Birthdays and Thoughts on Growing Up — Friday 21 October to Monday 24 October

Friday was Conor's 20th birthday. We got him a card and cupcakes.
Saturday and Sunday were highly unproductive days for me. I looked for a card for Jessi's 21st birthday (which is/was Monday the 24th) on Saturday, but I started too late and everything was closed. I did burn my finger on the oven, but it's getting better.

Burnt.
If anyone has any theories on why my burns tend to hurt a little right when I touch the hot thing, not hurt for twenty minutes, and then start burning again, please comment.

Sunday, I found a card at The Bridges, and looked ineffectually for a cake. All the bakeries were closed. We were going to watch a football (soccer to you americans) game in a pub, but we didn't know that it started at 13:00, and so missed it by about seven hours. It was too bad, since it was Manchester City vs Manchester United, which is an ancient rivalry and involves one of the teams having been bought by some foreigner who brought in really good international players that aren't british. So they kick the other teams' butts, and not many british people like them. I think this is like the basketball players that tried to form something of a "dream team" to win whatever it is that NBA teams play for by pulling star players away from their usual teams and into a predetermined team. I opposed this in principle, although I hate basketball. Hate watching it, hate playing it, hate hearing about it. Aaaanyway.

Wall! Much better than basketball.

Walls make me ridiculously happy. I love how they're in varying states of repair, like old burnt bricks and new bricks in the same section.

Monday, I looked again for a cake and found that the bakeries don't really do cakes. I ended up getting one from Tesco. I also found  blackcurrant jam, but I did not find macaroni noodles. I'm afraid my macaroni and cheese for american night might be more of a penne and cheese or maybe fusilli and cheese. We're going to look for macaroni at Asda.
After I found the cake, I ended up wandering around the bridges for a while before sitting down to ribena, biochemistry, and what turned out to be a belgian waffle at Esquires Coffee in the bridges.

Mmmm, waffle.
Mmmmm... Mmmm.

This is how the second bite of waffle made me feel:

From Hyperbole and a Half.

The first bite was confusing, because I was expecting light, pancake-like kind of crunchy waffle, and I got heavy, sweet waffle. 

Speaking of breakfast foods, I've discovered flapjacks. We don't really have anything that similar except some softer granola bars. I was expecting pancakes, but they're fairly firm oat bars, with fairly uncooked oats, that are fairly soft. They are not fairly delicious, they are exceedingly delicious. I get Blackfriars ("wickedly good") flapjacks for 49p at Aldi and take them for lunch and snack on Thursdays. 

After the bridges, I took the long way to the bus stop (and just made it, by sheer luck)

The pictures in the bottom window things were the target of the photo.

Seriously cool old building atmosphere. I guess this is sort of like downtown kennewick without the sketchy parts.

Sunderland Minster from the gate.

 I'm thinking that "Minster" is sort of like "First (denomination)" because we visited the York Minster in York.

Minster from the side. I'll need to check sometime on when it was built, because it's got some of that fortressy thing going on.

Wall! This is attached to the Minster.

These are across from the Minster. They're old buildings with nightclubs in them.

