I've made it to Leicester — Monday 16 January

I'm out of Sunderland! In spite of several factors, I might add.
1. Adam, who I was hoping would drive me, texted me (after a text, a call, and a pounding on his door from me) that he was sorry, but could I get a cab, and that he hoped I had a safe trip. I'd kind of been expecting this, to be honest. I was just bummed that I didn't actually see him during the week and didn't really get to say goodbye.
2. I accidentally neglected to inform national express that I was packing four bags (limit: 1 to stow in the luggage area and one to carry on, oops). I didn't really even notice the thing on the site saying "luggage allowance" until the drivers looked behind me to my mountain of luggage. In my defence, the carry on bags are far skinnier than when I came over, but there is an extra check bag.
In any case, I made it out of Sunderland. I felt embarrassed by having the drivers lecture me about how if everyone did that, they would run out of room, although they'd let me skip the fee this time (£10 per bag! Ouch.); I was called "Flower" and "Love" multiple times. I kind of wish more people called people "Flower", but I'd prefer to think of myself as a flower that fights back. Roses are pretty brutal, for instance.
The ride was okay; the drivers were both pretty bad about stopping. Neither of them liked to stay still, and would come to at least four complete stops at each light or stop sign. I got seasick at stop signs.
It was cool driving through Nottingham; I saw but was too sick to take a picture of the sign for Sherwood Forest and the Robin Hood thing. I also saw a "Sheriff's Pub" (ahaha, sheriff of nottingham, yes). I was hoping to see signs for the university (birthplace/home of periodic table of videos), but I may have been shoving my head against the seat in front of me to alleviate my carsickness. I'm a little mad at Jessi for using half my carsickness-preventing medicine, all of which I paid for, then getting her own when I ran out and not offering to share any of it. I didn't ask, so I'm not letting myself get too upset, but still. I offered her mine after sitting next to her on the bus to York, where she was pretty much nauseated the whole trip.
ANYWAY. I was pretty happy when I got in to Leicester, and the drive was really pretty. I was just about to Leicester when the sun set after a lengthy, hazy sunset around the whole horizon. There was some really pretty purple to the south.
Oh, it is interesting to note that part of my inner compass failure can probably be attributed to the fact that the sun never reaches high noon. There are always long shadows, as I saw driving through the countryside between 11 and 13. Some of the fields still had the thick frost in the shadows to the north (which I cleverly identified by the fact that all the signs that I could see pointing the way we were going said "The SOUTH"). I was pleased by the sunset, although it never went above the haze around the horizon, versus the massive, sky-on-fire sunsets at home.
The taxi drive in Leicester was not fun. My driver, pretty clearly not a native speaker, had no idea where Josie's house was (yes, I gave him the street address), and kept turning before I actually pointed out that he should turn. He was pretty fair about getting lost, though, and let me off £1.70 of the fee.
It was really good to see Josie. While the distressing case of no one really liking Jessi has made me a little wary of people actually liking me (although I like to think they do; and I'm not too paranoid about it), Josie seemed as happy to see me as I was to see her.
I'm really going to miss having her and James in the same country.
Her house is really cool. It's this huge thing — fits 11 pretty comfortably, I believe, as well as a cat — and is just a cool old house. Her housemates seem pretty cool, too. There might be pictures, although I think it would be awkward to walk around photographing someone else's house. I'm pretty sure I'll get a shot of the toilet room, though.
That's another thing. Toilet and shower go in different rooms here. The only times I object is when the sink is in the shower room, and someone else is using the shower.
Now, Josie and James have gone to Bedford, as Josie has an early morning interview there, and I'm sitting in the huge TV room downstairs watching QI, which may be my favourite non-dramatic show. It's people with british accents talking about arcane topics. Arcane is right up my alley. I've learned a lot about cake and biscuit (not actually cookie, I don't think; cookies are still the round, thin, soft things with chocolate chips in them while biscuits are crispy little affairs): the difference is apparently that, when stale, cake goes hard and biscuit goes soft.
Every now and then, I'm right about some random bit of arcane knowledge, like how baby boys wore pink until fairly recently because pink was considered the close relative of red, which was considered a very strong, masculine colour.
Good to see my random collection of facts comes to good use.
It's a lot like jeopardy, only without the timer. It's less competitive, although they do have some kind of scoring system; they mostly discuss the topics and crack weird british jokes and puns about their crazy rabbit trails. For instance, the american on this episode just said that the term for a group of baboons is "the pentagon", and the host, Stephen Fry (Mycroft Holmes from Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows; he is considered by the british to be just about as british as one can get and has a great accent), just insulted the irish (specifically, the irish guy on this episode, although the whole country was implicated) with this little zinger: "Do you know why the grass in greener in Ireland? No, not the limestone; it's because you're all over here walking on ours."
And I was right about Anders Celsius inventing the Celsius scale of temperature. I can never remember if it's Anders Fahrenheit or Anders Celsius. Wikipedia says that Fahrenheit's given name was Daniel Gabriel.
Back to the house. It's got ivy growing in through the toilet room window, and antique locks on all the inside doors. I think I'd like to live in this house; they've got a lot of plants scattered about, including a christmas cactus. I was pretty excited about that.
The cat, Oscar, is adorable. He's a long-haired grey tortoiseshell tabby-type, and he's very friendly. He's not allowed in Josie's room, as he's after Bob Diddyfish, who has a ceramic turtle friend now and seems to be enjoying his new house. He's doing less almost-dying than in Sunderland, in any case.

