What a day! Although there is much to relate, what I feel is of most importance is the noting of the fact that having a full fridge is the most elatory feeling known to human kind. I danced from the kitchen to the table, ridiculously satisfied, and deliriously happy. Why? Because I've been shopping, packed my two shelves in the fridge and my cupboard, made dinner, eaten dinner, and now put my dishes in the dishwasher - AFTER cleaning them off. If only that always made me this happy!
Well, I've just taken a three hour break from writing... Hmm. I ate supper and then everyone emerged from their early-evening hibernation and I was completely and utterly distracted. I was also going to narrate the comical series of events which occurred when I tried to go shopping, but they were a little upsetting, and now I just feel really happy and content and I don't want to relive the moments that made me ever so slightly grumpy! I think though that first I will give a brief exposé of the day, and then I will indeed describe the afternoon, but in such a way as to reveal the benefits of positive thinking!
So once we'd woken up and had breakfast, we went on a tour of Bristol Harbour and docks in our very own ferry. Seriously, I don't think you can get more "Yale" than your own ferry. I am so grateful that I get to go to Yale and that I have been given the opportunity to do things like come to England and study Victorian Photography and go on personalised boat tours of a harbour. Honestly, I am so blessed! The more I think about it, the more I realise that I should never complain about anything, or take anything in a negative light, because there is so much that has gone wondrously right and lovely and true and good in my short experience of life so far that I have no reason to be unhappy for more than a moment. More on that later!
I have discovered something about myself this trip, something which I thought was there before, but which has now been confirmed: that I adore mountains, hills, and peaceful waters. I am not a swimming/water/go far out into the sea person, though I'm not sure how much of that is truly me, and how much of it is an aversion within me to the popularity of, say, tourist beaches. If I had a vast expanse of lonesome ocean and beach and palm tree in front of me, I daresay I would love it. But when there are gazillions of people, bringing with them the weight of all their discontent to fling to the weary tides, I stand back and don't want to be infected by the pollutive, holiday-must-relax-me bug. That's why I loved the English countryside that I saw: its fields were free to loll around at will (though ploughed etc. Oh the irony within me!)
There is some spirit which my soul is connected to, and it lives in certain people, in certain places, and in certain books. What Katy Did is one of the books, as is Cousin Kate by Georgette Heyer, and all of the Beatrix Potter books. And the spirit exists in the middle of the lake in Kariba, and high in the mountains of Nyanga, nestling in the bright green unfurled tips of ferns, and in the diamond surface of the lakes.
Mummy, do you remember Mermaid's Rock, I think it was called? It was a non-descript rock that jutted out ever so slightly onto the main lake at Nyanga, and when we were little we rowed out there once or twice for a picnic. It stayed in my mind as a land of its own, bordering Enid Blyton's Faraway Tree on one side, and the glory of mountainous, luscious Aberfoyle on the other. But when we went back a few years ago, I saw it with an "adult's" eyes: it was just a rock. There were no mermaids on it. It was barely a twenty minute walk away, and actually kind of uncomfortable. But I still choose to remember it as that eerie, natural pier, where the mermaids sunbathed when we were having breakfast, and which turned into a deserted island when the mermaids heard the splish, splosh of my dad heaving the hefty paddles of the boat, (dilapidated, borrowed row boat that it was). The ferry ride today, and Bristol in general, has been revealed in my mind's map of the world as a land possessed of the magic that runs through the sparkling veins of fairy tales, like gold and quartz through rock. Though it is not as harsh as the metal image might connote: imagine a vein of gold weaving itself through a mussy tussy (a collection of wild flowers, usually picked during a long. leisurely walk in the wilderness).
And the people who my soul is connected to? I won't tell you because I think if you're one of them you already know, and if you're not then it doesn't really matter, because if you're not one of them then my soul being connected to yours is already irrelevant to you. But there are definitely people, and I firmly believe that some souls share this spirit, and some don't. And I also think that there are many spirits which many souls can share, but this one is between me and you if you are you and I am me and we are we.
Well then, let me continue. After the tour of the harbour, we visted a nearby (100m away from the landing dock) museum about Bristol. I think it was called the MShed for some reason. It was interesting, and some of the exhibits' interactive elements were surprisingly useful and well-designed! From the museum we (the other people, not me) decided to go back to London straight away (I would have stayed in Bristol til the end of time). So we went back to the hotel, grabbed our bags which had been stored there when we checked out earlier, and boarded the train bound for Paddington Station, London. A few short hours (One or two I think), we arrived, and we made our way on foot up the street and home.
I stopped at the post office to send a letter - finally. It was something I've been meaning to do since I got to London! It was an arduous task because the lady I asked for help was over-zealously helpful, and thought I wanted to send my diary, when actually I was looking up the address, and then thought I would want a 50p envelope instead of 20 for one pound and something (?)! Now I know how to do it thought, so it won't be a problem again!
Then I went shopping - to Sainsburys for fruit, to Marks & Spencer because they had a sale on (which was barely a sale, and unfortunate because I always seem to be attracted to expensive things which are not on sale), and then to Waitrose, where I couldn't pay at first because I wanted to use my card, but it wasn't signed (for what??), and they need you to sign the slip and check if it matches the card (which is stupid because I would bet a trillion dollars that any thief of a card would have memorized the signature on the card and be able tor reproduce it accurately, thus rendering the whole process utterly useless!) So I had to leave my bag in the store and run home and get cash and then go back and collect my bag.
Eventually I made it home and made my scrambled eggs (with spring onion and coriander) and cut my tomato and arranged it all aesthetically on the plate. I also bought a lovely "clementine soda" affair, which although probably not a real chef's choice to pair with scrambled eggs, served its purpose above and beyond expectations for me!
