I haven't done a blog in a while, which essentially means that while I have plenty of things to talk about, none of them are really related to one another. My apologies for the complete discord between the paragraphs below.
Last weekend was of course a 4-day holiday weekend in the UK. I personally found this a little odd, but wasn't about to complain. On Friday, I was able to at least momentarily convince Mark that museums were fun and dragged him to Tate Britain (the non-modern enterprise in 'Pimlico', south of Big Ben). After poking around at 'British' art (aka, either by a British artist or a portrait of a British person), we emerged into the late afternoon lovely London afternoon. We ducked into a nearby pub for a brief refueling, and right as we were about to leave, the heavens seemingly brought forth their fury, it started pouring down with rain, and there was thunder and lightening to boot. It was then decided that a second drink and a snack were warranted.
On Saturday, we shipped out for the south coast. In our attempts at transport planning clever-ness, we took the tube two stops to West Brompton, where we were going to hop on a London 'Overground' train to Clapham Junction, where we would catch the train one stop after it left Waterloo. Alas, this is indeed what happened, but in the process, while waiting for the train at West Brompton, it snowed. SNOWED people. In the evening time, for no particular reason, we went to dinner in Southampton at an Indian restaurant (for parental clarity: not the purple one, but another one on that same street). This is involved taking the slightly scenic route from the freeway, driving through campus. It was pretty much the same, only dark and abandoned because it was a) dark and b) Easter break. The food was very good, the chicken was as tender as could be.
On Monday it snowed again.
This is only a two day work-week for me, given the Monday holiday and tomorrow's early AM departure for Switzerland. As it's a holiday week, I also assumed the trains would be somewhat empty and commuting times would be easy. But no. Yesterday morning, walking towards the train station, parallel to the platform, I heard the announcer relay the news that the District Line was suspended AGAIN between Earl's Court and Edgware Road. I just kept walking until I got to Fulham, catching the bus in. This morning, once inside the station, I learned that there were severe delays on the District Line, and it was suspended between High St Kensington and Edgware Road. Me: BOOOOOO WHY ME WHY TWO DAYS IN A ROW BOOOO I WANT TO GO BACK TO BED BOOOO. I was already in the station so not completely decided about what I should do. As luck would have it, the first train that came was to full to get onto, and the second train was one of the lucky few actually destined for High St Kensington, so I managed to squish on in a determined 'I don't need personal space' manner. I then walked from High St Ken (about 10-15 minute walk). Note to self: I really should find a bus that goes from Notting Hill to Earl's Court. If there are severe delays tomorrow morning when I'm trying to catch the 5:50 am train so I can get to Heathrow I will not be, as the Anglos say, a happy bunny.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Friday, March 21, 2008
a random entry
so to celebrate my new found administrative powers on anglo mango...i thought i would write my first blog under my own log in! margo pointed out and giggled that i'm the anglo and she is the mango!!! i know quite sad....
anyways i thought i would write about international opinions of different nationalities. this first came about while margo was reading a book entitled watching the english. from this she randomly asked me questions each night and then proclaimed that this apparently made me upper middle class, lower middle class or working class - i dont think i ever made the upper class category! for instance she asked what i called the evening meal for which i replied it depends...if its a formal get together where you eat at the table i would probably say dinner otherwise i just call it tea. the subjects went on from what i called the comfortable chair that you sit on in the main room to which i replied sofa in the sitting room...i think she found this very interesting!
so being anglo i think the main international opinion of the UK is that it rains and that we continuously talk about the weather. i can confirm that people do chat about the weather and if you dont know people it is probably second in line behind whats your name? i think i was in my first client meeting and afterwards there was food and chat and my only banter was about the weather (trying to hide my lack of knowledge) - i'll have to work on that....anyways contrary to people's opinions especially while watching wimbledon is that it doesnt rain that often in the UK...the weather is just continuously neither good or bad it just lies in the middle - which gets frustrating!
on to the french...most of my friends and people i've met for some unknown reason are all anti french...i'm on the other hand a great fan! i think the banter between the UK and France is good they call us les roast beef and we call them frogs - basically down to the fact we eat a lot of roast beef and they seem to enjoy frogs legs...i'm not sure if other nationalities do the same? the one thing i will say about the french and you can see this in ski resorts mainly when you ski from france into italy...is that the french are no where near as friendly as the italians!
on to america...america outside of america is an interesting concept and the influence of the america on the rest of the world is in my opinion quite large...particularly in culture...from hollywood movies to tv shows like the simpsons to friends...everyone grows up watching these shows...i guess the average opinion of the states is drawn from popular culture. american politics is also massive...i witnessed this first hand on a trip to norway when my norwegian friend sat down on the sofa and started watching clips of the american election on you tube - i for some reason found this interesting especially after margo has said that she cant understand why the american election gets so much press coverage in the UK!
anyways thats probably enough from my uninteresting entry!....to show off i'm at the start of a easter 4 day weekend...yay!
anyways i thought i would write about international opinions of different nationalities. this first came about while margo was reading a book entitled watching the english. from this she randomly asked me questions each night and then proclaimed that this apparently made me upper middle class, lower middle class or working class - i dont think i ever made the upper class category! for instance she asked what i called the evening meal for which i replied it depends...if its a formal get together where you eat at the table i would probably say dinner otherwise i just call it tea. the subjects went on from what i called the comfortable chair that you sit on in the main room to which i replied sofa in the sitting room...i think she found this very interesting!
so being anglo i think the main international opinion of the UK is that it rains and that we continuously talk about the weather. i can confirm that people do chat about the weather and if you dont know people it is probably second in line behind whats your name? i think i was in my first client meeting and afterwards there was food and chat and my only banter was about the weather (trying to hide my lack of knowledge) - i'll have to work on that....anyways contrary to people's opinions especially while watching wimbledon is that it doesnt rain that often in the UK...the weather is just continuously neither good or bad it just lies in the middle - which gets frustrating!
on to the french...most of my friends and people i've met for some unknown reason are all anti french...i'm on the other hand a great fan! i think the banter between the UK and France is good they call us les roast beef and we call them frogs - basically down to the fact we eat a lot of roast beef and they seem to enjoy frogs legs...i'm not sure if other nationalities do the same? the one thing i will say about the french and you can see this in ski resorts mainly when you ski from france into italy...is that the french are no where near as friendly as the italians!
on to america...america outside of america is an interesting concept and the influence of the america on the rest of the world is in my opinion quite large...particularly in culture...from hollywood movies to tv shows like the simpsons to friends...everyone grows up watching these shows...i guess the average opinion of the states is drawn from popular culture. american politics is also massive...i witnessed this first hand on a trip to norway when my norwegian friend sat down on the sofa and started watching clips of the american election on you tube - i for some reason found this interesting especially after margo has said that she cant understand why the american election gets so much press coverage in the UK!
anyways thats probably enough from my uninteresting entry!....to show off i'm at the start of a easter 4 day weekend...yay!