Two items of note: the key, which is one of those cool old ones that you see in antique shops and on jewellery* these days, and the doorknob, which is kind of odd. 

Bob! What a rap star.

So cool! Can't wait to move into my house in Spokane and then promptly start house hunting, hopefully!

So far, I do miss Freya, Conor, and Flo, but I don't really miss Sunderland. I might eventually, but my brain is currently convinced that I'm just on vacation, and is way more interested in my new surroundings than in the fact that I've brushed my teeth, made a cup of tea, slept, etc., for the last time in Sunderland. I didn't even take any "parting shot" pictures. In other words, "So long, suckers!"

*I've changed my browser spell check to british; jewellery just looked wrong and I kept trying to spell it "jewelry", so I looked it up. Wikipedia says it can also be spelled jewelry. Those crazy brits.

It's my last week in Sunderland...

So, I'm leaving Sunderland for good in a mere three days. Rising to the top of my mixture of emotions is the panic of not having packed — or even having enough suitcases, in all likelihood — at all, not even sorting my stuff.
Of course, this has been a week of more "lasts" than I can remember having since my high school graduation. I was in denial about graduation for three months before it until two days before it, when I finally read through my speech and got the panics.
I had my last day with my british biochem lab partner Freya, who's been featured on this blog before.
I turned in my last assignments.
I've been busily not buying more food, since I'll just be leaving in a few days (I use jessi's milk instead).
I returned all my library books. I really will not miss that place. I spent too much of my time cooped up trying to write lab reports on the top floor.
I keep realising that each day is my last "day of the week" in Sunderland, probably ever. I probably won't see Conor, Josie, James, Adam, Flo, Jessi, or Freya ever again after I go home.
Of course, I won't have to deal with that impossible little frenchman ever again (except for when I have to take that exam in friggin' June, not that I'm bitter). I won't have to feel like I'm wasting my time by going to lectures (I hope. I've never felt like I didn't need to go to a Whitworth lecture).
It's just as well that I'm done with my papers, though, since I had my last packet of alpine cider this morning.
A couple of funny stories about words with different meanings:
1. Cider. Cider in the UK means the alcoholic kind. It's like beer with apples, I believe. Comes in cans. Cider in the states, unless preceded by "hard", means "cloudy apple juice, I guess" or "hot, spiced apple beverage that is mostly sugar". I got some funny looks when I said that I write my best papers while drinking cider.
2. Fanny. In the states, it's sort of like saying "bum" in reference to someone's hindquarters: a fairly polite word for a culturally amusing body part. We even have fanny packs, which sit either on the bum or on the stomach.
In the UK, fanny means, ah, "ladybits", as Adam so delicately put it when we pried the definition out of him.
I probably wouldn't think this was such a funny word if I hadn't grown up with it as a quaint, funny way of saying butt.
Snrk. Yes, I am five years old.
3. The Garage. Here pronounced GARE-uhj, which still seems foreign. Although, I use and hear this one enough that it's making guh-RAHJ sound weird and foreign. In the states, a gah-RAHJ is the thing that holds your cars when you're not driving them. I think it's normally that way for GARE-uhjes here in the UK, as well.
However, there's a petrol station that I think of as "behind Clanny", although it's really more to the side. Anyway, it's the place to go for late-night food hunts that don't include hot pizza or any other kind of takeaway. Do we call it "the petrol station"? No, we do not. Someone in Clanny House, past or present, started calling it "the GARE-uhj", and the name stuck. If you say "I'm going to the GARE-uhj, does anyone need anything?" then everyone in the room will either reply that they'll come with you or thrust fivers at you with orders. I think that if I tried to call it "the petrol station", no one would know what I was talking about.
The thing that makes this really funny for me is that I still don't think of a GARE-uhj as a place to put a car, but rather as the petrol station behind clanny. Guh-RAHJes are where you keep cars.
I'd like to think that I'll be too busy packing and eating the rest of my food to post again before London or Leicester, but who am I kidding? I'll put it off until late Sunday night, and we all know it.

