Greetings from Salisbury

Didn't think I'd make it. I was going to get up and mail one large, useless bag back home, or to Betsy and Jason's, anyway. But I forgot that today is a Bank Holiday, so the Post is closed.

Hauling 3 bags around England has been killing me. So much for that unneeded (but still worn once) smart outfit. Luckily, my next London hotel, the Camden Lock, said they would keep my bag for me until Thursday. I highly recommend these people, they've been very kind so far.

Salisbury is just so damn quaint. You start to believe in ley lines, that connect numinous places (churches, pagan temples, standing stones, faerie rings), as you walk around. Salisbury Cathedral, Stonehenge and Old Sarum hill fort are said to lie on one prominent one. I was walking into the town centre from my B&B along the Avon when it forked. Just as I wondered which fork to follow, I realized I had just walked into view of Salisbury Cathedral. "Nevermind," I thought. I wanted to thank the elves, but some of them don't like that, and they won't fix your shoes anymore if you do.

Adieu to Oxford

I must now bid my fond farewell to Oxford. We all had a lovely dinner last night, presided over by Reg Carr, head of Oxford library services and childhood pal of Monkee Davey Jones.

Adieu to our seminar leaders: Kate, Gail, Rebecca and the incomparable Bill Clenell. Adieu to Hazel, Caroline and Sarah at Rewley House. Adieu to the bad kids: Maureen, Tim, Todd, Elizabeth and whoever felt like hanging out with us, whether we wanted them to or not.

But mostly fondly, adieu to the pubs that fed and quizzed me:

The Turf Tavern (whose flag is on the moon, lads?)
The Eagle & Child ("O Tolkien, Prince of Fantasists...")
Jude the Obscure (it's great to eat fish & chips under a poster for The Good, The Bad & The Ugly)
The Lamb & Flag
O'Neil's cookie cutter Irish pub chain
The Cock & Camel
The King's Arms (which actually kind of sucked)
The Gardener's Arms
The Bear (great collection of cut-off ties, even if that is weird)
The Mitre Beefeater (my personal favorite, I mean favourite)

Aufwiedersehen. Goodbye.

And now for something completely different

From The Straight Dope's Weird Earls: Cicadaville. This is pertinent because one of the folks on the Oxford trip has been spouting a lot of misinformation about cicadas.

Return to the Turf Tavern

There we were at the Turf, the first and best pub quiz we had found, competing again against about a dozen teams of Oxford students. We were going to come home with it.

One round was mythology. We got 11 out of 11. It's great to be able to break out that you know the Celtic sea god is Mannanon MacLir. It doesn't come up much, otherwise.

Two rounds to go, and we're in the lead with 29 points. The closest competitor had 25. Last round: lyrics.

Now this was weird. Those pagan gods we knew must have been lending their aid. Before the round started I let the team in the impromptu singing of Bon Jovi songs, including Livin' on a Prayer in its near entirety.

The last round started. They say a lyric, you name the song and original artist. Question 2: "The union's on strike/ He's down on his luck."

I sat dumbfounded. How in the name of Loki and Gilgamesh could a lyric have come up FROM THE SONG I JUST STARTED SINGING?!?!? But it did. Surely this was a sign of our fortune.

We finished by our own calculations with 42.5 points. Rounds usually, but not always, have 10 points. Our closest competition would have had to have gotten 9 points in each of the last two rounds to beat us. We knew that victory was ours.

Then they called out the final totals. Alas and alack. Buggers had somehow gotten 20.5 points in the last two rounds.

Bugger. Second place sucks.

More of same

Well, life at Oxford has nearly settled into a routine of boring lectures and pub trips. Last night Tim, Todd, April from Alabama, Diane and I went to the Gardener's Arms pub, a very out of the way place, for trivia. We came in a respectable fourth, right behind the British table across from us who entertained us with drunken antics the whole night long.

The first question was the 5 possible sites of the 2012 Olympics.

"Is that one question or five?," one fellow asked.

"I hope the next 26 are the alphabet," another rejoined.

Not much else to report. Except that I've been pinching myself so hard to stay awake during the lectures that I've just discovered that I'm leaving visible wounds.

Scant pictures

The Bodleian newsletter features one picture of the Bodleian Blackbirds and one of a few seminar participants and our guides.

If I'd remembered to pack my camera I could show you even more.

Pub Quiz II and the British Library

Second night of pub trivia sucked. Jude the Obscure just didn't have it together (only one round with a theme, number of points didn't add up right) and their announcer was some sort of wannabe comedian. He had to interrupt himself at least once in each question to say something he thought was funny. Made the whole affair drag on intolerably long.

Today we had to get up early so we could be on the coach to London by 7:30 for the British Library tour. The BL is pretty neat, and has loads and loads of cool stuff (over 11.5 million holdings, which include things like, oh, the Beowulf manuscript, the Magna Carta, the Diamond Sutra... you know, little stuff like that).

The tour kind of sucked though. Still feeling under the weather, I chose what I thought was a good moment to pull out my Nalgene bottle and have a sip of refreshing water. The guide reminded me, or really just minded me, that there was no eating or drinking in the library.