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
South Africa
Before coming to England, I thought of South Africa as a somewhat evil location in well, Africa. My only real associations with the place were Nelson Mandela, Dave Matthews, and that damn movie Tsotsi that was advertised constantly at every movie I went to for about six months. Oh, and they went there on America's Next Top Model one year and toured some slums and did a fashion show. Perhaps most importantly, I did not think of South Africa as being a part of the intimate circle of white English-speaking nations. Perhaps because essentially, it is not.
Now, there are people from South Africa in these parts. I can't place them by their accents, in my mind they are someone reminiscent of New Zealand accents, but I haven't really talked to any so I don't really know. What I find especially intriguing is that all of the people in these parts claiming to be South African are indeed white, which I find odd having been told that the vast majority of the country is not white, and the white people who do live there have a lot of things to answer to after that whole apartheid thing. The South Africans are sort of just another of the circle with the Aussies and the Kiwis, only quite frankly they lack a cute nickname for their nationality (or at least I don't know of one). Even us types can be slangingly referred to as Yanks, and while I like to call our northerly friends Canucks, I'm not sure if they do around here. My apologies, I've gone a bit off track.
While it's easy to argue that one could approach Americans in that same sort of 'your country has some splainin' to do' manner, I still find myself with extreme reservations towards South Africa. I think I'm still quite taken aback by the whole extreme racial divide. It seems while the English still have lingering ideas of the country as a former colonial output, it strikes me as having taken the whole concept one step too far. And again, being an American I feel like it can argued to be a case of the stove calling the kettle black, I think it's simply the fact that these things went on (legally) in South Africa within my lifetime.
Being in these parts I can't help but get the impression that my views are in the minority. For all I know, I am in the minority in terms of American thinking. Either way, for the time being I'm still keeping the whole South African concept at arm's length.
Now, there are people from South Africa in these parts. I can't place them by their accents, in my mind they are someone reminiscent of New Zealand accents, but I haven't really talked to any so I don't really know. What I find especially intriguing is that all of the people in these parts claiming to be South African are indeed white, which I find odd having been told that the vast majority of the country is not white, and the white people who do live there have a lot of things to answer to after that whole apartheid thing. The South Africans are sort of just another of the circle with the Aussies and the Kiwis, only quite frankly they lack a cute nickname for their nationality (or at least I don't know of one). Even us types can be slangingly referred to as Yanks, and while I like to call our northerly friends Canucks, I'm not sure if they do around here. My apologies, I've gone a bit off track.
While it's easy to argue that one could approach Americans in that same sort of 'your country has some splainin' to do' manner, I still find myself with extreme reservations towards South Africa. I think I'm still quite taken aback by the whole extreme racial divide. It seems while the English still have lingering ideas of the country as a former colonial output, it strikes me as having taken the whole concept one step too far. And again, being an American I feel like it can argued to be a case of the stove calling the kettle black, I think it's simply the fact that these things went on (legally) in South Africa within my lifetime.
Being in these parts I can't help but get the impression that my views are in the minority. For all I know, I am in the minority in terms of American thinking. Either way, for the time being I'm still keeping the whole South African concept at arm's length.
Monday, March 17, 2008
The London Dungeon
Mark and I went to the London Dungeon on Saturday. There was a 2 for 1 admission offer in conjunction with Oyster card that was up at the end of March, and given the horrible weather of the last few weeks it seemed like a safe indoor bet for general amusement.
The Dungeon is just outside of the London Bridge tube/rail station, in some of the vault shaped areas underneath the elevated overground rail lines. The Southbank has quite a few of these elevated rails with old arched brick supports, and you sort of get the impression that they used to lie derelict or were the homes of scooter repair stores before the Southbank renaissance a few years ago. Southbank is also a very, very old part of London, formerly a separate city directly across the river from the 'City'/Square Mile. And as the City is a surreal form of unnaturally expensive real estate, Southbank has managed to find itself the home of a great many tourist attractions based on the fact that London is old and kind of creepy. London Dungeon is probably the leader of this pact, having been around since the 1970s or something ridiculous like that, and also includes the Clink Prison Museum, the newly opened London Bridge Experience and all those darkly inclined roving walking tours.
According to my sources (aka, wikipedia), the Dungeon was originally meant to be more of a museum of past London horrors, but has instead morphed into more of an interactive themed entertainment situation. Basically, after spending approximately 45 minutes waiting in line to get in, we waited in a few more lines, then a creepy man explained we were going to a scary place, we had to walk around a mirrored maze where everyone just shuttled behind the person in front of them, then we 'learned' about things such as the plague outbreak of 1665, the sorts of crimes that could get you hanged back in the day, the Great Fire of 1666 (I think in general terms, 1665/1666 was the worst possible time to be in London), Jack the Ripper, some torture devices, and then to top it off you go on a little ride where they pick you up and drop you, which is supposed to be reminiscent of being hung at Newgate Prison. Pictures of your descent are available in the adjacent room on your way to the gift shop. All of these enterprises involved real people in costumes and white make-up to make them look, well, I don't know, dead? We encountered one guy more than once who made Mark feel self-conscious because whenever he saw him he referred to him as 'the posh one'. Although to be fair this was more of a statement of the other people on the tour.
Having entered the actual doors of the venue around 12:15, we were finally released again at 2, so it was quite a lengthy amusement so you feel like you're getting something for your money. While I wouldn't recommend the venue to the more mature traveller, it is quite amusing in it's own way. If you were 10 you would find it quite scary, I think. After this, we bypassed the other nearby creepy tourist destinations in favor of everyone's favorite activity 'lunch'.
