting.

I wrote this in the coffee shop I found next to the bookstore on my way back:

I was feeling a little bit down, but then God took me, specifically today, to a strange part of London, an empty parking lot with a locker called Ramiz, and that led to my discovery of another bookstore, whose name I am not sure of, with elderberry gin and coconut and berry cake and earl grey tea. I was feeling down, what with London being nearly gone, and lots of work still to do, and just generally all the last days/exams blues. Now here I am. Beautiful.

The waitress was so helpful and lovely and I got so sit and stare out the window in my own little nook, nestled into the corner of the bright and buzzing coffee shop. Somehow I seemed to notice all the orange books! It certainly lifted my mood. And the Elderberry gin probably helped... It didn't taste much like gin, and I've never tasted elderberries, so I wasn't sure what to expect. 

As you can see, today was mainly spent working. I'm afraid my next posts won't be very eventful, because I have a ten page history to write and more reading to do. I'm so sad that my time in London is almost over! It was my last Saturday today. 

AW

Day Thirty-Six: Laurie and High Tea and ESSAY

I will write nicely tomorrow, but right now it's almost midnight and my photography paper is basically done and I need to go to bed! But today I saw Laurie and went for High Tea with the group (paid for by Yale!) and then wrote my essay. 

Lots of love,

Sarah

UPDATE:
Laurie walked for an hour to see me today! I beat her to Waterstone's, but only because I took the tube, which could be considered cheating, but then I did wake up late. We chatted away for an hour, drinking cappuccinos out of the take-away cups because Laurie doesn't trust the dishwashers! Then i showed her around Waterstone's, all the way up to the third floor! I have done a lot of stair climbing during the lat six weeks: as I just mentioned, Waterstone's is a tall building, and then our teaching room at the Paul Mellon Center is also on the third floor, and that building is narrow as well as tall, and so the stairs are spectacularly steep! Poor Laurie, I took her to the PMC as well. Fortunately everything is in a relatively small radius, and so there wasn't too much walking in between.

By the time I'd finished showing her around the PMC, we were both hungry, and so we went in the direction of the Sainsbury's just down the road. We were distracted by a bright pastel window-display of a shop called Tiger, which we think is a Danish shop! It's funny because it looks like one of those super expensive shops, but it really wasn't. I was roped into signing up for some competition, so listen out for my announcement of my winning a trip for six to somewhere or other. I think it was for a jungle retreat (question mark question mark question mark!) Then we walked past another shop - Cath Kidston - which really is as expensive as it looks! Finally, we reached Sainsbury's, where we capitalized on their "Meal Deal", getting a sandwich, a bottle of water, and a packet of chips. Usually I like to make a packed lunch but due to having to actually be somewhere on time this morning, I forgot and wasn't organised enough. We sat on a bench outside, with a lovely little wood-framed pub, lit up with profusions of bright flower-boxes, as our view across the street.

Eventually, we had to part because I needed to write my photography essay. I had just reached the top of the Paul Mellon Center stairs, almost where I wanted to work, when Nermin called out across the corridor and asked me if I was going to the High Tea or not. High Tea? I knew that our group had decided on a High Tea as our group outing, but I didn't know when we were supposed to be going. It turns out I had just missed the email, and fortunately it wasn't too late! So I climbed all the way back down the stairs, wishing all the while that there was one of those fireman poles down the middle which I could simply slide down!

Here are some pictures from the High Tea, and although I enjoyed it, I think I prefer having one cup of tea, maybe two, and one type of cake. I think that way back when High Tea was more of a real meal, it made sense to have salmon sandwiches and chocolate cake on the same platter, but nowadays, it's quite a few tastes to take in!

After the tea, I returned to the PMC and spent the next three hours working on my essay. I had to leave at five-ish, because that's when they shut. I didn' feel like going home, so I just wandered around the area, going into Boots and back into the Tiger shop, and just generally all over. I even went back to Waterstone's, where I chose the photos I want to print. It was actually a rather dreamy and hazy few hours, because I can't remember exactly what I did. Do you think it was the half-glass of champagne I had at the tea? (Half a glass because somehow I knocked the glass over when I was holding it (?) and spilt it on my jeans and my hair!)

On the tube ride home, I missed my stop because I was engrossed in drawing a person sitting opposite me. She was classically beautiful, and I suppose drawing her was a little bit creepy, but oh well! So I missed my stop, and only realized half-way to the next one. I just jumped out the one train when it stopped and hopped onto the one going back in the direction I'd come from, so it wasn't really a problem. When I got home, I made supper using THREE of the four stove top things, boiled my veggies, cooked my pasta to perfection, and concocted some strange but yummy dish of kidney beans, garlic, onion, and tomato paste. I was a bit over-zealous with the quantities, so guess what I'm having for lunch?

Then I settled down at the dining room table, put my earphones in and forgot to put any music on, and wrote my photography essay. I think it's almost done, which is great, because now I can focus on my history stuff!

So, it was a good, if somewhat blurry, day!

Day Thirty-Five: A Media Museum in the Middle of Nowhere

I am sitting at the dining room table waiting for my coffee to cool down to a non-tongue-annihilating temperature. I face a grand difficulty: because there are so few days left, I want to stay up super late and get the most out of London that I can, and yet I know that I need to go to bed in good time, so that I can enjoy fully conscious the London I am awake for. Ah well. Today we went on an epic train journey, all the way to Bradford. “Bradford?” you ask, wondering if maybe I haven’t got the sleep I just claimed I needed. “What... where is Bradford?” Bradford is a two-and-a-half-hour, two-train journey away. It is an old industrial town (apparently) up in Yorkshire, and it is home to the Bradford Media Museum. It is a surprisingly active and lively museum, considering its middle-of-no-where location!

I woke up at the monumental hour of 0600. I am seriously impressed with myself because I don’t think I have woken up at 6am more than a handful of times since I left Zimbabwe last year! And I’d set my alarm clock for 6:25, so waking up at 6 was all my own doing. I think I must really dislike waking up to an alarm clock, because I’ve found that most days I set an alarm, I wake up just before it goes off. I mean, it could also be that I’m sleeping so deeply that I miss it the first time it goes off and so it goes into automatic snooze and then I rouse myself and I’m ready for it when it goes off five minutes later… I hope that’s not the case, but who knows. I did wake up, though, and I like to believe it was of my own accord. Does anyone else find that a bed grows magically more comfortable early in the morning than it was when you got into it the night before?