I was standing between the water fountain and the cafe at the time. See, told you it seemed like a good moment. No food or drink. Ten feet over the woman's shoulder people are drinking coffee. It was like Orwellian doublespeak.

After the tour we were on our own, so I grabbed lunch at a nearby pub, the Euston Flyer. I had the rib-eye. Then I was headed to Baker St for a Sherlock walking tour, but I forgot that the tour actually started at Embankment instead of somewhere that made sense. Then my blood sugar got low, and it started to rain for the first time since I've been here.

I knew I wasn't going to make it to Embankment in time for the tour, and at nearly 2:30 getting to late to get on to anywhere that closes at 5:00, so I decided to take the Oxford Tube (which is a actually a bus) back.

Now I think I'll take a nap to see if I can shake this cold, and go get a late dinner later.

Peace, love and hair grease from Britain's finest seat of higher learning.

Pub Quiz

My "(*&$(*&( post just disappeared. I do not like this new Blogger interface.

Anyway, to recap quickly...

Lectures are boring and suck. Catered food sucks.

Six of us went to the Turf Tavern last night for trivia. Surprisingly we came in 3rd out of 16 teams.

You know what that means?

It means 13 teams from Oxford got served by 6 Americans.

Some of us are going to Jude the Obscure's for their trivia night tonight. But hearing of our success, now everybody wants to go.

It's hard being a trendsetter.

Decorum

A few of us seem to be becoming the bad kids.

On Monday we had a tour of the Bodleian Library, which was amazing. We got our Bodleian cards, and we had to swear a very solemn, medieval style oath that we would not harm the books in the libary, nor "kindle any flame therein" and would follow all the rules of the library.

We were then split up into small groups and each of was lead by an older gentleman who worked or had worked in the Bodleian. We had an 800 year old, but spritely, fellow named Peter Warren. He was delightful and full of energy, and he left us all tired at the end of our 2 hour tour. I'll call him "Rabbit" Warren. Quite appropriate.

Later we had a reception with many of the Bodleian staff at the Divinity School, which is housed within the main Bodleian building. We were in the main chamber of the school, a very ornate medieval structure. Starting with the library's construction in 1602, major benefactors had their initials and coats of arms carved into the stone ceiling. The detail on the carvings was not to be believed. I understand that the infirmary scenes in Harry Potter were shot there.

Then came our special suprise. It was announced that Rabbit and the 2 other tour guides used to have a medieval style singing group called the "Bodleian Blackbirds." Joined by a younger fellow, they put on austere black robes and sang the reader card oath in the style of a monk's chant. It was great.

The heavy air of the place was perhaps getting to some of us though, as Tim and Elizabeth started joking about singing an MC Hammer or Biz Markee song in similar style. Todd and I soon joined in the good humor, which everyone punctuated with dance moves remembered from the 80's. But soon I left to mingle a bit and talk with the British folks.

I returned to Tim, Todd and Elizabeth about half an hour later. One of the major subject librarians was just starting to talk to them, so I joined in. Elizabeth and Todd, however, were paralyzed by the inappropriateness of the still lingering MC Hammer conversation, and they more or less collapsed into giggle fits in front of the poor woman. Tim and I did our best to save face by engaging her in a professional conversation about Open Source projects. I think we did fairly well.

At dinner we were joined by a pretty young woman who's name I don't remember, who completes our oft rejoined group. Recounting the incident, we couldn't stop laughing loudly. I think the others were a bit perturbed.

We may have irrevocably become "those people."

Oxford

Well we've arrived at Oxford and had our lunch and tour of the town. It's a very nice place, and has a similar feel to many college towns I've been to, just with the English medieval thing piled on top.

Yesterday I continued on from Paddington to... hell, I don't remember. I know I went to scope out my post-Oxford hotel in Bloomsbury. It took a while to find, since the name on the sign isn't exactly the real name of the hotel. Britain is like that.

I was waiting on the Tube on the Picadilly line, which isn't my usual line, and I was nearly put down with the giggles when the arriving train proudly announced its destination, "Cockfosters." I retained my outward composure, but at the expense of figuring out that it was my train. I know, I'm twelve. But hell, you can't say something like "Cockfosters" without warning somebody first. Another Picadilly train came by in 2 minutes, but it had a different endpoint, and by God I was going to be on the Cockfosters train, which followed 1 minute after that.

That was my first Tube station fun. On my next trip the station was absolutely overwhelmed with people, some of them shirtless and singing strange songs. Arsenal has just beaten whoeverthehell to finish with an unbeaten season. You know how some people are about their footie: drunk and obnoxious. But it was entertaining. I was glad to see that most people gave sidelong glances and whispered that they wanted the Arsenal supporters to shut up. I thought when these events occured in Europe the whole crowd went hooligan, whether they wanted to or not. Kind of like St. Vitus' dance.

Hrmm. Went on a walking tour that night. Came in and watched a bit of TV in the wee hours before drifting off to sleep (ask me about the EuroVision competition). Had to wake up early to get some more hambacon, and schlep all my crap across London to Paddington so I could get a train to Oxford.