The Dungeon is just outside of the London Bridge tube/rail station, in some of the vault shaped areas underneath the elevated overground rail lines. The Southbank has quite a few of these elevated rails with old arched brick supports, and you sort of get the impression that they used to lie derelict or were the homes of scooter repair stores before the Southbank renaissance a few years ago. Southbank is also a very, very old part of London, formerly a separate city directly across the river from the 'City'/Square Mile. And as the City is a surreal form of unnaturally expensive real estate, Southbank has managed to find itself the home of a great many tourist attractions based on the fact that London is old and kind of creepy. London Dungeon is probably the leader of this pact, having been around since the 1970s or something ridiculous like that, and also includes the Clink Prison Museum, the newly opened London Bridge Experience and all those darkly inclined roving walking tours.
According to my sources (aka, wikipedia), the Dungeon was originally meant to be more of a museum of past London horrors, but has instead morphed into more of an interactive themed entertainment situation. Basically, after spending approximately 45 minutes waiting in line to get in, we waited in a few more lines, then a creepy man explained we were going to a scary place, we had to walk around a mirrored maze where everyone just shuttled behind the person in front of them, then we 'learned' about things such as the plague outbreak of 1665, the sorts of crimes that could get you hanged back in the day, the Great Fire of 1666 (I think in general terms, 1665/1666 was the worst possible time to be in London), Jack the Ripper, some torture devices, and then to top it off you go on a little ride where they pick you up and drop you, which is supposed to be reminiscent of being hung at Newgate Prison. Pictures of your descent are available in the adjacent room on your way to the gift shop. All of these enterprises involved real people in costumes and white make-up to make them look, well, I don't know, dead? We encountered one guy more than once who made Mark feel self-conscious because whenever he saw him he referred to him as 'the posh one'. Although to be fair this was more of a statement of the other people on the tour.
Having entered the actual doors of the venue around 12:15, we were finally released again at 2, so it was quite a lengthy amusement so you feel like you're getting something for your money. While I wouldn't recommend the venue to the more mature traveller, it is quite amusing in it's own way. If you were 10 you would find it quite scary, I think. After this, we bypassed the other nearby creepy tourist destinations in favor of everyone's favorite activity 'lunch'.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Good Day for Trains
Yesterday was a horrible, horrible day for trains. In the morning time, I happily sardined myself into the second train that arrived at Parsons Green (the first having reached the angry sardine phase right as I was coming up the steps). As we were stopped randomly between the Green and Fulham Broadway, the conductor kindly let us know that the District Line was suspended between Earl's Court and Edgware Road, handily including my Notting Hill Gate destination. And I quote (me): 'poo'. So I scampered off the train at Fulham Broadway by a combination of crowd surfing and crawling through peoples' legs and walked outside to catch, god forbid, the bus. For some reason no one else had thought to take the bus as a means of getting to work, so it was me, a number of women with young children lacking volume control skills, and some other casually dressed folk. After much sitting in traffic and pausing to let strollers on and off, I arrived at work only around 10 minutes late (as opposed to my standard 20 minutes early).
After that horrible morning commute, I was pleased to see that everything was running with good service for the evening commute. In lieu of heading home, I was headed to a beer situation in north London, adjacent to Kings Cross/St Pancras. Nothing short of 6 tube lines run through this station, as well as the speedy Paris trains and a whole lot of commuter trains for people that live north of London. Essentially the two words you would use to describe the station are 'big' and 'busy'. I was able to get there easily enough on a circle line train, but I was a little surprised to hear as I was stepping off said train an announcer proclaiming that there was an emergency and we must leave the station immediately. And I quote (me) 'whaaaa?'. No one around me seemed that fussed and we going about their regular business, despite the constant repeating of this announcement and a not-so subtle alarm going off. I was due to meet Mark in the concourse at Kings Cross (neither of us having been there, we didn't really have an idea of a good meeting place), so I followed the signs, but before I could get to Kings Cross, the tide was pushed outside. It was cold, dark, and raining outside, but luckily I was able to find a bit of undercover area. Several minutes passed and eventually everyone was apparently removed from the station and the whole thing was closed. It remained closed for about 10-15 minutes, then they started letting people back in single file. Mark had unfortunately been held up in the resulting massive delays on all train lines that go through the station, and arrive 25 minutes after me.
After the beer situation, Mark and I hopped on a Hammersmith and City Line train back towards my work, which would then intersect with a District Line train to PG at Edgware Road. Now, Edgware Road is a bit tricky as it's frequented by Circle line, Hammersmith and City, and District line trains all on the same platforms, all of the trains look identical and lack real-time information, and the platforms themselves lack information about where trains are actually going. In this confusion, Mark and I ended up on a Circle Line train going back towards Kings Cross, had to get off at the next station and wait for another train to Edgware Road, and then very carefully find a train actually going to Wimbledon. I assure you this confusion had nothing to do with the beer situation.
To briefly touch on the beer situation, it was a festival put on by the Campaign for Real Ale, which seems to be mainly run by men with gigantic beer bellies. It involved a big room full of alphabetically arranged kegs of all kinds of ales and ciders, thus allowing you to go around and get pints or half pints of whatever you wanted, allowing you access to all kinds of otherwise difficult to find brews. It was very cool. And whilst you have to pay to get ahold of the glass you have them fill with the brew, you do get to keep it at the end of the night. Bonus!
After that horrible morning commute, I was pleased to see that everything was running with good service for the evening commute. In lieu of heading home, I was headed to a beer situation in north London, adjacent to Kings Cross/St Pancras. Nothing short of 6 tube lines run through this station, as well as the speedy Paris trains and a whole lot of commuter trains for people that live north of London. Essentially the two words you would use to describe the station are 'big' and 'busy'. I was able to get there easily enough on a circle line train, but I was a little surprised to hear as I was stepping off said train an announcer proclaiming that there was an emergency and we must leave the station immediately. And I quote (me) 'whaaaa?'. No one around me seemed that fussed and we going about their regular business, despite the constant repeating of this announcement and a not-so subtle alarm going off. I was due to meet Mark in the concourse at Kings Cross (neither of us having been there, we didn't really have an idea of a good meeting place), so I followed the signs, but before I could get to Kings Cross, the tide was pushed outside. It was cold, dark, and raining outside, but luckily I was able to find a bit of undercover area. Several minutes passed and eventually everyone was apparently removed from the station and the whole thing was closed. It remained closed for about 10-15 minutes, then they started letting people back in single file. Mark had unfortunately been held up in the resulting massive delays on all train lines that go through the station, and arrive 25 minutes after me.