While walking and taking cool pictures and looking at houses, I started noticing that I've been really wanting a house.
I noticed this about my school housing situation (having two "homes", neither particularly permanent, for four years). My room at home is going to be not mine, probably within three years. My rooms at school are only mine for nine months. Unfortunately, I've developed an intense desire to have my own little house with a little kitchen and a little garden. I find myself lusting over kitchen supplies (utensils, teapots, pots and pans, etc.), garden decor (big, permanent plants, fancy planters, little statue things), and house decor (pillows, rugs, chairs, couches, wall hangings of various sorts, paintings (at least, the kind of thing that goes in a frame with glass that can be hung on a nail that you're allowed to put in the wall because it's your own frigging wall), lamps, curtains, and the like). The problem is intensified by the fact that I'm not staying in Spokane, which is the most immediate location for more permanent lodging. It gets worse because I now want a little townhouse in Sunderland.
I know.
I'm not staying here, and I'm probably not coming back for any long period of time, ever. But I find myself thinking, as I walk down skinny streets with terrifying drivers lined by iffy sidewalks and tiny houses, that I really wish I could live here. I've started thinking that I have an accent, not the other way around, and I'm practically used to the "wrong side of the street" thing. I actually had a hard time picturing getting in on the right side of a coach on the way to Durham. Seeing houses that are separated from any other house seems a bit frivolous. Instead of wanting a big yard, I don't really want one at all.
I know.
It really doesn't make sense. But these little places are perfect student/busy person housing. No yard to speak of that needs attention, and small enough that it will be hard to fill it with so much junk that you can't keep if you have to move back in with your parents. They'll probably drive me crazy when I hit the bottom of my w-curve, but for the time being, I think they're the best thing ever.
The thing, I guess, is that I want it to be mine. I'm really not looking to settle down in the "have a family" sense, since I'm neither in nor likely to be in a long term relationship in the near future, but I am looking to put down serious roots of my own. Right now, to extend the plant metaphor, I'm like a cutting. I've been part of a healthy, solid family with some healthy, solid roots. They've nourished me and provided me with everything I need to be a healthy person, but it's time for me to put down my own roots. Okay, so I'm more like the slightly parasitic offspring on some succulents than a cutting, but the basic principle is the same. I've grown past being able to be healthy while still attached to my parents' house; it's about time that I got my own.
I think I'm going to have to settle for a few awkward years of not having my own place, though, since I think I'll be much happier if I keep up my transient status until I find wherever it is that I'm supposed to stay. I'm reasonably certain that it's not sunderland, and I'm almost sure that it's not spokane, either.
Sigh. First world problems, I guess.

I do love the garden areas.

One thing that's struck me about england is the odd atmosphere of beauty and decay. There are beautiful things, ornate pathways, gorgeous buildings, and they're almost all slightly run down. I find it oddly appealing and grotesque at the same time.

Such a pretty pattern, but it's so beaten up.

I think this one is unoccupied, so there's some excuse, but the juxtaposition of ornate mosaic and unkempt courtyard are striking. Lots of houses have this sort of thing going on.

Also, Josie got back from London tonight, which was pretty exciting. Jessi's cake, the one from Tesco that cost £3.87, turned out to be really delicious. Chocolate with chocolate frosting and chocolate curls on top. I was in shock. And she thought the cheap candle ("21" with "Twenty-One" written below) was incredibly awesome. I win.
Conor set the flat low score in hearts at 7, complementing his flat high score of 120 (most times, the loser gets 103-111). Adam worked his usual magic of not really being noticed.
My blogger page was being weird and refusing to update, so sorry if you looked for a post under my advice and couldn't find it.

York — Friday 23 September

Today, again, started at what I consider to be an unholy hour. The five of us from flat 1 who are study abroad/exchange (Flo (german guy upstairs), Josie (australian girl downstairs), Conor (american guy downstairs), Jessi (german roommate), and I set off to the bus stop at 8:05-ish, and ended up having to run to catch the 8:14 bus. Almost all the internationals were on the same bus, so it was a little cramped. Falling over wasn't really an option, which was nice.

The coach was in the same spot as it was for the Metrocentre trip, and Jessi and I had taken Dramamine beforehand. It lasted the whole trip.
After a much longer ride than to Metrocentre, we arrived in York. As promised by Adam, it was the most british city in England. Of course, I've only seen about two cities, if you count Heathrow terminal 5, but it was still nice.

The driver is just out of frame to the right. I'm used to looking for cars from the other direction, but driving is still frightening.

York's Minster Cathedral was the first thing we saw after getting off the bus.

Lovin' the woodcut. I think it's for a haunted house.

It's so... Old.

I kept thinking he was flipping everyone off.

Much prettier from the inside.

See? Very pretty.

It's really frigging tall.

This was across the road.

The bicycles made me think of pre-Colombian schoolbuses and wheelbarrows (inside joke with the second El Salvador mission)

Minster actually had a fire, which resulted in £1m worth of damage.

If you hadn't guessed already, it's catholic.