I made it on time to the train this time, and settled in for the long haul. I adore train journeys: trains are like moving libraries! I did some work, edited some photos, read a little bit about the Albert Memorial, and watched the beautiful fields out the window. Our professor was there to meet us at the station when we arrived, and while we waited for Min – who had gone to the wrong station – I bought a Mocha. It was not the best, but the experience of buying a drink at a station and drinking it while the trains rolled past was worth it. Eventually, we trekked to the museum. Our professor walks at a running pace, so we were all rather breathless when we arrived! After our experience in Oxford, we knew we had to stick close to him, so that we don’t get lost, a mentality which entailed us sprinting through the broad streets Bradford. The museum was fascinating, but after being cooped up stationary in a train for such a long time, I struggled to stay still after the first hour. In fact, I did a little twirl moving from one of the photos to the next in line - and my professor asked me if I was alright, and if I needed to sit down. NO! I need to move dear sir, but thank you for your considerate query.

The trip back was pretty much exactly the same as the trip there, just backwards. Except, no, actually, it was the same for me because I sat facing the other way this time, so actually I saw things in the same order I saw them on the way there, just a mirror image. I liked to think that I couldn't sit facing the other way, because I would get sick or something, (as the slight hypochondriac I think I am), but I discovered about ten minutes into the ride that I was indeed facing the other way, and it had made absolutely no difference to my well-being.

I got home and made supper straight away – an interesting egg-broccoli-onion-mushroom-baby-spinach-leaf dish, with cashews on top. It was scrumdiddlyumptious (I love the fact that the dictionary on my laptop doesn’t highlight ‘scrumdiddlyumptious’ as a misspelling! Go Roald Dahl!) Tomorrow, I need to write my essay and see Laurie! 

Day Thirty-Four | Imperial War Museum, and papal Carrot Cakes

We visited the Imperial War Museum today, and I felt like a complete and utter child staring up at the ancient Spitfire that takes up about an eighth of the central space of the building. The building has an eclectic mix of architecture: on the outside, it is extremely imperial with long imposing columns and two huge guns poised on the lawn. But on the inside, a quirky central space rises up in the middle of five floors of exhibits, filled with hanging aeroplanes and bombs and other strangely satisfying contraptions. I'm not quite sure why the Spitfire should have had such an effect on me, because I hate war, and I hate the idea that it was a vessel of death, basically. I've had to watch through many a History Channel "Dogfights" program because Billy enjoyed learning about that stuff, and so it's not as if I have a naive perspective of the concept of air warfare. But for some reason, that Spitfire captivated me. I dislike the feeling of being indoctrinated, as does everyone - you know when you're being told something, and you're not sure that you're being given the whole picture? That's what I felt like, a little bit, in that museum. I genuinely felt, then and there, that Britain was all the things that traditional, glamorous Britain makes Britain out to be. I would have wanted to fly that spitfire if I'd been given the chance way back in World War One. And I don't like the fact that that's exactly the reaction that the curators wanted to elicit when they positioned the plane at that precise angle, waiting to impress its immensity upon you as you walk in. But regardless of whether I wanted to feel like that or not, that was how I felt. That machine, though battered and dull, is a thing of great beauty. Imagine all the thought and creativity that went into designing it, and building it, and flying it. I suppose if you can take the human empathy and the tragedy out of war, it becomes something that can be as strategically beautiful as a game of chess, say. But I don't want to think like that! 

After the museum wanderings were complete, we separated and I made my way back along the route to the station - without my map! MAPS OVER APPS! My new slogan. I had seen a few cafes (two) on my way from the station, so my plan was to settle down in one for a while and work on my history essay. I walked down the opposite side of the road so that I could see as much of little old Lambeth as I could, and I was, probably irrationally, happy because it was raining and I was able to use my umbrella! I don't know what the poor people walking past me must have thought, but I did talk to it a little bit because it is rather frail and needs some encouragement every now and again to help it to stand up to the wind and the rain, which are determined to make the poor brolly scrunch up like a leggy spider when you blow on it. Eventually Brolly, Big Heavy Bag, and I spotted the coffee shop I'd had in mind and went in.

Pleasant people make all the difference in a coffee shop; I never thought I'd say this, but the quality of the food or the coffee should, I think, come second to the quality of the staff. Beaded earrings dangled from the lady behind the counter's ears, and though I didn't particularly like them (they were square beads, and I have never liked them: if you look in my bead box back home, you'll find lots of square beads left over - not because I wanted to keep them because they were special, like some of the sparkly ones, but because I couldn't find a place to put them, and I didn't like them) I thought they looked lovely on her! I was just going to treat myself to a cappuccino, but then I saw it. Or, rather, it saw me.

A ginormous carrot cake on a plate twice the size of my head gazed imperiously out onto the world. If carrot cakes lived in a carrot cake kingdom, this one would have been God. Even in this world, I would place this carrot cake, and the authority it commands, on the same level as the Pope. I have been able to say no to may things I really didn't want to say no to before, but not to this carrot cake. I was transfixed. It had me in its clutches. I felt as if I was staring a reincarnation of Queen Victoria. I tried to resist for a while, and, honestly, I wouldn't have been surprised if a voice had boomed out from the center of the plate - or the cloudy heavens - and said, "Sarah. Stop fooling around. We are not amused." So I caved. I obeyed orders and bought a slice of carrot cake. Right to the end, it had the upper hand: I couldn't finish it. I had to pack the last eighth into my sandwich container and take it home. I still think that the carrot cake back at Cafe Nush is the best carrot cake ever, but no carrot cake has ever treated me in such a manner before, so superior!

I searched some catalogues for research books for my history paper, and then I set off towards the station, intending to go to the Paul Mellon Center and do some more work. When I was almost at the station, I remembered that there was something I'd wanted to buy in the museum shop, which I'd forgotten to do. So I turned around and went back and bought it, and emerged, once again, excited, because I needed to use my umbrella! From there, I used my eyes and my brain and the delightfully ubiquitous, helpful London Underground signs to navigate my way all the way to the Paul Mellon Center. Not once did I have recourse to my phone! I sat in the library there for a blissful hour, paging through books about monuments. There were four other people there, one of whom looked like a classic academic: his skin was leathery and lined, in what could be a projection of all the old books he's read, and all the ones he's written. Do you think if you read the same sort of looking books for long enough, you might start to look like them?