It was a wonderful day, despite the frustrations!
Moral of the story: if someone is frustrating you, just think how funny it would be if it were a scripted tv show that you were watching.
Well, I've just taken a three hour break from writing... Hmm. I ate supper and then everyone emerged from their early-evening hibernation and I was completely and utterly distracted. I was also going to narrate the comical series of events which occurred when I tried to go shopping, but they were a little upsetting, and now I just feel really happy and content and I don't want to relive the moments that made me ever so slightly grumpy! I think though that first I will give a brief exposé of the day, and then I will indeed describe the afternoon, but in such a way as to reveal the benefits of positive thinking!
So once we'd woken up and had breakfast, we went on a tour of Bristol Harbour and docks in our very own ferry. Seriously, I don't think you can get more "Yale" than your own ferry. I am so grateful that I get to go to Yale and that I have been given the opportunity to do things like come to England and study Victorian Photography and go on personalised boat tours of a harbour. Honestly, I am so blessed! The more I think about it, the more I realise that I should never complain about anything, or take anything in a negative light, because there is so much that has gone wondrously right and lovely and true and good in my short experience of life so far that I have no reason to be unhappy for more than a moment. More on that later!
I have discovered something about myself this trip, something which I thought was there before, but which has now been confirmed: that I adore mountains, hills, and peaceful waters. I am not a swimming/water/go far out into the sea person, though I'm not sure how much of that is truly me, and how much of it is an aversion within me to the popularity of, say, tourist beaches. If I had a vast expanse of lonesome ocean and beach and palm tree in front of me, I daresay I would love it. But when there are gazillions of people, bringing with them the weight of all their discontent to fling to the weary tides, I stand back and don't want to be infected by the pollutive, holiday-must-relax-me bug. That's why I loved the English countryside that I saw: its fields were free to loll around at will (though ploughed etc. Oh the irony within me!)
There is some spirit which my soul is connected to, and it lives in certain people, in certain places, and in certain books. What Katy Did is one of the books, as is Cousin Kate by Georgette Heyer, and all of the Beatrix Potter books. And the spirit exists in the middle of the lake in Kariba, and high in the mountains of Nyanga, nestling in the bright green unfurled tips of ferns, and in the diamond surface of the lakes.
Mummy, do you remember Mermaid's Rock, I think it was called? It was a non-descript rock that jutted out ever so slightly onto the main lake at Nyanga, and when we were little we rowed out there once or twice for a picnic. It stayed in my mind as a land of its own, bordering Enid Blyton's Faraway Tree on one side, and the glory of mountainous, luscious Aberfoyle on the other. But when we went back a few years ago, I saw it with an "adult's" eyes: it was just a rock. There were no mermaids on it. It was barely a twenty minute walk away, and actually kind of uncomfortable. But I still choose to remember it as that eerie, natural pier, where the mermaids sunbathed when we were having breakfast, and which turned into a deserted island when the mermaids heard the splish, splosh of my dad heaving the hefty paddles of the boat, (dilapidated, borrowed row boat that it was). The ferry ride today, and Bristol in general, has been revealed in my mind's map of the world as a land possessed of the magic that runs through the sparkling veins of fairy tales, like gold and quartz through rock. Though it is not as harsh as the metal image might connote: imagine a vein of gold weaving itself through a mussy tussy (a collection of wild flowers, usually picked during a long. leisurely walk in the wilderness).
And the people who my soul is connected to? I won't tell you because I think if you're one of them you already know, and if you're not then it doesn't really matter, because if you're not one of them then my soul being connected to yours is already irrelevant to you. But there are definitely people, and I firmly believe that some souls share this spirit, and some don't. And I also think that there are many spirits which many souls can share, but this one is between me and you if you are you and I am me and we are we.
Well then, let me continue. After the tour of the harbour, we visted a nearby (100m away from the landing dock) museum about Bristol. I think it was called the MShed for some reason. It was interesting, and some of the exhibits' interactive elements were surprisingly useful and well-designed! From the museum we (the other people, not me) decided to go back to London straight away (I would have stayed in Bristol til the end of time). So we went back to the hotel, grabbed our bags which had been stored there when we checked out earlier, and boarded the train bound for Paddington Station, London. A few short hours (One or two I think), we arrived, and we made our way on foot up the street and home.
I stopped at the post office to send a letter - finally. It was something I've been meaning to do since I got to London! It was an arduous task because the lady I asked for help was over-zealously helpful, and thought I wanted to send my diary, when actually I was looking up the address, and then thought I would want a 50p envelope instead of 20 for one pound and something (?)! Now I know how to do it thought, so it won't be a problem again!
Then I went shopping - to Sainsburys for fruit, to Marks & Spencer because they had a sale on (which was barely a sale, and unfortunate because I always seem to be attracted to expensive things which are not on sale), and then to Waitrose, where I couldn't pay at first because I wanted to use my card, but it wasn't signed (for what??), and they need you to sign the slip and check if it matches the card (which is stupid because I would bet a trillion dollars that any thief of a card would have memorized the signature on the card and be able tor reproduce it accurately, thus rendering the whole process utterly useless!) So I had to leave my bag in the store and run home and get cash and then go back and collect my bag.
Eventually I made it home and made my scrambled eggs (with spring onion and coriander) and cut my tomato and arranged it all aesthetically on the plate. I also bought a lovely "clementine soda" affair, which although probably not a real chef's choice to pair with scrambled eggs, served its purpose above and beyond expectations for me!
It was a wonderful day, despite the frustrations!
Moral of the story: if someone is frustrating you, just think how funny it would be if it were a scripted tv show that you were watching.
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