Oxford — Thursday 29 December

I went to Oxford! Home of one of the oldest universities, around which the town was built (hence the massive number of pubs in the town), a bunch of museums, and the original Inklings club.

The first thing in the morning was me planning out my trip, which I had supposed would be solo, since Josie (former flatmate) and James (her boyfriend) would be busy seeing James' aunt and cousins, and possibly an uncle. However, James' dad got sick and called off lunch, so I had the privilege of overhearing a conversation I would never hear in America: 

"James, would you like to go to Oxford today?"

"Sure, why not?"

I'd looked up bus fares (there's one from bedford every half hour; it's £11.40 for a return and £10 for a single), so James' dad was nice and drove us to the bus station. It was pretty crowded, but I had a bit of a "we're going to oxford, we're going to oxford, we're going to OXFORD!" mantra running through my head.

First thing off the bus. You know the old school that is constantly referred to in popular culture?

I found it.

We drifted around the corner, and I was instantly drawn in to a fleamarket thing, which had at least three booths with cheap books. One had paperbacks for £1, but they were lame. Another had paperbacks for £2 or 3 for £5. 

I got four of those. £7 is kind of cheap for books at the bookstores; I got four for the price of one! And what books... 

Seeing as I was looking for The Eagle and Child pub, home of the first Inklings, the very place where Tolkien submitted portions of The Lord of the Rings to his companions, including CS Lewis (author of one of my favourite book series to this day), I was hoping to find a cheap standalone Lewis. I found Voyage of the Dawn Treader and The Horse and His Boy, which are both great, and Voyage of the Dawn Treader is possibly my favourite of the Narnia series, but I already have that one. Unfortunately, no other Lewis books could be found, and the only Tolkiens were individual LOTR books, which I also already have. I thought about taking a Thomas Hardy (author of Tess of the D'Urbervilles, which is an extremely well-written book that I hate and haven't finished; he also frequented The Eagle and Child, although I don't think he was with Inklings), but since I don't like the one book of his that I have read part of, I decided against it. 

In the end, I had picked up Wide Sargasso Sea, a sort of prequel to Emily Brontë's Jane Eyre, which is one of my favourite books; I also love Wide Sargasso Sea in its own right, and a Sherlock Holmes compilation with a story I've not seen (A Study in Scarlet with The Sign of the Four, the latter of which I already have, but this was £2! And I haven't seen A Study in Scarlet anywhere else. Don't judge me for my Sherlock Holmes obsession; besides, I only have one more of the full-length stories to find.). Having two books, I wanted a third (only £1! I've missed second hand books... Oh, how I've missed them) and was contemplating some other fancy, dead authors' works when I rounded the corner of the stall and found Terry Pratchett books. 

You know, the ones with the weird covers? The british editions of the celebrated (knighted for services to literature, actually) british author? Yeah... I was helpless against their siren song of awesomeness. I would have got all of them if I had unlimited money and a greater weight limit on the plane back; as it was, I went with The Colour of Magic (the very first discworld novel, which I already have, but not with the u!) and Wyrd Sisters (which I hadn't read). I did turn down Guards! Guards!, Reaper Man (quite possibly my favourite; it came to Sunderland with me and has been read twice), and a whole slew of early ones, all of which I have. Wyrd Sisters it was. So far, it's pretty good, and I would have finished it on the bus if I hadn't gotten quite carsick and had to shove my head between the seat in front of me and the window.

Anyway, the rest of Oxford, in pictures!

There was some lovely architecture.

Big old buildings with plants and latin everywhere.

And spires. If you could put a point on it, people did.

I believe that this is a monument for some anti-Catholic martyrs from the Reformation. The inscription on the ground wasn't helpful, and the writing on the monument was hard to read and had too many roman numerals (what's D, anyway? I was good up until the D. M, CCC, X, L, and I were fine, but D? Bah.) for me to tell when this all went down, but a bunch of people, probably at least three, were burned on that spot (holy cow, that very spot, shivers) a long time ago because of the corruption of Rome and something about the holy, true, and possibly great and good Church of England.

 Then, I saw it. It was across several lanes of traffic, but we made it without dying.
The Eagle and Child. My personal mecca. And it wasn't just for me; I have about a million ties to Inklings. My group of friends in high school, with whom I am still close (actually, my closest friends and one of my favourite and most influential teachers), had an Inklings club that sort of emulated C.S. Lewis and JRR Tolkien in that we met in coffee houses, annoyed the staff, and talked books, others or our own. We also named ourselves after them. Then I have two fairly good friends at Whitworth who named their theme house Inklings after Lewis and Tolkien's club. I had to go. I would never have forgiven myself if I hadn't.