We were kicked out at five, so I just came home and made supper and then made a time plan for this evening. My vlog is done, and is uploading, and now this is almost done too, and then it's reading, then bed! We have to be up early tomorrow because we're booked on an early train to Bradford, where the Bradford Media Museum (I think it's called) is.

Day Thirty-Three: thankfulness, and why I talk so much

Today I didn't do a lot, simply because it wasn't the sort of day to do something. When the sky is both blue and granite and not even she can decide what to do, I often feel it is safer for me to sit tight and wait out the sunny storm than to venture into the palpable uncertainty of the day. So I hunkered down in Waterstone's, and whiled away the time reading, drawing, people-watching, and day-dreaming. Sabrina joined me later on in the afternoon, and we chatted away for a dimly outlined hour.

Actually, I think I did most of the talking. That seems to happen whenever I meet up with Sabrina: it's not that she doesn't like to talk, it's just that she is such a wonderful listener that she lets me keep talking! As anyone who vaguely knows me will inform you, I will talk from dusk til dawn about everything from dusk to dawn and all the sun witnesses in between. I am grateful to her for letting me gabble on and on! I do try to regulate my conversation, and sometimes I force myself to shush because I am sure people get tired of hearing my opinion, but at other times it's just impossible! There are so many thoughts that are flailing their hands in the air in my mind, trying to grab my attention and begging to be let out! I'm quite fond of them, so often they get their way. Apologies to all who have borne (and all who will in the future have to bear) the brunt of my ebullient tongue. (Isn't ebullient a beautiful word? It's my new favourite.) I'm excited to be someone's eccentric aunt: that stereotypical aunt who is notorious in the family for latching onto unfortunate young teenage nephews and nieces and keeping them by her side the whole night for extensive conversation about anything and everything.

The only other eventful things that happened today were the addition of chopped almonds to my stir-fry salad, and the purchase of bread. To be fair, these seemingly mediocre events inspired much happiness in my soul, but I'm not sure if they can really be classified as blog-post worthy. I suppose I have viewed similar events as cause to celebrate in previous blogs, so I shouldn't start dismissing them now, should I? Ah the joys of blog ethics.

The other thing I wanted to note in this blog was a short list of what I'm thankful for right in this moment. Obviously, the list is infinite. If every moment is a blessing then there is no moment in this lifetime, or my soul's lifetime (one which I believe extends on into eternity), which I should not be thankful for. Right now, though, there are a few things I am especially grateful for:
- my flowers, trying valiantly to stay beautiful in the face of certain death. I don't know if I will have the heart to throw them away. It's such a violent act, throwing away flowers. Just because they are no longer as beautiful as they once were, we get rid of them. They were dead the minute we ripped them from their plant, and so we can't argue that we're discarding them because they're dead. Poor souls. I will keep them until they start to smell, and then I will release their souls from the stench they are trapped in, and all will be well.
- Toby. He is still standing by me, 18 years from when he first arrived! Do you think that the teddies we form the strongest bonds with are the ones that chose us? Maybe some of us are lucky enough to be found by our soul-teddy. Is there such a thing as a soul-teddy? Not a soul-mate, but a soul-teddy. I believe that Toby found me, and though fate brought him to me, I think that my soul must have been searching for him in order for fate to find me and give him in particular to me.
- WhatsApp. It may seem as if life without the internet would be blissful, but I am so grateful for the quick messages I can send to family back home, and to friends all over the world. Times have changed and the media needs to change with them, though I think the struggle is and will be ensuring that the core values that accompany our lives remain constant as the times and media evolve.
- my notebooks and paper and my new black pen (which will probably be finished quite soon because I use it so much!)

- LIFE! 

Day Thirty-Two: Oxford, Oxford, Oxford

The boys left on time today, and Jheri and I followed about a minute later. Unfortunately, "on time" was on time as per the email, and not as per the train timetable, and so we all missed our train! We were able to buy a group ticket for one that left twenty minutes alter though, so it was all okay. I did some of my reading on the train, and I managed to get about three-quarters of my reading response done, and then, all too soon, as always seems to be the case with train rides, we arrived in Oxford. I didn't have the phone with the data bundle and so I couldn't access any maps, which meant that I relied on the other three to get us to Oriel College, where we were supposed to be meeting our professor. I wore my long skirt and wedge-heel shoes today, and though they are comfortable, they are not designed for hiking along cobbled streets! The original plan failed because we came across a seemingly infinite series of road-works, which meant that all the footpaths were closed and that we had to re-route. None of the navigators seemed to be in much of a hurry, which meant that we moved slowly, re-routed slowly, asked for directions slowly. It was like being dependent on a car GPS that was on low battery and only had intermittent signal. My bag was also full of heavy STUFF: books, laptop, water bottle, lunch... So it was an arduous hour we spent circumnavigating the town. 

Fortunately, our professor is very understanding and he was not all perturbed by our tardiness. We finally met him below the Rhodes statue - which is incredibly underwhelming I might add! I thought that something that created such a frenzy would be terrifyingly imposing, but it was a tiny statue! We walked along the streets, our professor telling us about the city and the colleges, and noting the different influences of Empire on the buildings and the statues. We visited Rhodes College, and throughout the walk - and especially in the dining hall of Rhodes College - I was constantly amazed at how similar the mechanics of Arundel are to traditional British university ones! I mean, they came from here, I suppose, but seeing the equivalent of "top table" and listening to descriptions of the set ups of the place, I was just reminded of how British our Zimbabwean education system really is!

The last place we visited was the Bodleian Library, which is apparently enormous, though it is difficult to get the full sense of space when there are vast buildings everywhere! They are having an exhibition about Jane Austen and her connections to Empire, to summarize rather crudely. However, as always seems to be the case when people try to draw these strange connections, I thought that the content of the exhibit was not particularly supportive of its intentions. It was fantastic to see Austen's original manuscripts, and her letters, and her writing desk, but I can't help thinking that the links to empire were rather tenuous. I think that if you search for them in any writings of the time, especially in a vivacious, shrewd, socially aware author's work, you will find them! But anyway, it was incredible to see what her handwriting looked like! 