After the beer situation, Mark and I hopped on a Hammersmith and City Line train back towards my work, which would then intersect with a District Line train to PG at Edgware Road. Now, Edgware Road is a bit tricky as it's frequented by Circle line, Hammersmith and City, and District line trains all on the same platforms, all of the trains look identical and lack real-time information, and the platforms themselves lack information about where trains are actually going. In this confusion, Mark and I ended up on a Circle Line train going back towards Kings Cross, had to get off at the next station and wait for another train to Edgware Road, and then very carefully find a train actually going to Wimbledon. I assure you this confusion had nothing to do with the beer situation.
To briefly touch on the beer situation, it was a festival put on by the Campaign for Real Ale, which seems to be mainly run by men with gigantic beer bellies. It involved a big room full of alphabetically arranged kegs of all kinds of ales and ciders, thus allowing you to go around and get pints or half pints of whatever you wanted, allowing you access to all kinds of otherwise difficult to find brews. It was very cool. And whilst you have to pay to get ahold of the glass you have them fill with the brew, you do get to keep it at the end of the night. Bonus!
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Anglo Mango, MSc
After much ado and with little fanfare, I've learned that I've passed the department's requirements for receipt of my MSc and the department has kindly requested that the University should give me one.
The fabled day was actually last Friday, the day we figured the letters would be arriving at everyone's homes (following an email earlier in the week saying they would be sent out). So on Friday I took my sweet time getting home, stopping at the gym and then casually strolling the remaining distance despite it's faint level of after dark sketchiness. Sitting in the front hallway there were 3 entire pieces of mail addressed to me. Normally I get none so this was something. One clearly showed it was sent from Southampton, one was from the bank and then I didn't really notice the third. After casually putting some of my items away, I finally opened up the envelope from Southampton, which was bigger the rest and thus implied that it was important. A single piece of paper was within, which I pulled to find.... a notice that I wasn't signed up for graduation, and saying simply that if I wanted to get I best get on that. There was nothing else in the envelope. Needless to say I was a little confused.
I looked again at my remaining pieces of mail. The third, more sedate envelope also revealed a Southampton origin. So I opened that, and in about three lines of text was told that I had passed and they would let the powers that be know this and at some point will get a diploma in the mail. Finding this rather uninspiring and anticlimactic, I put it down and went and watched tv. I had basically expected as much, and would have really only been quite upset if it had denied me the privilege. And what was I supposed to do? Break out a bottle of bubbly? I haven't even been to Southampton since I moved at the start of September and hadn't been to a class since the end of May. Alas, if they want to send me a diploma that's fine.
So has my life changed now that I have an MSc? Well technically receiving it was a condition of getting my job, but they haven't really asked if I've received one and certainly haven't asked for a copy of my diploma to keep on file. My business cards have alleged ownership of an MSc since early October, and it's just been assumed since that time that I've had one (or at least I've been treated as having the knowledge that one would acquire while studying for such a degree). I've been immersed in the 'I'm a postgrad, you're an undergrad' superiority complex since the course started what can only be described as ages ago. While I suppose now I'll be able to tick those boxes on questionnaires that say 'post-graduate degree or higher' without it being a bit of a stretch, but those things are few and far between. Alas, it seems my life is destined to remain relatively unchanged.
The fabled day was actually last Friday, the day we figured the letters would be arriving at everyone's homes (following an email earlier in the week saying they would be sent out). So on Friday I took my sweet time getting home, stopping at the gym and then casually strolling the remaining distance despite it's faint level of after dark sketchiness. Sitting in the front hallway there were 3 entire pieces of mail addressed to me. Normally I get none so this was something. One clearly showed it was sent from Southampton, one was from the bank and then I didn't really notice the third. After casually putting some of my items away, I finally opened up the envelope from Southampton, which was bigger the rest and thus implied that it was important. A single piece of paper was within, which I pulled to find.... a notice that I wasn't signed up for graduation, and saying simply that if I wanted to get I best get on that. There was nothing else in the envelope. Needless to say I was a little confused.
I looked again at my remaining pieces of mail. The third, more sedate envelope also revealed a Southampton origin. So I opened that, and in about three lines of text was told that I had passed and they would let the powers that be know this and at some point will get a diploma in the mail. Finding this rather uninspiring and anticlimactic, I put it down and went and watched tv. I had basically expected as much, and would have really only been quite upset if it had denied me the privilege. And what was I supposed to do? Break out a bottle of bubbly? I haven't even been to Southampton since I moved at the start of September and hadn't been to a class since the end of May. Alas, if they want to send me a diploma that's fine.
So has my life changed now that I have an MSc? Well technically receiving it was a condition of getting my job, but they haven't really asked if I've received one and certainly haven't asked for a copy of my diploma to keep on file. My business cards have alleged ownership of an MSc since early October, and it's just been assumed since that time that I've had one (or at least I've been treated as having the knowledge that one would acquire while studying for such a degree). I've been immersed in the 'I'm a postgrad, you're an undergrad' superiority complex since the course started what can only be described as ages ago. While I suppose now I'll be able to tick those boxes on questionnaires that say 'post-graduate degree or higher' without it being a bit of a stretch, but those things are few and far between. Alas, it seems my life is destined to remain relatively unchanged.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Itchy Feet
Since I went to Canterbury last weekend, my inner tourist has awoken from it's dissertation writing/winter slumber. Aside from being just in time for what some might say has been the worst week of weather all winter, it's also the beginning of spring, which may be the ideal time to start planning enough day trips to last me through the summer. My hibernating Britain guide book has come off the shelf and I've been 'researching' on wikipedia. And I don't know if it's really a problem in a bad way, but there are too many places I want to go! I don't know how to a) prioritize or b) fit them all in. Now that I've gotten Canterbury out of the way, as it had been lingering at the top of the list for ages, the possibilities are seemingly endless so I need some input on what I should be going to see.