GAH! So much excitement!

This picture actually took quite a while to take; these two guys kept standing right in front of me, and walked around me when I turned around to have the picture taken from the other side.

THERE IT IS I'M RIGHT THERE GRIAUDNGEUDWGLFL

Pretty sure this is an actual page of notes or manuscript; it wasn't labeled and the pub was super busy, so I was trying to get my pictures and get out of the way. Also, was standing WHERE THEY STOOD right then...

There you go. 

WHERE. THEY. STOOD.

We were planning on eating there, but it was so busy and Josie was so hungry (I was, too, but I was so excited that I kind of forgot that I was hungry, and I suspect that James was pretty hungry as well, but Josie was the most vocal and had been hungry since half an hour into the two-hour bus ride) that we started hunting for food. We ended up at a little cafe that showed promise, although we were sorely disappointed. 

ANYWAY, I'm working on not dwelling on negatives in life, and it didn't really ruin the day, so we'll talk about something else.

Like this sign that I saw on the way to the Museum of the History of Science.

So, Oxford has these beautiful grounds, and I figured out how. Who wants to be a student at a uni where you're not allowed to flop about on the lawn?

I believe that some of Harry Potter was filmed at Oxford, and I believe it. It would give a proper sense of age, grandeur, and scholasticism to a place like Hogwarts.

James and Josie and a really, really old vine that covered at least twenty feet of building horizontally.

Gorgeous grounds; do not touch.

Museum of the History of Science. The fencepost columns all had rather startled-looking busts, presumably of scientists. I forgot that I had taken some pictures in Sunderland, so I couldn't take pictures of these guys. Sorry.

I wish I read Latin. I can pick out a few words, and the Vs tend to stand in for Us, but I really have no idea what they're going on about.

Disclaimer: most of the museum was actually quadrants and astrolabes. I wasn't too enraptured. However, I'm a scientist, or close to it, so I dragged my lovely friends through it. Lucky for them, I'm not that big on museums, and this was the only one I wanted to see.

Einstein Blackboard!

Explains the blackboard, or at least the point of the equations. Basically, Einstein derived, I think in that basement or at least in the building, or at least in the city, the equations that show the universe's expansion.

I love old periodic table things.

The basement of the museum had the chemistry and physics stuff; the two were quite closely related for a long time. When you get down to atoms, they're still related.

Latin, again. I'm guessing that the sign is almost as old as the room.

After this, we ambled around, contemplated walking tours, all of which were full or expensive, and tasted some fudge (all the fudge here is toffee and/or vanilla. I've only seen chocolate fudge of any kind in the fancy store we found the samples at, and they didn't have chocolate out for sampling. Jerks.).
We went through a covered market; the first stall had, quite literally, pounds and pounds of Stilton. I don't mind the smell so much as I used to, but it was really, really strong here. We also found the restaurant that Josie had really wanted to visit, but she was somehow completely full. Which is too bad; I was looking forward to it. Ah, well.

We got back without incident, other than me getting carsick on the way, but I kind of brought that upon myself by reading without having first medicated myself. Then we spent the evening rather nicely, just chilling with the cats and tea and Man v. Food, which was a vegetarian's nightmare.
Oh, and the Sparks (James' last name is Sparks, by the way) have TWO cats that like having attention paid to them! They don't like being picked up or cuddled, but they're so cute... Tinky (full name Tinky Winky, named by the then-5-year-old neighbour kid whose cat gave birth to the litter of five; Dipsy and Lala were renamed by their respective families) is black and Socks (the kid ran out of Teletubbies) is a grey tabby with white front toes, back feet, and chest.
Not gonna lie, I was really excited when I saw a grey tabby. He's stripier than Pete, with fewer spots; he's also much less chill and doesn't like having his tummy rubbed. Also, he's much skinnier and has a much longer tail with no kinks in it.
Still.

Conor's coming down from his family's in Oxford tomorrow afternoon (we didn't see him today because they live a ways out of the city centre and we're seeing him tomorrow and over new years), but I probably won't post until I'm back in Sunderland, so probably after 2 January. 

Happy New Year, everyone! This is the year the world ends, so live it up!

A Walk In The Park, And Also Food — Sunday 18 December to Wednesday 21 December

Before I get into the post, I have a blog post from a kindred spirit, at least as regards my crepe stand plan. I can't find the post where I detailed my plans to open a crepe stand if the whole scientist thing falls through, but I think it was pretty detailed. If anyone has information on where I talked about that, please let me know. It's bugging me.
Sunday, I went back to Barnes Park. I think I've mentioned it to at least one person who reads this, but I'm not sure. I didn't have my camera the first time I went here, so I kind of had to go back.