Even if I disagree in many ways with the catholic church, they're still beautiful.

"A plaque on both your houses."
Bonus points for anyone who can tell me the book that quote's in.

Lighting candles- another beautiful, flawed tradition.

Dead guy that wasn't important enough to be behind the pay wall.

Sundial, very useful. It would have been right but for daylight savings.

See? Paywall. Possibly because of the restoration.

More unimportant dead guys.

I could have stood outside, craning my neck, for a long time. This place is huge and gorgeous.

Indolent Roman outside Minster.

I hear that the streets here are very british.

Starbucks... under a building that's probably hundreds of years old. 

Every street should have a lady watching over it.

After all the comments about how York looks like a place in Harry Potter, I had to take a picture of this.

I'm at Rohan... Where is Karl Urban with epic armour and flowing blonde hair?

Try taking that home on the plane... 

Classic.

Another church.

Random courtyard full of headstones.

Also an owl mosaic.

I think the word I'm looking for is "picturesque" 

A house like a poorly-contrived jigsaw puzzle assembled by fifth graders.

This picture tipped on its side gave me the worst vertigo... 

Small and cramped... I like to visit, but I don't think I'd want to live there. People do, though... 

"Blackbeard's Tea Party"

Bad lighting, pretty building. The silhouette isn't bad. 

Better lighting. I think it might be a courthouse or something, because the fire department is attached to it.

It used to be a fortress of some kind, I think. Perfect spot for one... 

Big ornate building... for Subway.

A really old river with really old buildings smack up against it. 

Classic lampost. I feel like this may have been the one from The Magician's Nephew.

Clock tower.

The gates close at dusk.

All that for a cinema (theatre means live stage)

Aww, random gate.

All that to-do for a couple of holes in the wall... Also known as cash points, also known as ATMs.

We ate lunch at Castle Tea Rooms, which is basically a tiny little lunch place. I got a huge bowl of roasted parsnip soup with bread and tea for less than £5, which surprised me.
After lunch, we went to see the York Brewery. I wasn't too excited about it, but I hardly wanted to break off from my little group, get lost, and miss the bus.
It was cool to see the brewery, even if it stank of booze, yeast, and chlorine. The tour guide was this man who reminded me of a Rolling Stone with a teensy bit more weight on him. He had an accent kind of like Mr. Beaver from the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe movie. Apparently, he's been working at this brewery for 10 years and hasn't missed a day. Also, if someone's last name is Brewster, they probably lived in England back in the day on a farm. I didn't get any pictures because I don't like beer.
We ended up spending about three hours in the brewery's little pub thing. I still don't like beer or its smell, but it's less offensive to me than it was. The pub was actually a lovely place to sit and talk, once you got used to the smell.
We left the brewery at 4 to get back to the coach by 4:30, our scheduled departure time. On the way, I realised that lunch had been a long time and two long walks away, so we stopped in a little takeaway place. I got a scone with "jam and cream", which turned out to be a polygonal (at least 6 sided) biscuit-thing with jam that turned out to be cherry and what I believe was clotted cream. The cream was like sweetened whipped cream that has been sitting out for a bit – slightly runny, but still really good.
We were among the last to get back to the coach, and I took another Dramamine just in case. On the ride back, my only problem was the crick in my neck and Flo (german guy upstairs) being loud in the back.
Since we got back half an hour before the bus, Josie, Conor, Jessi, and I decided to walk back. We stopped at Aldi along the way, and I got microwave cheese and onion pasties as well as some tomatoes, fun-size apples, and orange juice "with bits" even though it was more expensive.

Sunset over Sunderland

They don't believe in street signs, preferring to paint street names on the buildings where you can't see them.

I made one of my cheese and onion pasties for dinner, and I think the one I had at the Gregg's in the Gateway was better. However, any port in a storm... Around 21:00 (9PM), Josie's boyfriend James finally got here from London, and Jessi mashed the potatoes, to her eternal delight. James, who I believe is named after the shopvac in the second-floor closet, is a really nice guy. He also complimented Jessi's potato-mashing skills, marking him as a good person forever.