Category 1: Castles
This place is knee-deep in castles, and coming from a land where we call big old things 'mountains', I find the idea of visiting them extremely novel. In order to differentiate them from palaces and stately homes, castles not only require the word castle in the title, but as such must have some sort of defensive role and maybe some big stone walls with towers and such. The ones at the top of my list, for reasons of proximity and levels of possible coolness, Bodiam Castle and Leeds Castle are my top choices for 'old castles in moats'. Both are in the general direction of Dover and Hastings and well, are old castles with moats. However, I fear they may be redundant and so at this point will probably only go to one. For the more 'lived-in' castle category, there's Arundel Castle not too far from Brighton and of course the stones throw away Windsor Castle, which I've been to but it was a bit rushed and wouldn't mind going back. In the final category, of 'slight theme park slant', there is Warwick Castle which is owned by the Madame Tussauds group and has a giant, ummm, you know those things they used in medieval times to hurl flaming bales of hay over walls and such, and apparently you're allowed to use it.
Category 2: Palaces and Stately Homes
I suppose really just stately homes, but this includes Clivedon, which is also not too far from Windsor, the former home of the Astors and some other ones that I have temporarily forgotten the names of. They all basically consist of stately homes with 100s of room and well-manicured gardens. Most of them were or are owned by people with titles such as 11th Viscount Stuffypants (note: not an actual title). Some of the very coolest ones are in remote parts of the North, such as Chatsworth, so can't really get to those ones and back in a day!
Category 3: Stuff in London
Going through before mentioned guidebook, I'm really quite surprised home much stuff there is in London that I haven't even considered seeing or doing. There are a great number of smaller specialty museums, like the Museum of the Docklands, or the Darwin Museum, Keats Museums, and then about a million museums covering private collections or art and other forms of museum-like things. You can't help but wonder how many of them are actually worth visiting, but of remaining London attractions, the Museum of London (covering the history of the city since olden times), Madame Tussauds, the London Dungeon, the Zoo, Vinopolis and Kensington Palace. Now a lot of these are just expensive enough to keep me from going, but luckily some of them have 'deals'.
This being the haven of wonderful weather that it is, my main issue throughout the spring and summer will be finding nice weekend days that lend themselves to these activities. So I need to be prepared when one of them finally comes along! While I feel like I get no sympathy for having such issues, but I wouldn't mind some thoughts on what sounds worthwhile!
Category 1: Castles
This place is knee-deep in castles, and coming from a land where we call big old things 'mountains', I find the idea of visiting them extremely novel. In order to differentiate them from palaces and stately homes, castles not only require the word castle in the title, but as such must have some sort of defensive role and maybe some big stone walls with towers and such. The ones at the top of my list, for reasons of proximity and levels of possible coolness, Bodiam Castle and Leeds Castle are my top choices for 'old castles in moats'. Both are in the general direction of Dover and Hastings and well, are old castles with moats. However, I fear they may be redundant and so at this point will probably only go to one. For the more 'lived-in' castle category, there's Arundel Castle not too far from Brighton and of course the stones throw away Windsor Castle, which I've been to but it was a bit rushed and wouldn't mind going back. In the final category, of 'slight theme park slant', there is Warwick Castle which is owned by the Madame Tussauds group and has a giant, ummm, you know those things they used in medieval times to hurl flaming bales of hay over walls and such, and apparently you're allowed to use it.
Category 2: Palaces and Stately Homes
I suppose really just stately homes, but this includes Clivedon, which is also not too far from Windsor, the former home of the Astors and some other ones that I have temporarily forgotten the names of. They all basically consist of stately homes with 100s of room and well-manicured gardens. Most of them were or are owned by people with titles such as 11th Viscount Stuffypants (note: not an actual title). Some of the very coolest ones are in remote parts of the North, such as Chatsworth, so can't really get to those ones and back in a day!
Category 3: Stuff in London
Going through before mentioned guidebook, I'm really quite surprised home much stuff there is in London that I haven't even considered seeing or doing. There are a great number of smaller specialty museums, like the Museum of the Docklands, or the Darwin Museum, Keats Museums, and then about a million museums covering private collections or art and other forms of museum-like things. You can't help but wonder how many of them are actually worth visiting, but of remaining London attractions, the Museum of London (covering the history of the city since olden times), Madame Tussauds, the London Dungeon, the Zoo, Vinopolis and Kensington Palace. Now a lot of these are just expensive enough to keep me from going, but luckily some of them have 'deals'.
This being the haven of wonderful weather that it is, my main issue throughout the spring and summer will be finding nice weekend days that lend themselves to these activities. So I need to be prepared when one of them finally comes along! While I feel like I get no sympathy for having such issues, but I wouldn't mind some thoughts on what sounds worthwhile!
Monday, March 10, 2008
Canterbury
Despite weather forecasts of heavy rain and the feeling in the pit of my stomach that it was a bad day to go, I went to Canterbury on Saturday. Having for some reason lost my ability to sleep past 7:30 in the morning, even on weekends, I was showered and breakfasted by 8:45 and decided to head to Victoria for the 9:33 train, which should have been an easy enough task with time leftover. So I was at Earl's Court by a few minutes past 9, waiting for a city-bound train. For a variety of reasons that mortals don't understand, the first train that came got delayed as a door went haywire and an passenger alarm got pulled (which happens a lot and is generally just an annoyance) so it was just sitting there, and then another functioning train pulled up to the adjacent platform but it couldn't leave until the faulty train left. So everyone was going back and forth between the trains trying to continue their journeys for 20 minutes. I got to Victoria at around 9:25, ran through underground station, walked like the wind to buy my ticket, say with aghast that the train left in two minutes from platform 2 while I was in front of platform 20, ran across the station and hopped on a train that I was just assuming was going to Canterbury but was not entirely sure.
90 minutes later I did indeed arrive at Canterbury, where the strong wind pushed me in the direction of the cathedral. Luckily the heavy rain wasn't due until the afternoon and I was just greeted by the type of light drizzle where you just end up a bit moist after a few minutes but you're not really sure how. Now the cathedral itself was amazing, especially considering it's real hey day was around 700 years ago (circa the publication of Canterbury Tales). There were some very nice retired people there to answer your questions and point you in the right direction and you walked all around greeted by amazingness wherever you went. It was warm, dry and wind free. You even got to walk around the crypt, which in places was very, very dark. The cathedral's big claim to fame is that it's the seat of the Archbishop of Canterbury, who is the head of the Anglican Church/Church of England. I didn't see him, perhaps it was his day off. And as part of this, about 800 years ago some knights or something took the king a bit too seriously when he said that the archbishop of the time (Thomas Becket) was a pain in the neck and they killed the guy inside the church. Like I don't go to church or anything, but it seems pretty wrong to murder a bishop inside a church. Anyways, it was this crime that made the place a pilgrimage site. The cathedral also contains the graves/coffin statues whateveryou call them of King Henry IV and his queen, the enchantingly named 'Black Prince' and a bunch of archbishops.