This is the big grassy area before the park. Good for dogs, kites, frisbee games, and football games.
The lensflare/glory rays were completely accidental. I wasn't even looking at the screen at the time, due to the sun being really bright. 

Some of the toys, which were all at the front of the park.

This was to show off the snow behind the gate. I don't know what the big, flat depressions are. They have stairs, so they might be for sports... It was also really icy; this walk in the park was no walk in the park.

That turned out to be something called a "stumpery", for the purpose of growing ferns like the victorians did. I think this whole park has been restored to something resembling its presumably victorian glory days.

The lake has a set of stairs leading down from it. I don't know why.

Frozen lake. I tossed a rock, and it bounced.

Ducks!

Okay, this tree bothers me. I see them around, but I don't know what they are or why people like them. They resemble pines from a distance, but up close...

It looks like something that should have been extinct for a really long time.

Do not like.

I was going to walk by the gazebo, but I think I would have ended up with a broken something, or maybe some more bruised cartilage.

Up there is the large grassy area from the beginning of the post. It goes very up, and this part of the park also goes a little down.

I brightened up the picture to make the cool bridge in the middle less invisible, but I might be able to see it just because I know it's there.

I love this funky little structure. If I'd had more battery, I'd have taken more pictures. Alas... 

Prettiness! In Sunderland, even!

I had planned to go further, but with the battery issue and the fact that it was really friggin' cold, I decided to go hunt down the cafe that I'd seen signs for at the park entrance and see what they had in the way of hot drinks. What I found was more of a small kitchen behind a candy-and-crisps counter. Fortunately, the kitchen contained a coffee pot, a hot water pot, possibly a microwave, and a friendly local. It had been a while since anyone commented on my accent, and I soon found myself chatting with a stranger (not for the last time) about my Christmas plans. I got a cup of hot chocolate with a generous portion of whipped cream on top, and it was pretty good, even if it did get grainy at the bottom and didn't do much for my hands freezing off. It was tiny, but cheaper and rather better than anything I'd get at starbucks, and also whipped cream.
That night, after my hands thawed out, I made plans to get up early and Do Things on monday. My christmas plans took form, from an abstract list to a firm idea of what I needed.

Monday, I got up before 9 AM and Did Things. I walked down Pallion, the startling street behind Clanny, and found cash, chestnuts, and a sweet shop in the style of Badger Canyon Herbs and Tea. I got some weird candy, in lieu of candy canes, my main objective. I realised that, although I'd planned to get fruit and soup makings monday, it would be a week before I'd end up using them. So, I ended up getting candy and nuts. I also went to the area outside the Bridges (mall just down the road from the university) and hunted for a tacky Christmas sweater, but they didn't have anything. I mean, there was plenty of tacky, but no Christmas.
I was disappointed, but I headed for the bookstore across the bridge. I'd seen it, but couldn't remember the name. I could, however, remember that it is on the road that the bridge is on, so I walked across the bridge with some chips from a fish and chip place outside the bridges.
I cursed myself for forgetting my camera as I walked across the Wearmouth bridge, which I've been wanting to photograph, and also saw the gorgeous-looking park thing underneath the bridge (I've made plans to go back, initially on tuesday, although that got scrapped when I woke up sick, but more on that later).
The store was closed. I almost got killed by cars three times trying to get to it, and it was closed.
Unbelievable.
Well. Maybe it was just closed for lunch... I began my hunt for the St. Peter's campus, a place I'd been exactly twice, and one of those was on a bus. The other time was when we skipped the treasure hunt during orientation and got lost on our way there before coming at it from the kind of opposite direction (almost exactly four months ago; it doesn't seem like that long ago that I didn't know some of my favourite people). I ended up getting slightly lost in a residential area, but kept following the sidewalk in hopes that I wouldn't have to turn around and go all the way back.  Luck was with me, and the sidewalk dumped me out by a sign that said University.
St. Peter's is a lot prettier than City Campus. The libraries aren't much different, although the view is better from St Peter's. I looked up the "Bridge Books and Music" store, which doesn't have a proper website, and decided to try again after the lunch hour, as it's supposedly open all weekdays.
However, unless the lunch hour is really long, Bridge Books and Music is closed for the holidays, so I'll give it another shot after new years, probably. I'm a little sad that I can't find any second-hand bookstores, and the only bookstores I can find are large chains, which are invariably expensive.
I walked home, which entailed the following: almost dying three times in roundabouts, checking the charity shop for a sweater, and getting a library card to check out Hogfather by Terry Pratchett.
The library on Kayll Road (it collides with Pallion, the street of the fruiterer and three pizza places within twenty meters of each other, and I don't know why the changed the names, but whatever) is pretty limited, but they do have Terry Pratchett. It was here that I had my second discussion with a stranger over my Christmas plans; the librarian was quite friendly.