After the Bodleian, I ventured over to Christ Church Meadows to eat my packed lunch. There wasn't really any space to sit because all the grass is fenced off - or you aren't allowed to walk on it (hello Bishopslea and Arundel quads!) - and so I plonked myself and my heavy bag down on a legal patch of grass, right in front of one of the buildings. I read my Tuscan Living book for a little bit, and then I pulled out my scrap book/drawing book/everything book and attempted to draw the magnificent building in front of me. I took the liberty of using quite a large amount of artistic licence, and the final product doesn't look much like the real thing, but I was happily occupied for over an hour, so really I think it was time well spent! 

Once I'd completed my creation, I packed up and moved on to a coffee shop that my friend (Sabrina who I met up with a few weeks ago) who lives in Oxford had suggested. It was called Society Cafe, and it was, thankfully, not in the main line of the pesky tourists. I don't know if I am entitled to be annoyed by tourists as much as I am, since I am not a native here, but honestly, they are the most frustrating phenomenon I have had to confront this entire trip! They walk slower than I do in a stationery shop; they take eons to cross the road; they pose in completely impractical places and unrealistic manners for numerous photos, all of which I am sure is a futile venture because barely one will ever see the light of day; and they simply cannot decide which side of the path to walk on - I have to navigate my way through the seething masses like a rally-car driver negotiating hills and bushes and other dangerous, inconveniently placed objects. I don't think I could bear living in a place where there are SO MANY TOURISTS.

Anyway, the delicious salted caramel brownie and the mocha made up for it all. Although the brownie made me feel slightly sick it was so rich, I enjoyed my hour in the cafe immensely. Except for that moment when I had to move because a pair of wretched tourists came in and there were no chairs next to each other, so they stood turning in fuzzy circles, flustered and apparently incapable of asking someone to move over. I had to move over because I couldn't bear feeling their aura of confusion disrupting my blissful solitude. I finished off my reading response in the cafe, and then I packed up again - my bag lighter because I'd finished my water - and walked purposefully toward the station. I was fast enough to catch the 4:01 train, which was fortuitous because if I hadn't got that one, I would have had to wait for the 4:31 one! At first I sat facing the wrong way, because the seats face both ways and I had no idea which way the train would be moving. I discovered soon enough, and made the appropriate seating reassignments! I got home in good time and then did my photography reading for tomorrow, after which I went to the shops to purchase green veggies, some more carrots, and a new pot (or is it tub?) of my favourite Greek honey yoghurt. I could live off that stuff! Then I made a rather yummy salad, using half my can of red kidney beans, and then I made my vlog, and after that I sat down to write this! 

It was a slightly wobbly, but altogether lovely, day!

Day Thirty-One: Darling ducklings

I had to come home today. Back home to one of the many places, rooms, apartments, houses that I have the privilege of calling home. Perhaps I shouldn't write at night, because I always feel so sentimental in the evenings! My mind is simply ready to explore all the thoughts that it was fed but didn't have time to taste during the day. I think though that that highlights the best way to live: you have to let your mind think during the day, because when you get to the end, and the moon has overtaken the sun, you don't have the energy to wonder. 

I woke up and wandered downstairs this morning. Jules made me a lovely cup of coffee and then we all went to get ready for the day. I stand by the idea that you should ALWAYS pack the night before, and so this morning all I had to do was get dressed, brush my hair (which reminds me, I need to do that now!), and pack away my pyjamas. And Toby. Can't forget Toby! Then I went downstairs again and we ate another yummy breakfast. I always love eating other people's home-made granola, but when it comes time for me to make it, I usually don't, so I have been eating raw rolled oats for the last 31 days! We could have stayed there sitting and chatting for the entire day, but unfortunately I had to go back to London! I mean, it's not that I didn't want to go back, it's just that I wanted to stay there, with them! 

We made it to the station in good time, and I used my electronic ticket - on my phone - to swipe in. I get great joy out of using my phone as a ticket, for some odd reason! I knew I was supposed to be in Coach B, because it's the quiet coach, and that's what I'd asked for, but I couldn't remember which way the train was going and so I didn't know which end of the platform to sit on. If I'd thought ahead, I would have asked Jules and Brian, but I didn't and so I found myself having to make the great trek down to coach B, right at the other end of the train. When I was at about coach D, the conductor walking past looked at me as if I were possibly a little mad, and told me to just get on the train and then walk down the passage to wherever I needed to be. 

"Oh," I said, the air heaving in and out my lungs, "that makes sense! Thank you!" and I promptly hopped on the train. My only issue with that is that it does cause congestion in the narrow doorways, but I suppose that since the train ride is an hour long, it doesn't really make much of a difference if it takes you three minutes extra to get to your seat. Or you could just be prepared and know where your coach is going to be! Either way, I learned an important lesson and from now on I will know what to do! I've tried to cultivate that spirit of enjoying travel since I became a long distance traveler last year. Now even if something goes wrong, or someone tells me I can't sit here, or I need to move there, I try to just do what I'm told, follow the signs and instructions, and not take offence. I think really that that last point is the most important one: don't take offense! It's something Mum has being trying to teach me for the longest time, but it's only recently (the last few years) started to sink in. Other people's bad auras are not worth absorbing. It is highly likely that, after the journey, you will never see said BAP (Bad Aura Person) ever again, and so it is better for you and the general aura of the vehicle if you simply say no when their negativity comes knocking! Don't sacrifice your enjoyment for a BAP!

That being said, I had to struggle to maintain my calm when an unruly posse of strident-voiced teenagers entered the QUIET coach. I wrote this when they came in: 

PEOPLE ARE MAKING NOISE IN THE QUIET COACH>>>>>>>>>!!!!!!! SHUT UP 

They didn't. But I was determined not to let them spoil my enjoyment of the journey, and so I plugged my earphones into my computer and opened up some music. Unfortunately, the sound wasn't working for some unknown reason, and so once again I lumped the metaphorical ice onto my seething spirit and cooled down, or calmed down - whichever you choose. I transferred the earphones to the phone and all was well. The only problem is that I don't have much music on my phone, and so over the course of my travels, I have become very well-acquainted with Granny's "Cream of Country" CD, which I have on my phone. At least the music is good! 