After walking through the cathedral I decided to walk around it. In the back you sort of chance upon what I can only assume to be the fanciest most expensive boarding school for preppy children ever, the King's School. There were high school age kids running around with books in their uniforms on a Saturday. I hope they go far in life. Anyways, it was quite intriguing how one side of the cathedral was relatively clean and open and simply formed, while the back side had all sorts of odd angles and random buildings coming out of it. But was very pretty!
Upon leaving the cathedral, I walked around the main shopping bit of the town a bit. There were some really cute old Tudor buildings around, and then loads and loads and loads of chavs. It was like a thick chavy sea. I had to wade through track suit bottoms all the way back to the train station. Basically, Canterbury is what should be a cute old town with a neat cathedral, and it partially lives up to your expectations by having this fancy school and a small number of really fancy people in town that you would associate with the school, and then they ran out of fancy people and filled it up with people speaking a language where all sentences end with 'innit'. It's a bit sad really. It's like going to a quaint New England town for some cuteness action, and then a bunch of rednecks drive by in pick-ups shooting guns into the air. And you're like, oh no. So with this in mind, I'm not sure if I would recommend Canterbury as a holiday destination.
As an additional side note, I went to a movie when I got back. Before you even get to the previews they show commercials now. Do they do this in the US? If so to what extent? Because they, in my mind, took it too far. There were (yes I counted) 10 car commercials alone. TEN. And maybe 2 or 3 non-car commercials. Do people really think that people watching movies in London are buying cars at such a rate where they need to see 10 commercials for them? It's ridiculous I tell you! Anyways, that's all. The picture above is taken from the cloisters around the back of the cathedral. I took many pictures of the inside and outside of the place that I'll try and get online tonight or tomorrow!
Thursday, March 06, 2008
Random Discourse
Yesterday something happened on my way home from work that I had never been a part of before: strangers spoke to each other on the train. Like, not in a 'can you move down' or 'that's my foot' sort of way. It was bizarre. Well, the whole commute was bizarre, so let's rewind.
There was a Chelsea home game last night, which I'd been bracing for all week and have been planning my weekly gym journeys around (no gym when Chelsea plays at home). I was a little worried when I walked past the gates at Notting Hill station to see that there were 'severe delays' on the district and circle lines and the announcer was advising people to seek alternate routes, when I reached the stairs down to the platform people were coming back towards me despite no train having just arrived. I was like, oh dear, maybe I should turn around and hop on the bus for my alternate journey which is slower than walking, but first I went to see if any trains were coming. A Wimbledon train was coming in two minutes. I was like, severe delays my, um, rear.
With the Chelsea game situation and the lack of future promised circle line trains, the whole world and their cousin were trying to get on this train. Luckily I've adapted my sneaky getting on trains skills and managed to find a nice located where my book was wedged into someone's back and my elbow (as my arm was grasping onto an overhead pole) only lightly poked someone in the back of the head. At this point it might be worth clarifying the whole game situation. I've mentioned before that in addition to just playing games to try and win the league, the football teams play in other tournaments, some involving all levels of UK teams and some involving European teams. This week we have apparently reached the quarter-finals or thereabouts of one of the big tournaments involving European clubs, as on Tuesday night both Manchester United and Arsenal (who play in north London) were playing big games, and Chelsea was playing some sort of Greek team. So when I say the entire world was on the train, I really just mean all Greek men between ages 20 and 40. There was minimal English being spoken on the train (although to be fair this is often the case).
At Earl's Court things went from bad to worse. Well, I fared okay as I managed to nab a seat, but given the delays on the rest of the line, there seemingly weren't that many Wimbledon trains, so after the three people got off the train destined for other destinations, 300 climbed on. A lady near me told some Spanish tourists that this train was indeed not going to Piccadilly Circus and they needed to get off, but they literally couldn't get out the doors (but that's how I got a seat), so were stuck until we got to West Brompton. At Fulham, not only did literally 95% of the people get off, but the platform there immediately was absolutely rammed and the air was filled with all those Greek men singing in unison, what I could only assume to be some sort of team song. Like, I don't know where the actual Chelsea fans were this singing and Greekness was so omniscient. Oh, and did I mention that the game didn't start for over two hours?
When the doors closed and we pulled away, everyone now sitting and over half the seats empty (which made me wonder where the rest of the commuters were!), there was an audible sigh of relief from those that had survived the onslaught. Myself included. This unifying sigh then brought forth the use of actual voices as we uniformed female types tried to make sense of it all, unsuccessfully I might add. The think the oddness of the situation wasn't really apparent until this point, as you know something quite major had to be afoot to get people to talk to people like that, instead of just burying their heads in their newspapers/headphones/books/their own little word as is the usual case. It was also not until this point that I realized that I had never participated in stranger banter on the tube before, despite having ridden it a consider number of times. Now that this door has been opened, do I foresee chatting with strangers anytime soon? Of course not, although Chelsea won so that means they're still in the tournament so another game may be looming on the horizon...
There was a Chelsea home game last night, which I'd been bracing for all week and have been planning my weekly gym journeys around (no gym when Chelsea plays at home). I was a little worried when I walked past the gates at Notting Hill station to see that there were 'severe delays' on the district and circle lines and the announcer was advising people to seek alternate routes, when I reached the stairs down to the platform people were coming back towards me despite no train having just arrived. I was like, oh dear, maybe I should turn around and hop on the bus for my alternate journey which is slower than walking, but first I went to see if any trains were coming. A Wimbledon train was coming in two minutes. I was like, severe delays my, um, rear.