Tuesday, I woke up sick. I blame the fact that I walked, quite literally, all over Sunderland in the rain and cold. The bus wasn't there when I was, okay? Don't judge. I slept in until... late... and then dragged my sorry behind out of bed only to go downstairs and see that there was nothing I wanted to eat. I put a load of laundry in, after forgetting my detergent, and went to the supermarket that seems the least sketchy for crepe mix. I wasn't really up to making the (admittedly not labour-intensive) batter on my own.
Conclusion: I like mine better, but it was fun making the batter in a bottle.
I spent the rest of tuesday sleeping through movies, getting bored with them when I was awake, planning Christmas, and craving soup.
I drifted downstairs sometime in the evening and decided to make soup happen. Micha left gobs of pasta, and we have a bunch of leftover vegetable bouillon from various and sundry theme nights, and Josie left lots of frozen vegetables...
It was pretty good. While chicken noodle soup was kind of out of the equation, vegetable noodle soup was pretty darn good. I think it was the noodles in hot broth thing that did it for me.
Today, Jessi redeemed herself for every time she was a horrible, insensitive, ranting b-word. She was nice to me when I was sick, and that makes up for every argument I've had to lose to preserve the lack of hostility in my room. She's lent me quite a bit of money over the course of Ireland and me not having change for laundry a few times, too. I was in a good enough mood, also triumphant after making soup, to play go fish and lose at egyptian rat race twice (blasted sandwich rule; I cursed it even when I remembered it). Jessi's not a very good winner or loser, but she was very nice when I was sick...

Wednesday, I would have stayed in bed forever, but we were supposed to have a fire alarm test, which means the incredibly loud alarm going off for three to six seconds over five to fifty second intervals for one hour. It's the most miserable time to be trying to be lazy. I decided to do my mall shopping: I got a santa hat to make up for my lack of a sweater, some mince pies that I'm hiding from Jessi until after christmas, at which point she can finish them, some fancy cheese, crackers/biscuits, lentils, sparkling white grape and peach juice (non-alcoholic; I wasn't sure if I'd be able to find any non-alcoholic cider, so I went with the first sparkling thing that reminds me of christmas that I could find), a whole lot of tomatoes, and a strange melon that I've never attempted to eat, to my knowledge.
I should explain the tomatoes. I've taken to reading food blogs; not sure how that happened. I think I was looking for a spiced cider recipe when we planned out Christmas Night, and ran across Accidental Hedonist, who had a guest writer a while ago who writes a blog called Tomato Kumato.
As I read through Tomato Kumato's archives, I find myself resonating with Emily, who's lived all over the world. No, I've never lived in or even been to New York, Toronto, or Paris, but I do know how it is to have so many "homes" that it gets a bit confusing. I know how it is to wish that you could stay in your new home, with your new friends, new cultural norms, and new habits. I know how it is to want to make your own place in a big world. I've been forcing myself to stop looking eagerly at "to let" signs that pepper Sunderland.
Of course, Tomato Kumato is a food blog. Emily posts a lot of recipes (including one for garlicky tomato soup), and I'm almost quivering with anticipation for cooking my Christmas food. Then I got sick, and felt like a master chef when I managed to scrape together tuesday night's soup. I decided that I could make a garlicky tomato soup from scratch, especially after reading about someone who's been cooking with fresh vegetables. I've always been one to jump on a bandwagon, so two pounds of tomatoes came home with me.
Unfortunately, I have no food processors at all. Josie took her potato masher with her when she moved out, and we certainly don't have any kind of blender. Of course, I was far too excited to bother with this, figuring that I don't mind a few chunks of tomato or some tomato skins in my soup.
I'll just skip to the end... It wasn't the texture that got me, it was the salt. I think I got my salt requirements for the week out of that soup, even though I tried putting potatoes in it. It was okay if I dipped some bread in it.
So, note to self: Don't try roasting tomatoes for soup until you have food processing equipment. Also, the garlic would have been garlickier if you hadn't roasted it. Since the point of the dish was to clear your distressingly clogged sinuses with a blast of garlic...
In any case, I don't feel sicker. Actually, I think I'm doing a lot better. I'm on quite a culinary trip. I made latkes while waiting for the soup, something I've wanted to try since I read the story "Latkes for Dixie" in Highlights (Dixie was the family dog, a collie, if the illustrations were to be believed). I finally pulled it off, although I have no idea if they tasted right, never having had any before. In any case, they were the success that the soup was not, and I enjoyed them with leftover apple sauce from Christmas Night.

