I met a fool in the forest, a motley fool.

B. and I skipped out a little early from the office and went to see Kenneth Branagh's new film adaptation of As You Like It. It was opening night at the local cinema house and Branagh was doing a Q&A afterwards, so we couldn't resist. As it happened, two of the actors were on hand to introduce the film, Brian Blessed (whom you'll recognize by voice alone, and Adrien Lester.

I should have known from the opening screen that it was going to be wretched. This play is wonderful. The film took out all the poignancy of Rosalind's once-amazing character. In this film she seemed like a simpering Celia instead of a smart and witty Shakespearean character. Branagh built up the beginning of the play (when the Duke is usurped by his brother) so much that apparently there was no time to develop any of the main characters at all. The wonderful thing about this play for me is that Shakespeare seems to be saying that one's love should be one's best friend...that everyone needs masculine and feminine characteristics to be a whole person. There was none of that wonderful awkwardness that this play makes so palpatable when Orlando finds himself opening up to the crossed-dress Rosalind. Some of the best lines of the play (e.g. 'I can live no longer by thinking.') were completely cold. Gah. Where did my Shakespeare go?

Folks, Alfred Molina was Touchstone. Every time he came on screen I wanted to throttle him. This alone should make one run for the hills! (Don't get me wrong, I think he's a very talented actor, but Touchstone, he is not.) Kevin Kline was a wonderful Jaques though -- he stole the show for me.

B. and I were so disappointed that we left before the Q&A. We were far too afraid we'd ask a mean question and be snarky.

Realization of the Day

Autumn is here.

It didn't take long. Yesterday morning, there was that characteristic nip in the air as I walked out my front door and a few brightly colored leaves swirling about my feet. This morning the nip returned, complete with wind and a little rain. Autumn pulls no punches here -- it stole summer away without a second glance. I guess it's good that I'm leaving in a week since I only have a few sweaters with me. Last night I stayed out late at a party with coworkers, and as I walked home at 10:30pm, I realized that a few months ago, it would have been dusk instead of the dead of night as it was now.

Still, it would be nice to see the new season come in earnest, even if it does mean shorter days, longer scarves, and red leaves swirling at my feet.

Grrr. Argh.

I dropped my computer yesterday and in retaliation my computer isn't starting, so I will be at the whims of the dreaded dorm computer until I return home on Sept. 29th. I'll try and update as much as I can, but entries will probably not be up to my usual standards, to say the least.

I have to say, today is the first day I've felt inexplicably lonely since I got here. It wasn't a fun feeling. I think I'm ready to come home to my family and friends and little grey kitty.

A Big Realization

I think I've figured out why I didn't like Notre Dame Cathedral. I went to Westminster Abbey today to do research for my dissertation. Part of a chapter will (hopefully) be about the Abbey, but I've been really trepidatious about braving the summer crowds so I can do my research. When one steps out of the tube stations that surround Big Ben, the Houses of Parliament, and the Abbey, one is immediately accosted by tour groups crowding the sidewalks, people taking photographs of themselves with Big Ben as a backdrop, and general rudeness that overtakes people when they need to see the coveted tourist locale that they have witnessed in countless postcards, paintings, and movies. Today, as I wandered towards Westminster Abbey, I realized that this part of London is incredibly beautiful, but I doubt it the bumbling tour groups noticed as they listened to their yelling guides waving their colored banners to keep all their ducks in a row (or roughly amoeba-shaped glob, rather).

I bought by ticket and walked up to information, ready for them to tell me that they didn't care I was working on my doctoral thesis and send me on my merry way. "Is it okay if I take notes while I'm here? I'm working on my thesis and I'd like to see Henry's chapel," I told the worn-out lady and the bursar who stood next to her--batting my eyes the whole while. Sadly, she told me that nobody gets to see the chapel at all. I think that she felt a little sorry when she saw my crestfallen face. I really was upset; I hadn't realized that the chapel was off limits.