I got home safe and sound and made myself some lunch. It was not much to speak of compared to the lunches I'd been spoilt with over the weekend, but hey, hummus toast is good for you, and you can't go wrong with lettuce, carrot, and tomato. I even put some salt on the tomato, which always makes a huge difference. I didn't want to sit inside and waste the day (though it was overcast and not at all a sit outside sort of day!) and so I took my plate and a little flask of tea and my book-bag down to the Floating Park place I discovered the other day. It's the one that I thought you had to pay to go onto, next to the weird Scandinavian restaurant. You don't have to pay. I sat by the water and ate my eats, drank my drink, and read my reads. I'm still going with Tuscan Living if anyone was wondering what I'm reading. 

My leisurely repose was disrupted by a loud quack just below my right elbow, and I looked over the edge of the floating park thing (it's basically a big raft) to find a mummy duck and eight little ducklings powering by. Of course I dropped everything and watched the ducklings and their mumma duck intently for the next ten minutes. They truly are the most delightful little creatures! I'm not such a fan of actual ducks, but when they're babies, they're precious! It was obviously nearly lunch time because pretty soon a whole menagerie of water birds was floating by. They were mainly different families of ducks, but there was also a scary looking fishing bird which didn't eat the bread a kind lady was throwing into the water because he preferred to dive down into the murky depths and gobble up what I can only presume are invisible fish. Purposeful pigeons picked their way around me too, in the hopes of finding some food on land. They always remind me of pompous, self-important businessmen in grey morning suits making their way down the road to the office! 

I didn't do much for the rest of the afternoon. I decided what to write about for my history essay and I Facebook-Messenger-called Mummy. But other than that, nothing to report! For supper, I embraced the spirit of adventure and made butter-bean and sweet potato "curry". I actually looked up a recipe for it, but since I only have the ingredients I have, recipes aren't much use except as an inspiration. So it is supposed to be a curry, but I don't have nay of the stuff that makes a curry a curry, and thus it is a butter-bean and sweet potato dish! I put in some garlic and tomato and tomato paste and the ever-present carrots, a splash of salt here and there, some of my infallible spice from Waitrose (which goes with EVERYTHING!) and that was that. Heaped on a bed of lettuce with freshly chopped spring onions and coriander to serve. It was incredibly delicious and I am proud to say that I scraped that bowl clean! Also, now I have yummy lunch for tomorrow!

A lovely day!

Day Thirty: beaches and love

I have finally hit the big three-oh. I have lived in London for basically a whole month and I am extremely sad that I only have two weeks left. I wasn’t sure if I would like England or not, before I arrived, but now I just want to stay! Every time I go somewhere outside of London, I fall in love with it and I think that it (the new place) is the best part of England, and the place that, if I stayed longer, I would want to live in. But then I go back to London, and it’s like I’m going home, and I realise that I really wouldn’t be able to pick a favourite place. That’s what I’m sure I’ll feel tomorrow when I get back to London but, for the time being, I adore this tiny little village with one shop and endless walks.

Today we went to Felixstowe, by the seaside. It’s about a fifteen-minute drive (and I could easily be lying because I was talking the whole way and was paying no attention to the time!) I can’t for the life of me remember what the little beach barrier things are called, but they are probably the most prominent feature of the landscape. We studied them in Geo class in form Four, and they are designed to stop the tidal action from destroying the beach. Anyway, the result is that you can’t walk along the beach because it is divided up by wooden barriers every thirty-or-so metres. This isn’t a problem, though, because, being England, there is a long perfectly-placed concrete walk-way slithering along the coast line for as long as the eye can see. It wends its way like a great grey snake, glinting in the bright sunlight. The sun shines differently on the sea; it is harsher, stronger, more powerful. I think maybe when confronted with the enormity of the ocean, it feels the need to prove that it is older, and wiser, and more. More what? I think when you begin discussing eternal entities like the sun and the ocean, there is a “more” which us puny humans can’t comprehend!

We rode on the snake’s back all the way to a Martello Tower. Brian showed me an encyclopedia entry about the towers before we left, and if I remember correctly the towers are look-outs dotted along the coast from the Second World War. They are based on an old design used in France, I think, for the same purpose. Really, they look like the fat, insolent cousins of fairy-tale castle turrets! This one was certainly imposing and impressive, squatting heavily on the links golf course. Its two boarded up windows stared unblinkingly at the waves, daring them to come any closer. This could have been the reason the tower also seemed rather belligerently proud: the waves have never been able to follow through with their threat – each day they come close, just the other side of the pathway, but they falter at their pinnacle, frightened. Just when they seem most dangerous, they fade away and the tower heaves a sigh of relief and sits up straight, pretending it was never worried.

Brightly painted beach huts loll about above the walkway, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the beauty of the horizon. They don’t seem to mind the huge container-ships that dominate the skyline. Some of them do, however, look a little lonely. Though they are so beautiful, their souls are quiet without the chatter of people sitting inside. There are hundreds of huts like this along the shore, but only a few of them were occupied while we were there. I know people are busy, but if I owned a beach hut, I would be there every day! It’s the ideal spot to have sundowners! Not all of them were pining for their humans though; quite a few families had opened up the doors and were enjoying the lovely day! Each hut has a number and some of the them have names: my favourite was “Reasons to be happy Number 923”.

The beaches, as I may have mentioned are pebbly beaches. It took all my mental strength to force myself not to collect every single gorgeous pebble! We had ice cream and sat on the beach to eat it. My hands – when they weren’t busy holding the ice cream cone - found themselves caressing the little rocks. They are so smooth and stroke-able! I couldn’t resist some of them, and so I will be carrying rocks back with me to Zimbabwe! Jules and I splashed around a little bit in the cold water. It wasn’t freezing, and there were some people swimming, but I most certainly was not going to venture any further than knee-high! Even so, the waves were a little cheeky, and one splashed my shorts! I chose salted caramel ice cream, by the way, which was on a par for deliciousness with the Berries and Clotted Cream ice cream from Hyde Park.

We went home for a lovely lunch. I think I have eaten more this weekend than I have in a long time! It’s not that we ate badly, or ate a whole lot, it’s just that I’ve realised I don’t eat very much interesting food when I’m by myself! The best bit of lunch was Jules’ three bean salad, which was delectable. I met Brian’s sister after an afternoon rest, and then we went for a walk in the gentle rain. I was able to use my new umbrella for the first time, and though I doubt it will last very long (it is a cheap umbrella!), I love it! It has flowers on it!