Oh, Christmas plans... I wouldn't normally share the details beyond "watching some christmas movies and generally relaxing while my roommate's off with her family, and I'll be skyping with the family sometime and eating delicious food" except I'm getting really excited about this, in spite of the fact that I can't find candy canes anywhere.
Friday the 23rd, I'll be reading Hogfather and then judging the movie.
Christmas Eve, I'll be watching Polar Express before midnight and trying not to finish the whole bottle of sparkling grape juice. I'm torn between ordering chinese and just eating some cheese (I have a lot of cheese), bread, and apples. I'll have mince pies and cookies, in any case.
Christmas morning, I'm making the berry strudel that's been in my freezer drawer for a few months for breakfast before heading to St Gabriel's (Anglican church just down Kayll Road) for the 10:30 service.
Lunchtime will be leftover strudel and the cheese combination. I'll probably watch more Christmas movies, and I will put on my hat.
At some point in the day, I'll be skyping with my family.
Dinner will be a grand soup. I'm getting so excited about this soup. It will have everything. Lentils, tomatoes, carrots, potatoes, hopefully courgettes (british for zucchini; I kind of wish Americans had picked up on the french version instead of the italian one), mushrooms, garlic... And more!
And bread. I just need to find some and hope that the place I get it from is open the day before Christmas eve. I'm thinking I'll get some not-all-the-way-cooked baguettes from aldi Thursday, just in case. I'll eat it eventually, I'm sure.
Then... I haven't planned. The great soup might be before the skyping; it might be after. For all that I've laid this all out, I'm not sure what goes in the middle of the things I'm doing.

I've got batteries, so I'll be putting up more Christmas pictures soon. And, with any luck, I'll be feeling like I can go outside without needed to wear all my clothes even though it's not that cold out (so much for all that "worst winter on record" stuff, unless "worst" is actually defined as "most disappointing").

I'm Going to Ireland!

And nothing else matters. 

Except that I did pretty well on my lit assignment and finished my history assignment. 

Anyway, I'm going to leave my computer here because it's heavy and I don't know if there will be internet at Conor's family's house in Northern Ireland, so forgive me for ignoring your texts.

Orientation Day 4 — Thursday 22 September

This morning, I slept in forever! Around noon, I organised my clothes and stuff, then headed over to Forster Building to get my modules sorted. By the time I got there, the advisors had all gone out for lunch, so I decided to follow suit. I also wanted to register for the Student Union's Connect programme, which plans trips and events, so I headed over to the Gateway and stood in line three times to register my mobile number with the university and get my meal stipend cheque (it turns out that I can't actually set up an account with the bank because I'm not here long enough, so I need to take the cheque back and get someone up high to sign off on the bank cashing it for me. At least it will be easier to ration...). Afterwards, I had a cheese and onion pasty, and it was the most delicious thing ever. It is also the only vegetarian thing in the pasty/pie category, so I count my blessings. I don't trust "cheese savoury" sandwiches, because they look like coleslaw, and I wasn't in the mood for egg salad or even tomato and cheese (which they have!).
After my lunch, I went back and climbed three flights of stairs twice to find the place where I could get my modules sorted. I had a great view from the room I waited in, but I wasn't alone so no pictures were taken. Sorry.
I ended up meeting with the guy who ran the meeting yesterday, and it turned out that my biochem class was completely available and in the right semester and everything! I also picked History of England, 1500-1750 and English Literature 1700-1789.
After that got worked out, I took another weight off my chest by finding a walking route from the campus to Clanny. I also got stopped by Aldi to get some cheese and "laundry gel" (laundry detergent comes in "laundry gel", "laundry powder", "laundry tablets", and "laundry gel packets" while dish soap is "washing up liquid") at Aldi, a plant at a florist's shop, and tea and not-pocky at a supermarket (which means little tiny grocery store here).

Plant! It's a Sinningia Gloxina, from Brazil.

It was nice to see a familiar face in the supermarket.

It's not-Pocky!

But before that, I saw this.

When I got back to Clanny, the fire alarms were being tested, so a deafening siren blasted through the whole flat every thirty seconds or so for about an hour. It was miserable, and I ended up putting in earplugs because my ears hurt.
I went to Asda (because Adam was going, and I need dishes), and ended up with 4/£1 nectarines, a plate, a bowl, a small square mug that came with a small square saucer for my plant. I also bought a Kinder egg in the checkout line because I've never had one, and I think they're illegal in the US. Pictures to follow.