With the Chelsea game situation and the lack of future promised circle line trains, the whole world and their cousin were trying to get on this train. Luckily I've adapted my sneaky getting on trains skills and managed to find a nice located where my book was wedged into someone's back and my elbow (as my arm was grasping onto an overhead pole) only lightly poked someone in the back of the head. At this point it might be worth clarifying the whole game situation. I've mentioned before that in addition to just playing games to try and win the league, the football teams play in other tournaments, some involving all levels of UK teams and some involving European teams. This week we have apparently reached the quarter-finals or thereabouts of one of the big tournaments involving European clubs, as on Tuesday night both Manchester United and Arsenal (who play in north London) were playing big games, and Chelsea was playing some sort of Greek team. So when I say the entire world was on the train, I really just mean all Greek men between ages 20 and 40. There was minimal English being spoken on the train (although to be fair this is often the case).
At Earl's Court things went from bad to worse. Well, I fared okay as I managed to nab a seat, but given the delays on the rest of the line, there seemingly weren't that many Wimbledon trains, so after the three people got off the train destined for other destinations, 300 climbed on. A lady near me told some Spanish tourists that this train was indeed not going to Piccadilly Circus and they needed to get off, but they literally couldn't get out the doors (but that's how I got a seat), so were stuck until we got to West Brompton. At Fulham, not only did literally 95% of the people get off, but the platform there immediately was absolutely rammed and the air was filled with all those Greek men singing in unison, what I could only assume to be some sort of team song. Like, I don't know where the actual Chelsea fans were this singing and Greekness was so omniscient. Oh, and did I mention that the game didn't start for over two hours?
When the doors closed and we pulled away, everyone now sitting and over half the seats empty (which made me wonder where the rest of the commuters were!), there was an audible sigh of relief from those that had survived the onslaught. Myself included. This unifying sigh then brought forth the use of actual voices as we uniformed female types tried to make sense of it all, unsuccessfully I might add. The think the oddness of the situation wasn't really apparent until this point, as you know something quite major had to be afoot to get people to talk to people like that, instead of just burying their heads in their newspapers/headphones/books/their own little word as is the usual case. It was also not until this point that I realized that I had never participated in stranger banter on the tube before, despite having ridden it a consider number of times. Now that this door has been opened, do I foresee chatting with strangers anytime soon? Of course not, although Chelsea won so that means they're still in the tournament so another game may be looming on the horizon...
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
Horsies
At my gym, in the cardio machine area, there are two rows of plasma televisions, back to back so whichever side you're on you can watch tv while running/walking/elliptically training/cycling/stairstepping, etc. Each machine has a little built in jack thing so you can plug in your headphones and listen to whichever tv you wish. The stations they are set to are pretty much always the same: on the far left they play music videos with scantily clad people to discourage you from getting off the treadmill early, then there is the nice commercial-free BBC news 24 (the only channel always featuring closed captioning, therefore the one I always watch), which is then following by Sky sports, then some random channel down at the other end showing soap operas and the Simpsons.
I will admit that on it's own that is not so intriguing. But let's go back to the third station, Sky Sports. A lot of the time it's sort of chat shows or the news, where they talk about 'football' quite a lot, rugby, tennis, cricket, and all that sort of boring English sports stuff. Yesterday, on the other hand, they were showing a World Cup for something I found quite strange: equestrian events. There I was, jogging at my relatively slow pace on no incline reading about whatever was on the news, and I glance over to the next tv to see a guy in a little chariot-type thing lead by four white horses weaving around a track in an indoor arena as if their tails were on fire. Me: 'WHAAAAAAA???'. So now it had my attention. That guy finished and was very pleased. A minute later another 'team' got to go, as this time I noticed that aside from the one holding the reigns, there were two guys behind him running back and forth to give their weight to one side to make it easier to turn. They were all tanned and looked like they could have been named Tad. They were not as pleased with their scores. In case you are having trouble envisioning this, I have gone to the trouble of locating the website, which can be found here.
So that was the end of carriage racing and the Tad's disappeared to be replaced by a few jumpers, which was all well and good because that's what I would expect to see at such an event. Then more craziness ensued. There was the horse and the rider, the rider sitting completely still obviously relaying telepathic messages to the horse, which was, I don't the actual word for it, but prancing sideways in a very coordinated fashion. The horse only had two feet on the ground at any one time, so front right/back left, then front left/back right. Like it was hopping from one to the other, slowly going sideways. This was apparently exactly what it was supposed to be doing as when they were done the rider looked very pleased. I couldn't help but wonder how you even begin to teach a horse how to do this, or really why you would go to the trouble. Then someone else was given a trophy while on a horse. I wasn't really sure what was going on, but I decided it was more bizarre without sound. I'm not sure if Zara Phillips was participating in any of the events, but let's just say she was.
I'm not quite sure where exactly equestrian events such as these fall in the sports spectrum, but the fact that they're being shown on Sky sports at 6pm is still something of a statement. It seems like one of those things where you really need to know what's going on to get the full effect. I think in that respect I shall liken it to the winter Olympics, like watching skiing and the bobsled, where you pretend you know what's going on but are really just waiting for someone to crash.
I will admit that on it's own that is not so intriguing. But let's go back to the third station, Sky Sports. A lot of the time it's sort of chat shows or the news, where they talk about 'football' quite a lot, rugby, tennis, cricket, and all that sort of boring English sports stuff. Yesterday, on the other hand, they were showing a World Cup for something I found quite strange: equestrian events. There I was, jogging at my relatively slow pace on no incline reading about whatever was on the news, and I glance over to the next tv to see a guy in a little chariot-type thing lead by four white horses weaving around a track in an indoor arena as if their tails were on fire. Me: 'WHAAAAAAA???'. So now it had my attention. That guy finished and was very pleased. A minute later another 'team' got to go, as this time I noticed that aside from the one holding the reigns, there were two guys behind him running back and forth to give their weight to one side to make it easier to turn. They were all tanned and looked like they could have been named Tad. They were not as pleased with their scores. In case you are having trouble envisioning this, I have gone to the trouble of locating the website, which can be found here.