We had a fabulous supper, with crispy sausages, Brian’s roast potatoes, and a fantastic cheese sauce veggie dish. We also had gem squash from the garden! And then there was Jules’ delicious apple crumble – with ice cream and honey yoghurt, of course – for pudding. She very kindly packed about half of it into a container for me to take home. I can’t decide if I should ration it out and keep it going for the next week, or if I should just be a little piggy and eat it all when I get home tomorrow.

All in all, it was a warm and wonderful day and I don’t want to go home!

Day Twenty-Nine: A Poem for a Village called Nacton

This world is a beautiful place, and despite all the problems, life is grand. There is no world like this, 

where the sheep are lovely and lonely, and the hills roll endlessly and end abruptly at the granite sea-beach. The pebbles are un-alike: there is not one that is the same as another, and yet they are all pebbles. The people are un-alike: there is not one that is the same as the other, and yet they are all people. 

Time passes with every moment, 

even in the moments when we aren't awake to watch it go. 

It sets itself to the clock on the wall, 

and the wall was built by human hands and so was the clock, 

and yet time is an abstract noun 

that passed before man claimed it. 

The sunflowers are yellow here, 

in this little village of the world. 

They sit and bob, and they bobbed and sat 

and waved to me as I walked by. They knew 

I was coming, to this little world. 

Those two ones in full ball-dress were ready for me, 

ready to take my soul and dance with it 

when I fall asleep tonight. 

Then the lavender in my room will strike up a tune, 

whistling fresh-scented air through its dangling bells. 

The moon will hum like a motor boat zooming 

across the horizon of a lake, so far away

that it seems not to move at all, and yet 

so close that you know it for what it is. 

I will visit the waves in slow-motion and dive

into the yellow grains that crown her shores,

a flower crown without the flowers, 

yet she is beautiful.

That is the beauty of this world: this village is small and unobtrusive,

it is not particularly particular or spectacularly spectacular

and yet it is beautiful.

It is the queen of its world, and that is all the world, because the world is no world without each baby world which makes it whole.

Remember that, 

young seedling tree,

young teething babe,

young wobbling bud:

you must be as proud as if you were the whole world,

because you are -

to someone, somewhere,

you are.

One day one soul will dance with you, for a moment,

for a moment that stretches to the end of time 

and back,

for a moment that swirls around the milky way and deep inside the blackest hole

and back,

for a moment that is beautiful because it is.

Do not be so busy seeking the right moment that you miss the one on the left.

Day Twenty-Eight: NO TO SWEARING

Today we visited the National Army Museum, in Chelsea. I didn’t know that it was in Chelsea, and when I first got off the tube, I was pleasantly surprised by how beautiful the area was. I walked past the Royal Chelsea Hospital (I think it’s called), which is a vast complex of, from what I could see, deep red brick buildings and gold edged signs! We saw a slightly underwhelming selection of photos, not because they weren’t impressive, but because the curator didn’t give us any time with just us and the professor to sit and discuss the pictures. It’s less interesting to have them just flipped through in front of you. Also, we were looking at some of the first “war photography” photographs, and back then they were mostly staged pictures of officers, and so they all begin to look the same after the first twenty! However, there was one image that I really enjoyed seeing, and that was of a woman. I’m not sure who it was, because back then – and still now I suppose – people didn’t caption their photos Anyway, what struck me was her clothing. (I wanted to say “attire” there, but that’s a bit much!) I don’t know how women survived back then, wearing those tiny-waisted, broad-skirted dresses! Especially in army settings! I have to pick a topic to write about, two actually – one for the photography class and one for the history class – so if anyone has any ideas, they are very welcome! I want to do something not obviously academic – maybe a study of how women are presented through their clothing as captured by photography? I DON’T KNOW HELP ME!

After the museum tour was over, I wandered around for a little bit longer, checking out two of their other sections – Army and Soldier. Secretly I was hoping to see something about Zimbabwe, but it wasn’t really that kind of museum. From there, I checked in with coffee shop suggestions on Google Maps, and then wended my way to a place called “Paul’s”, on King’s Road. That road is a dangerous place – not because of crime, but because of how tempting al the expensive shops are! You know when no one is in a “60% Sale” that it isn’t really a true sale. Although that didn’t prevent me from going in and examining the clothes as if I was a clothing connoisseur, unimpressed with the stock on offer. But then I spotted a bright red and white siren sign in the distance: a Zara Sale. Zara sales are real sales, I say with all the experience of my two visits to Zara! I did find three beautiful tops, all at least half price!

But before I found my three tops, I sat for an hour or so in Paul’s. It is a gorgeous, genuinely old coffee shop, with a quaint little seating area crowned by an intricate skylight. I had a very foamy cappuccino and a delectable caramel tartelette. I chose the caramel tartelette over the chocolate one because it was prettier and because it was a chocolate "tart", not a chocolate "tartelette". What kind of person would I be if I chose a stodgy tart over a fairy-like tartelette? Their presentation was slightly ruined by the plastic tray they arrived on, but that didn’t affect the taste! I read my new book called "Tuscan Living" as I sat and sipped my cappuccino deliberately slowly. I would have liked to have been able to eat my tartelette equally slowly, however, due to its enticing sweetness and my newly discovered inability to break off neat, small pieces, that was not an option. The tartelette disappeared in large chunks. In retrospect, this was a good thing, and something which the Tuscan Living author would have condoned: having to concentrate completely on breaking off an eatable-sized chunk of tartelette meant that I was engrossed with the tartelette and all its components, leaving no room for me to not savour the taste! I thoroughly enjoyed my little sortee to the cafe. 

The only aspect I took issue with, which almost - but not quite, because that would be impossible - ruined the scrumptiousness incumbent in my mouth, was the pair of pseudo-adults who littered their conversation with vulgar swear words. Maybe they have never had to pick up rubbish, and they have simply never learned that littering causes rubbish, and it is unpleasant in every way, shape, and form. However, I, being the unwilling and unhappy recipient of such garbage, am fully aware of the stench spiraling from its reeking mass. Usually I keep quiet about people swearing, and I simply move away from the scene. I don't want to cause problems, and I do think that people are entitled to choose how they wish to present themselves to the world - a thing affected most clearly by the language they choose to use. Thus normally, if the person is a friend, I ask them not to pollute the air I have to breathe. However, I always thought that this was hardly possible, nor completely reasonable, in a restaurant or cafe setting, when the polluter was a stranger and was not intentionally trying to destroy my environment. 