I plan on turning in early because we have to be at the Gateway at 08:30 for the coach to York. This time, I've got dramamine in my purse, to be shared freely until it runs out.

Travel — 16-17 (and 18, to be honest) September

The day started innocently enough, with me waking before the sun rose. After a longer drive than I was expecting and a blessedly uneventful check-in and security screening, I had an uneventful flight to Minneapolis. I even had a window seat (my only window seat, although one of my Iceland Air ones should have been a window).

Bye, Washington...

The clouds stretched out below the plane like a landscape of their own. They’re oddly planar, with most of them based on distinct altitudes in the sky. I now want to be a pilot, because it would be worth all the time and money spent on obtaining a pilot’s license and the time away from home just to see the clouds from above on a regular basis. 

Because I was switching from a domestic flight to an international flight, I had to switch terminals. This entails a long walk, a tram, another walk, a lightrail, and a long walk to security. I nearly missed it, and I have a lot more sympathy for people running through airports to make connexions now. 

The flight from Minneapolis to Reykjavik should have been a window seat, but I didn’t feel like ousting the person in what I believe was my seat. It was too bad, since there was the most beautiful sunset between the clouds, which were all deep blue. 

I got to Reykjavik (aka Keflavik, at least the airport) really early in the morning. I’ve also decided that I want to visit Iceland on a less transitory basis someday. It sounds interesting, and from what little of the scenery that I could see, it looks interesting. While I was hoping to get some pictures, some postcards, and maybe some nifty souvenirs, I was only there for a short amount of time. Maybe on the way back…  

I saw another sunrise in Reykjavik, which made two too many in less than 24 hours. Not that I'm bitter. Also, I want to put "Reykjavik" into this post as much as possible, since it still looks like a cat rolled on the keyboard.  

After 24 hours of travel on four hours of sleep, two catnaps, a cup of tea, and three coffees, I finally sat down at Heathrow terminal 5’s Giraffe Restaurant (I don’t know why they call it that) to sit down and type with my bags safely stowed at my feet and eat a real meal. I got the house salad and a “Hippy Hippy Shake Smoothie”, which advertised itself as containing some delicious sounding fruits. It’s a little thin and warm, but it tastes more substantial than blended white mochas. The house salad is kind of weird in the greens, and it has beets, but I can deal with that. The airport would be much more interesting if I had more space in my luggage and a place to abandon said luggage without having it mistaken for a bomb. 

Real food!

Aww, giraffe stir-stick thing... 

The view from Heathrow's British Airways terminal

The flight to Newcastle was my first real sleep in about 36 hours, and I was out like a light. It was great, and the flight even got in on time. Unfortunately, my luggage got lost, so I waited for an hour until the baggage carousel stopped before I stood in line for half an hour to register myself and my lost bag. By the time I finished with that, the University of Sunderland meet-n-greet team that was supposed to supply me with a free taxi had left (it was nearly midnight), and I had to make some calls. The number listed for Clanny House, my dorm, took me to some resident director-like person’s answering machine, so I lost £1.60 on that. I’m better at using payphones now, though, and I called a taxi recommended to me by Adam, the guy from Sunderland who lives in my flat and with whom I messaged on facebook. Adam is the fount of all knowledge in the otherwise entirely international flat: “Adam said this…” “Well, Adam told me that…” “I think Adam mentioned such-and-such…”

The taxi never came. I finally asked airport employees if it would be terribly rude to take a different taxi if the one I called never showed, and they thought that 50 minutes was far too long to get from Sunderland to Newcastle. I took the very expensive but readily available airport taxi, which cost me £45, which I paid with the last of my cash (thanks, Johnsons! The card would have cost me an extra 10%.) The airport taxi driver was very nice, and pointed out interesting little things along the way, including the ancestral home of George Washington. It used to be known as Wessington (I think), but it long since evolved into Washington. I got into my room with no problems, and set up my bed with the bedding pack that I ordered. The duvet and pillow are reminiscent of airplane pillows, and the duvet cover, pillowcase, and sheet are pretty bad quality. However, it’s better than nothing. 

The curtains and the duvet cover do not match.

Desk, message board, bookshelf

Very tall closet. I actually fit into it.

Sink! I highly approve.

Still ugly.

To add insult to injury, my Jack Sparrow socks finally gave up the ghost.

Sorry about the late update, but I got in, stayed up for four hours setting up the room, and then slept for twelve hours, waking up Sunday (18^th) at 16:00 (4 PM). 

All in all, I like england, I just don’t like the parts of it inside airports. But now it’s time to put away the computer, because I think the typing noises are disturbing my roommate’s sleep.