And so I did. The SILSers are cool, and the non-SILSers seem ok, too. I shared a lunch table with Michelle, who I kind of knew from the lab, a nice woman from Alabama, our guide Kate and some other people I don't remember. Now I'm sitting blogging to you from the Rewley House computer lab, between Tim and Todd. We were getting the DT's. It's nice to have a computer I don't have to go across town and pay to use.

After our reception dinner, I think I'll go on over to the Eagle & Child, where JRR Tolkien used to hang out.

Live from Paddington

Cheers from an internet cafe by Paddington Station. My usual net cafe in Victoria is goofed up. They've gone to a "staffless" operation, so when all 3 authorization dispensing vending machines are broken, like they were yesterday, there's really no help to be had. In Systems talk, that's a breakdown.

Well, to recap: arrived in London early yesterday morning. Had to lug 3 very heavy bags around for about 2 hours before I could get to the hotel. The Tower Thistle is very, very swank. Don't know how I lucked up on the 50 quid a night deal. You have to put your key in the elevator to be allowed access to my floor, and my room has an unbelievable view of St. Katherine's Lock, off of the Thames just north of the Tower Bridge.

Spent the afternoon walking around the Tower, Galleria and Monument areas. Had a wonderful plate of fish & chips in a great little pub called The Walrus & Carpenter, tucked away in an alley near the Monument. Then I headed back to the hotel and strolled through St. Katherine's Dock a bit more. Quite a swank, "cultural" little area full of upscale little shops and restaurants along the picturesque lock. Looks like a place where the rich guys from that show with Anthony Head and Nigel Terry might hang out.

Later I took the aforementioned pointless trip to Victoria to check my email, and walked through Westminster a bit in the early evening. I had to head back to hotel by 10 pm, though. I hadn't slept on the plane over (I never can), and I was literally nodding off on the Tube, which would have had interesting results.

This morning I discovered how brilliant the British are. My traditional breakfast included a pork product that was basically ham with the bacon cuts often still attached. Hambacon. If you can die from eating too much hambacon, and I'm pretty sure you can, then I will be leaving this Earth soon. I was going to go to the old Spitalfields markets and check for some places that traffic in, I mean cater to sword enthusiasts... but I found that most shops are closed there on Saturdays. I decided to spend the day finding out where my other hotels are precisely located so I don't have to repeat yesterday morning.

I have so far walked from Euston through Camden Town, and down Regent's Canal to Marylebone. You don't know what I'm talking about, but that's a long way, trust me.

Well, I may go stroll through the (Ho)Spitalfields anyway. Maybe something will be open. My 40 minute allowance is winding down, so...

Bye for now from London.

Trying not to sing that John Denver song

It is a very strange feeling to return to the apartment and not have Grendel greet me. But he seemed to be having a lot of fun with Nietzsche. I hope he stays dazed and happy for as long as possible before he starts wondering where I am.

Next post will be from London. Cheers.

(Readers, note that Blogger has chosen this time to "upgrade" their services, and the new interface seems more than a little buggy... bear with me)

Sunday Morning Coming Down

Laying half asleep on the couch, I hear Grendel begin a yelp and end in an honest to God bark. I wonder if he's dreaming or if he's hurt himself on the sharp, spiky innards of the couch.

I look at him. Wide-eyed, staring straight ahead. We'll never know.

The documentary on the Science Channel features a Westerner talking to a man named "Danshu Colonia," proof as you'll ever get that you're in the Phillipines. A homemade bus comes to pick up the pair, and you've never seen a better partner to Fozzy's aunt's rainbow-colored Studebaker.

But what I need to get on to appear productive this morning is checking on what to do for 2 days between Oxford and Salisbury. Wales is out, I can't checkout of Oxford in time to make the train. There's always London.

I need to get ready. Before long it will be time to meet the gang and head to graduation.

Gentle readers

Bare with me as I tinker with the CSS.

I can tell you what doesn't stop the hiccups

 

drinking water
holding your hands above your head
rubbing your earlobes
bending over and drinking from the opposite side of a glass
breathing deeply
focusing your qi
thinking happy thoughts

Update: Holy crap, holding my breath worked for once.

I was bad

Very bad.

It is over

I am done at last. I don't think I've ever worked so hard to turn in such crap as I have this semester. In Open Source we were left floundering without any real instruction. In Gogan's class we learned a ton about networks, and a ton about the Institute of Government's network, in particular. But for all the work, and all the satori along the way, we were really uncoordinated and turned in some pretty paltry documentation. It's just hard to represent what's going on in such a large, dynamic environment. After sweating for the last few weeks over those two projects, my final piece for Interactive Media, on the wacked out end time prophecies of John Titor, suffered a bit from lack of attention.

But now it's over. I can start concentrating on the UK trip. I think I will take that side trip to Wales, even if it's for less than 2 days. How often do I get the chance to go to Wales? If I miss the 6 am train, I can take the 7:30 bus, which takes 5½ hours. But I'd see even more of the countryside.

Checking over the Oxford info, I see that summer temperatures can vary anywhere from 55° to 85° F. That's about what I expected. Sounds nice, actually. Just means packing for more eventualities.