But now I think that may change. In a public setting, the duel between the two Freedoms is made public; there are no seconds in this fight, no one to come to the aid of the dying loser. No, instead, one must bow to the other, defeated and angry. I am talking about the two Freedoms of Speech. This is a problem which is so evident in America, and it has been very difficult learning that sometimes it is better to bow out of a battle you know you won't win, rather than running foolishly into the barrel of the gun. Sometimes, I just shut up because I think that saying something won't achieve anything. I don't say what I think because there isn't really any point. I don't exercise my Freedom of Speech, because I think, sometimes, that by not exercising it, I am facilitating someone else's. But aren't those the very things that every advocate of Freedom of Speech uses to support their argument? Maybe not exactly the same, but close enough.

So, from now on, when someone is swearing like the regular degenerate teenage-adults he/she/they is/are, I will ask them, kindly, to respect my freedom to sit in a cafe in peace, to sit without the detritus of their foul mouths cascading into my tartelette and ruining its taste. I have the right to ask, right? 

Other than that, it was a wonderful day! 

Day Twenty-Seven: Blonde Tarzan asks Me Something

I really need to buy an umbrella! My hurried steps bombarded the pavement as I dashed to Waterstone's in the tumbling rain. I made it, the only minor casualties being the temporary distortion of my vision by murky glasses, and the equally unimportant darkening with damp of the front of my jeans, which had borne the full heft of the rain. Once safely inside, I completed my normal routine, but unfortunately the girl behind the counter doesn't know that I like to sit in and drink my coffee, so the two times she's made my magical mocha, she has made it in a take-away cup. This time I marshaled the shy scattered spirits of confidence, and I asked her if she wouldn't mind changing it to a proper cup, if it wasn't too late. 

She has a lovely smile, and I firmly believe that people with lovely smiles are lovely people. When I say "smile", I don't just mean the mouth part: I mean the entire face, the voice and the eyes, and the eyebrows. You can't fake a beautiful smile, because the beauty is embedded in the uniqueness of the person, and thus a unique smile will always be a beautiful smile. A copy of true beauty can never match up to the original, because once it's a copy, it isn't unique, and the uniqueness is the whole essence of the beauty. That's another philosophy I have been trying to understand and apply recently: seeing each person as unique, and thus as beautiful. The winning aspect of this philosophy, which makes it one that I sincerely hope I will be able to begin to apply subconsciously, is that it's always possible to find something unique about a person, and therefore it is always possible to see beauty in them. 

This just reminded me of Plato's discussions of the Ideals - where Beauty is the ideal from which beautiful things result. Oh my goodness I feel so blessed. There are so many times during class, or discussions, or life in general, when I realise what a well-rounded and wholesome education I have been given. I had a sort of revelation today, as we were studying the late 19th century British and Boer politics: we learnt all about this in Form Two. It wasn't in as much detail, but this period of history had an existence somewhere in the timeline in my mind. My understanding of the world had already been expanded by this knowledge, and learning all of this Empire stuff now is defining and filling in the details and the colour and expanding my mind's scope even further. And the more we read and discuss now, the more I recall vague lessons and discussions from high school, and junior school too actually. I remember learning about the Bantu migration in Grade Three, I think, and drawing little maps. And we learnt about Bilharzia in Grade Four. And mud and the earth and chameleons in Grade Five. It's interesting though that the facts and knowledge I remember most vividly are not from the higher up years of junior school, when I was 11 or 12. Rather, I remember the excitement of Environmental Science taught by Miss Cox, in Grade Four, when I was nine. I remember becoming an "Insect Inspector" and copying down notes written in her graceful, elegant, swan-like handwriting on the chalk-board about the queen bee and her worker bees, and colouring in a picture of two queen bees fighting for the role of queen. And compound eyes and flies. It isn't limited to that sphere only though: I remember the delight and sense of pride learning about long-division, and being able to divide three digit numbers instead of just two. And then realising that you could keep doing the same thing, even with five or six digit numbers - that was honestly and truly the high point of my mathematical curiosity! There was nothing more satisfying than getting that right, and it actually making sense. Daddy divide, mummy multiply, sister subtract, and brother bring down. Repeat. SUCH excitement. And then the poems we learnt in Grade Three, and the stories we wrote in Grade Two. And Carla's real live chicken at Show and Tell in Grade One. Does anyone know this poem? I still remember most of it by heart, twelve years later!

"Cats sleep anywhere, 

any table, any chair.

Top of piano, window ledge,

in the middle, on the edge.

Open door, empty shoes,

anybody's lap will do."

Okay that's all I remember. I could draw you the picture that accompanied it though. 

Here's the real poem - let's see if I remembered right!

"Cats sleep anywhere, any table, any chair.

Top of piano, window-ledge, in the middle, on the edge.Open drawer, empty shoe, anybody's lap will do.Fitted in a cardboard box, in the cupboard with your frocks.Anywhere! They don't care! Cats sleep anywhere."
 - Eleanor Farjeon (1881 - 1965)

See, I told you I'd remembered most of it!

All this to say that I am so grateful for the education I received, a bright education which revealed this wonderful web of the world to me! In spite of all the negatives of the "old" school system, the strictness, and the sometime-presented inflexibility of fact, I was shown so much of the world from my (most of the time!) safe seat in those rickety desks and bottom-pinching chairs!

HAHAHHAHA I just heard someone say "So have you started looking for a husband yet?" "Oh, yes, I've found one." Oh wow.