Then the bursar chimed in and told me he'd take me! So I had my own personal tour of most of the king's tombs. Usually one is only allowed to walk along the outside of the tomb area and stare up at all of them, but I was able to get up close to all of them away from prying eyes. The bursar was great: we exchanged information about the tombs and he took me up the spiral staircase to Henry's chapel. If you're down below, you don't realize that there's another level at that point which houses a chapel. It was quiet and beautiful. The sun was just coming in the windows and reflected off the brass effigies. The bursar even let me take pictures!!!!! It's a big no-no in the cathedral, but I was able to snap away, even with people grumbling about it below. It was a magical, holy place in the middle of all the bustle. There was a perfect view down the nave of the church to the stained glass windows at the back. My favorite part was on the bottom level, where I was able to take a very close look at Henry's tomb. He has a wooden effigy that is breathtaking to see.

But my tour didn't end there! The bursar took me around the front of the big altar and let me look at the majestic golden altarpiece that covers the front of the church. It was brilliant. Amazing. As the bursar and I said goodbye, I wanted to hug him for my special morning. I spent the rest of my time there trying to sketch out what I was, much to the annoyance of all the people walking around me, but at that point, I was so happy, I didn't mind the tourists!

A Limey Summer

This has been the summer of key lime pie. At 'Cake Friday' (an event at WBL where each person in the manuscript department brings a cake for morning tea), I made key lime pie for my new colleagues. None of them had tried anything like it before, and everyone thought it was quite tasty. There aren't any graham crackers here, so I used ginger snaps, which worked perfectly to balance the tartness of the lime zest with the spice of ginger.

Tonight I made key lime pie again for my dorm-friend H, who's leaving tomorrow morning. It's such an easy pie that I don't bother measuring anything any more. After a quick Fahrenheit to Celsius conversion, we were all set! Here's the recipe:

Key Lime Pie
Serves eight

Lime filling

4 teaspoons grated zest plus 1/2 cup strained juice from 3 to 4 limes

4 large egg yolks

1 (14-ounce) can sweetened condensed milk

Graham cracker crust

11 full graham crackers, processed to fine crumbs (1-1/4 cups)

3 tablespoons granulated sugar

5 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted

Whipped cream topping

3/4 cup heavy cream

1/4 cup confectioners' sugar

1. For the filling: Whisk zest and yolks in medium bowl until tinted light green, about 2 minutes. Beat in condensed milk, then juice; set aside at room temperature to thicken.

2. For the crust: Adjust oven rack to center position and heat oven to 325 degrees. Mix crumbs and sugar in medium bowl. Add butter; stir with fork until well blended. Pour mixture into 9-inch pie pan; press crumbs over bottom and up sides of pan to form even crust. Bake until lightly browned and fragrant, about 15 minutes. Transfer pan to wire rack; cool to room temperature, about 20 minutes.

3. Pour lime filling into crust; bake until center is set, yet wiggly when jiggled, 15 to 17 minutes. Return pie to wire rack; cool to room temperature. Refrigerate until well chilled, at least 3 hours. (Can be covered with lightly oiled or oil-sprayed plastic wrap placed directly on filling and refrigerated up to 1 day.)

4. For the whipped cream: Up to 2 hours before serving, whip cream in medium bowl to very soft peaks. Adding confectioners' sugar 1 tablespoon at a time, continue whipping to just-stiff peaks. Decoratively pipe whipped cream over filling or spread evenly with rubber spatula. Garnish with optional sugared lime slices and serve.

Realization of the Day:

I love Duke Humfrey's Reading Room!

I'm sitting in Duke Humfrey's Reading Room at Oxford at the moment. I needed to come back and look at the rest of the manuscripts that I needed before I go back to the States. It feels strange having a laptop here --it was built in the 15th century, folks. The century that I study! It's so quiet and nice here. I'm working by a window and have 5 manuscripts stacked up beside me and another 5 waiting for me at the front desk.

I'm going to go to the pub across the street for lunch. I had the best venison bangers and mash (sausage and mashed potatoes) there last time I was here, so I'm hoping that it's on special again. And the rhubarb crumble! Mmmmmm. There's really no point to this post, I'm afraid. I'm just ever-so-happy to be doing what I love in a place that still has the remnants of lat-medieval paint on the walls. I'm trying to cram as much of this into my memory as possible so I don't forget a minute.

Realization of the Day:

Boy did the transit strike screw things up.

I am very lucky: I walk to work every morning. Most Londoners don't drive to work since there are steep fees for green-house gas emissions if you drive in Central London. If I remember correctly, parking even costs more if you have a car with a high emission rate. Honestly, I think they should start using this in Los Angeles and see how fast people switch to more energy-efficient cars.