So that was the end of carriage racing and the Tad's disappeared to be replaced by a few jumpers, which was all well and good because that's what I would expect to see at such an event. Then more craziness ensued. There was the horse and the rider, the rider sitting completely still obviously relaying telepathic messages to the horse, which was, I don't the actual word for it, but prancing sideways in a very coordinated fashion. The horse only had two feet on the ground at any one time, so front right/back left, then front left/back right. Like it was hopping from one to the other, slowly going sideways. This was apparently exactly what it was supposed to be doing as when they were done the rider looked very pleased. I couldn't help but wonder how you even begin to teach a horse how to do this, or really why you would go to the trouble. Then someone else was given a trophy while on a horse. I wasn't really sure what was going on, but I decided it was more bizarre without sound. I'm not sure if Zara Phillips was participating in any of the events, but let's just say she was.
I'm not quite sure where exactly equestrian events such as these fall in the sports spectrum, but the fact that they're being shown on Sky sports at 6pm is still something of a statement. It seems like one of those things where you really need to know what's going on to get the full effect. I think in that respect I shall liken it to the winter Olympics, like watching skiing and the bobsled, where you pretend you know what's going on but are really just waiting for someone to crash.
Monday, March 03, 2008
The Graduation Question
A month or two ago an email was sent around from the University of Southampton to students theoretically eligible for graduation this year, a category that includes myself. There has been much discussion amongst my fellow Southamptonites about whether to go or not. While I'm still not 100% decided either way, I'm having strong leanings towards not going.
First of all, I'll give a brief rundown on why graduation is just finally rolling around. I distinctly recall that at UW, if you are a master's student writing your thesis over the summer you are allowed to partake in the June commencement ceremony. But here, alas, not so much. I mean, not only was the dissertation (we say thesis, they say dissertation) not due until December, but the school still hasn't decided if we have passed or not. Being one of the lucky few who had reason to write emails to the department asking about these things, I learned that no outcomes would be known until the department meets with some board, well, tomorrow. After this they will known who has passed, who has passed with distinction, and who failed miserably. If I had not had reason to email and ask about these things, I would have been sitting around since December waiting for some sort of clue about whether I had passed or not, which in my mind is a bit ridiculous. Anyways, so on this account I am not that impressed with the University.
Then there is what graduation entails. As I've mentioned previously, the University does about 100 small graduation ceremonies instead of one that covers 90% of students as they did at UW. And to make it an equal hassle to everyone, none of them are on weekends. The email sent around in fact did not even tell us when our graduation would be or if we would be able to go to the ceremony with other people in our department. We were just told that if you want to participate, RSVP as quickly as possible and they'll let you know when you graduate then. Oh, and that aside from actually graduating on that day, you would also have to pick up your gown, get bad pictures taken in the library while getting in the way of all the people just trying to work on their dissertations, and then pick up the tickets for your ceremony (you get two guest tickets and two only, even if you don't want any and someone else wants three so grandma can come), and then actually go the ceremony. That sounds a bit excessive. It sort of makes me want to protest the whole thing.
Mark made a grand effort and RSVPed to the ceremony, figuring he could cancel if need be as no money had to be handed over. The ceremony is on a Monday. Late morning or early afternoon or something. In July. I can't speak for most of the department, but some on the Anglo types have been put under some general pressure on the parental front to attend. So then I've gotten a bit of, well wouldn't it be fun if everyone was back in Southampton for a day for graduation. And I'm like, a) my parents aren't going to go so my audience tickets would be unused, b) I would have to spent something like £30 to rent the outfit that doesn't even include a nice little hat, c) pay £25 for a train ticket to get to Southampton, d) pay some varying amount of money for pictures of myself wearing said rented outfit to prove I went, and e) take a day off work when I don't really have any to spare. Some people are planning on calling in sick that day (Mark Turner, I'm talking to you), but I've never really been able to pull that off.
In conclusion, going to graduation would be timely, detail oriented and costly. And aside from peer pressure, there's no reason to go. Am I missing something? Is there some deep-routed issue that I'm failing to grasp that should make me want to go?
First of all, I'll give a brief rundown on why graduation is just finally rolling around. I distinctly recall that at UW, if you are a master's student writing your thesis over the summer you are allowed to partake in the June commencement ceremony. But here, alas, not so much. I mean, not only was the dissertation (we say thesis, they say dissertation) not due until December, but the school still hasn't decided if we have passed or not. Being one of the lucky few who had reason to write emails to the department asking about these things, I learned that no outcomes would be known until the department meets with some board, well, tomorrow. After this they will known who has passed, who has passed with distinction, and who failed miserably. If I had not had reason to email and ask about these things, I would have been sitting around since December waiting for some sort of clue about whether I had passed or not, which in my mind is a bit ridiculous. Anyways, so on this account I am not that impressed with the University.
Then there is what graduation entails. As I've mentioned previously, the University does about 100 small graduation ceremonies instead of one that covers 90% of students as they did at UW. And to make it an equal hassle to everyone, none of them are on weekends. The email sent around in fact did not even tell us when our graduation would be or if we would be able to go to the ceremony with other people in our department. We were just told that if you want to participate, RSVP as quickly as possible and they'll let you know when you graduate then. Oh, and that aside from actually graduating on that day, you would also have to pick up your gown, get bad pictures taken in the library while getting in the way of all the people just trying to work on their dissertations, and then pick up the tickets for your ceremony (you get two guest tickets and two only, even if you don't want any and someone else wants three so grandma can come), and then actually go the ceremony. That sounds a bit excessive. It sort of makes me want to protest the whole thing.
Mark made a grand effort and RSVPed to the ceremony, figuring he could cancel if need be as no money had to be handed over. The ceremony is on a Monday. Late morning or early afternoon or something. In July. I can't speak for most of the department, but some on the Anglo types have been put under some general pressure on the parental front to attend. So then I've gotten a bit of, well wouldn't it be fun if everyone was back in Southampton for a day for graduation. And I'm like, a) my parents aren't going to go so my audience tickets would be unused, b) I would have to spent something like £30 to rent the outfit that doesn't even include a nice little hat, c) pay £25 for a train ticket to get to Southampton, d) pay some varying amount of money for pictures of myself wearing said rented outfit to prove I went, and e) take a day off work when I don't really have any to spare. Some people are planning on calling in sick that day (Mark Turner, I'm talking to you), but I've never really been able to pull that off.
In conclusion, going to graduation would be timely, detail oriented and costly. And aside from peer pressure, there's no reason to go. Am I missing something? Is there some deep-routed issue that I'm failing to grasp that should make me want to go?
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