So back to the title of this blog! "Blonde Tarzan asks Me Something". After being presented with a mocha in a cup by the obliging lady with the beautiful smile, I got up to go and put some water in my bottle. You have to walk around the counter to get to the water dispenser, and on my way back, I almost bumped into a large man clad in a large red rain-coat. Usually I just smile and say sorry for bumping into you and keep on walking, and the person either has already moved off, or smiles back and moves off. But this person didn't move away. Instead, he bobbed his head tentatively - any more vigorous bobbing may have sent it tumbling off the precipice of his shoulders, long, blonde hair and all - and he moved his mouth as if he wanted to ask something but wasn't sure how to form the words. Obviously I either frequent this spot to such an extent that my aura has been imbued with the essence of the place, and he just thought that I worked here; or I am an approachable and inoffensive looking soul, who seems to anxious beings as if she might know how to solve their problems. I am happy to accept either of these positions! His blue eyes had diamonds in them, so bright and sparkly they were. For a man of such an imposing stature, a veritable Tarzan of a Prince Charming, he was rather shy, and the question in his mind was not forthcoming. So I smiled at him. (You see, my philosophy, though not designed to be, is also self-serving: if my smile is unique, it must be beautiful, right?) That seemed to encourage him, and within a moment he realised that the next step in this human interaction was to ask his question.

"Um, could you, um, tell, um, where is the, um, bathroom?" he mumbled, though not so incoherently that I missed the dashing Australian accent that punctuated his sentence. The virtue of exploring a place and expanding your knowledge of its inner workings (ie. being nosy) was made reinforced to me in this moment. 

"Well," said I, grinning knowledgeably, "yes, I do." I proceeded to give Blonde Tarzan directions to the bathroom, not without a hint of triumph, as, for those who know me, it is quite an achievement for ME to be able to give directions, as that gives some proof that somewhere inside me, I actually do have a sense of direction! Blonde Tarzan went on his way, and I sat down to write about my oh-so-eventful life. Honestly, it is ALL about the small things!

That's all I'm going to write for today, because I don't think I can handle any more events like the Blonde Tarzan Moment of 26 July 2017; in the hopes of proving the existence of the Positive Thinking phenomenon, I will end here and positively think that nothing more eventful will happen today, and that I will get home peacefully, sans monumental moments.

Last thing though: a really cool story about Winston Churchill! Churchill in the Boer War

Day Twenty-Six: unhurried living, and why teddies are alive

I sat today in the coffee shop and read and read til my eyes were so tired of deciphering the squiggles on the pages that I couldn't read anymore. This last week has been testing. We had two essays to do, and though they're both done now, it was difficult adding two essays to the normal reading load. I didn't do much at all today, except for reading. I am beyond grateful that I found Waterstones. It has meant that I can settle down to work quickly and conveniently, and everything I need is right there. I get a student discount with my drink, and I always go for a Mocha because I can make coffee at home! So how the days usually stretch out is like so: I will wake up just before my alarm goes off, although today I woke up an hour before it went off! I have found that if I make my bed the moment I get out of it, I already feel as if I have accomplished something for the day, and I can move onto the next task satisfied with life. Making sure that Toby - my teddy -  is comfortable is always the last act of the bed-making. I set his head gently against the pillow so that he can get up easily if he wants to.

We were given Christmas presents when we were in Grade 0 at Bishopslea (when we were five), and I remember being so upset that I hadn't received a barbie, or colours, or something bright and colourful. Instead, I was the mildly disappointed owner of a book. I think I took it home and tried to "read" it, but since I couldn't really read yet, it ended up on the shelf and I didn't look at it again til I was a teenager. But when I did eventually get round to reading it, I realised what a special and perfect gift it had been. It was a book about teddy bears: their history, their types, their personalities. I can't remember what it's called, but it was something like 'A Collection of Teddies'. In it were stories and poems about teddies, and these are the lyrics to one of my favourite poems/songs:

"Teddy Bear Picnic"

If you go out in the woods today
You're sure of a big surprise.
If you go out in the woods today
You'd better go in disguise.
For every bear that ever there was
Will gather there for certain, because
Today's the day the teddy bears have their picnic.

If you go out in the woods today,
You'd better not go alone.
It's lovely out in the woods today,
But safer to stay at home.
For every bear that ever there was
Will gather there for certain, because
Today's the day the teddy bears have their picnic.

Picnic time for teddy bears,
The little teddy bears are having a lovely time today.
Watch them, catch them unawares,
And see them picnic on their holiday.
See them gaily dance about.
They love to play and shout.
And never have any cares.
At six o'clock their mommies and daddies
Will take them home to bed
Because they're tired little teddy bears.

Here's a wonderful link to Bing Crosby singing it: Teddy Bear Picnic

The thought of teddy bears being alive and going exploring has captivated my imagination since I can remember, and this book had the beautiful illustrations and stories to grow those creative thoughts. There was also a story about the teddy bear who was discovered every morning with a new scratch or tear or bandage, and it was because he defended his little child every night. The point of all this is to show you why I make sure that Toby is always comfortable and can see everything that's going on. He is old now - 18 to be exact - and I'm sure it gives him some extra time to react and prepare if he has a good vantage point. Also, if he's been looking after me all these years, I think he deserves to be comfortable.

After I have made my bed, I choose what to wear and get dressed, and then I go through to the kitchen and make some breakfast, depending on what I feel like. Today I had yoghurt and strawberries and bananas and oats. Then I take my half-packed bag and finish packing it, and within an hour of getting up, I try to be out the flat. I am going to try and get up earlier tomorrow so that I can miss the crowded train! I know which platform I have to go to now too, which is reassuring when you're in a hurry. When I get to class, I either go to the kitchen and snag the beautiful yellow cup before anyone else does, or I just sit and hope that no one feels like a yellow cup! If I was in time to get the yellow cup, then I pour half the tea from my flask into it (saving the half for later).

After class, I head straight to Waterstones and order my student-discounted Mocha, and then I sit at the broad table with my book and my Mocha, and while I wait for it to cool, I eat my packed lunch. I've been in a yellow mood recently, sunny. I have a golden-covered book and I love the yellow cup. And the sunshine today was just beautiful. I try to do about an hour of work downstairs in the coffee shop, and when I'm tired of sitting there, I pack up and move upstairs, into the bookstore.

There I stay until I get hungry and have to leave to make supper.

I think that the most important message I want to send fluttering through the internet to you is that time will always keep moving, but you can enjoy every moment and feel every sunbeam of every second if you choose to. In drenching each moment in delight, you can turn each second into a lingering twirl of honey. If you don't like honey, I'm sure you can think of something equally beautiful.

So that's all for today.

I hope you enjoyed :)