Anyway, most people take the bus, the tube, the train, their legs, or their bike to work. Everyone still acts like they're in cars though. Nobody looks at anybody else. Everyone is in their own little bubble of personal space. I smile at most people I pass, especially if they're looking particularly glum. It's still novel for me to be here, so I'm generally happy to be out and about; not so, for many grumpy Londoners in the mornings. I see the men going to work in their wonderful British suits (usually pin-striped, with French cuffs, and brightly-hued ties) and I can't help but smile at their style compared with the American penchant for navy-blue suits and neutral ties. It wasn't until last week that a friend told me that these men probably thought I was flirting with them. Awesome. I have frightened dozens of British men with my strange California ways! I have pierced their bubble of solitude and made them feel really uncomfortable! Nobody is safe from my dimpled smile!

I'm not smiling these days though. For the past three days, there's been a nasty transit strike. (This article has a great picture of how the tube stations looked.) 2/3 of all the tube lines were shut down this week, effectively bringing the city to a crawl. Even my path to work changed drastically since more cars were on the road and more grumpy people were trying to dodge my friendliness. My colleagues at WBL were trying to change their schedules so that they wouldn't be travelling in rush hour, but effectively every minute was rush hour. The lines to get into all the tube stations were so long that many people just gave up. There were much fewer people using the library this week as well.

After being here, I really wish that west Los Angeles would have some kind of above-ground train system. Above ground because I would be much more comfortable using a train in a state renown for its seismic bumps if it was in a giant earth-cave.

Realization of the Day:

A haircut can change one's outlook entirely!

It can! I promise! I found out that the salon a block away from my dorm is an Aveda salon and so I went in today to see if they had an appointment open. Since I have such short hair, if I don't get a trim every couple of months I start to look really grungy, and not in that good, early 90s way (was that ever good?). I was heading down the path to mullet-ville and in a reasonably homesick mood, so I decided to throw caution to the wind and try the random salon!

The thing with short hair is, one small misstep and one can look very much like a guy. Let's face it, I'm not exactly the most feminine woman in the world; I like being androgynous (I think it adds to my quirky charm, don't you?) so I like having shorter hair, but there's always a risk that someone is going to give me a really bad cut.

Not today! The woman who cut my hair was tremendous. She ever-so-carefully cut each section, sometimes stopping to cut a single stray hair. The result? A wonderful pixie cut with short 'fringe' (or bangs in the U.S., as I soon realized). I am a very happy camper, feeling much lighter, and ready to take on the world again! Grrr!

Realization of the Day:

It all boils down to this...

These last 4 weeks are going to be the hardest. Before, I had months left in my time here, so I could leisurely plan (or avoid planning) research outings for my dissertation and fun things. Now, I officially have less than a month remaining in my time here, and I have to say that these next full weeks are going to be packed with all the things that I've been meaning to do. To say nothing about all the manuscripts I need to look at while I'm at Oxford next weekend. I need to work like a madwoman at the WBL in order to finish with my projects, especially since I've been given such amazing ones.

This weekend I'm going to the Imperial War Museum and down to Richmond on Sunday for a stroll along the Thames and a screening of Ingmar Bergman's The Seventh Seal.

Life's rough, no? At least I'm not in my un-airconditioned apartment right now while its being painted! (Sorry, K.)

Realization of the Day:

Nettles hurt.

Ouch! I received my first nettle sting today. Nettles are everywhere here (really, whole fields of the little suckers) and the little plants look like mint. I bent down to pick some and received a most unwelcome surprise. My thumb still hurts!

Today I went on an eight mile hike in the county of Hampshire, in the south of England with the other intern that shares my position at the WBL. This year the powers that be picked two interns instead of just one, so I now have a partner in crime (and a very nice one at that)! She happens to have gone to college with Greg, one of my dearest friends. Since I met him when I went on a trip during high school, I've never talked to anyone else who knows him--it was so nice to be able to talk to another person who knew Greg!

We took a train from London to a village called Mortimer and walked to the Roman town of Calleva Atrebatum, which is now the town of Silchester. There's an amazing ruined amphitheatre outside of town, and the city walls are still intact, so one can walk along their (now grassy) top. We had a snack at the base of a giant oak tree, walked along many pastures and streams, and even stumbled onto a pheasant and game-bird farm when we took a detour away from our planned route (read: we got lost).

We spent part of our afternoon going through St. Mary's Chuch in Silchester. It has some wonderful remnants of medieval wall-paintings of flowers (photo to your left), possibly painted as early as the 13th century. It was a nice, quiet parish church, with a 400 old yew tree that shaded many of the old tombstones. It was great seeing the church with an art historian, especially since I've always been interested in the history of medieval churches in England. This church also had a wonderful wooden ceiling, but none of the guides mentioned if it was a Tudor one or not (it looked as if it might be).

One of my favorite parts of England are the little villages filled with wonderful remnants of the medieval and Roman periods one just runs into! We ended our day with a much more modern stop at the pub at the next village over, called Bramley Then, we caught the train back to London! After all was said and done, we walked about 8 miles.

Realization of the Day (A Recap of Paris):

I haven't really talked about Paris yet, have I?

This wee hask been a blur. K. left on Tuesday and I went back to work at a frantic pace. I realized that I was left with a messy room, no food, and no clean laundry, so I've spent the last week regrouping from my mini-holiday. Honestly, I've been a little sad to be without K. as well; even though my room was teeny-tiny, it was nice to have him here and be our usual quirky selves together.

But I said I was going to talk about Paris, didn't I? Our first day in Paris was last Friday. It was spent with my paleography professor guiding K. and I around Le Marais and the surrounding area. He's a retired history professor, so a guided tour from him was better than any travel book or guide I've ever had. One of the first things he showed us was what remained of Phillip Augustus' wall that surrounded the medieval version Paris in 121o.

Paris has expanded since then, but since building material was hard to come by, the wall has become any number of things, including the side wall for a building. On your left is a picture of a typical 17th century Parisian building; however, the corner to this building is actually built onto the remains of one of the round towers that were at all the entry gates to the city. My history professor was very worried that the portion of the wall at ground level was going to get destroyed by the kids playing football/soccer against it on the weekends. His wife thought it had withstood so much that there wouldn't be a problem.

I love cities that have been around for a long time, whether they are from Europe or the East coast. K. and I stayed at a cheesy but cheap little hotel called Hotel de 7eme Art, which had an old Hollywood theme. (Our room had a Asphalt Jungle post over our bed.) Our room also had exposed beams of really old wood, complete with old plaster and sloping ceiling. Even though there was a modern bathroom, it was obvious that our hotel was also built during the same time that the building above was!

Realization of the Day:

What?

That's the Beowulf Codex, well the first page from the poem Beowulf, anyway. It's been through a lot in the 1,100 years since it's been made. In 1731, it barely made it out of the Cottonian Fire, as its scorched edges attest. Even in the 15th century, people couldn't read the first lines of Beowulf, not without a lot of trouble anyway. In the 18th century, people like Cotton were just getting interested in the 'ancient' English language. The half-scorched manuscript is the only copy of this poem that survives. It's terrifying (at least for me) to think of a life without this story. If you want to hear the first few lines recited, click on this link.









Hwæt We Gardena
What We of the Spear-Danes
in gear dagum þeod cyninga
in old days of the people-kings
þrym ge frunon hu ða æþlingas ellen
power heard how the Aethlings brave deeds
fremedon.
did.

There are 4 letters in that little bit that we don't use today. That's why the word 'hwaet' looks like 'hpaet'. Those letters are holdovers from the runes that the Germanic languages used before the Romans came around. The smaller text is a literal translation, and does little to capture the poetry and alliteration that come with such a wonderful opening stanza. Here's a translation that's only a little better:

Lo, praise of the prowess of people-kings
of spear-armed Danes, in days long sped,
we have heard, and what honor the athelings won!

Anyway, this is just to say that I got to look through this manuscript today, if only for a little while. It's one of the most important pieces of literature from the Anglo-Saxon period (pre 1066 A.D.) that survives. As a person who studies manuscripts, this is like winning the Superbowl and taking the fabled trip to Disneyland afterwards. Not only did I get to see it, I got to talk about it with the scholar and curator who were examining the manuscript. I think I can go to bed with a smile on my face tonight.

Realization of the Day:

Well, summer was nice while it lasted.

I'd like to point out to the weather gods that it is still August, which is far too early to be walking home in 58 degree weather with 20mph gusts of winds and rain. My coworkers are saying things like "well, summer was nice while it lasted" as if I should be airing out my winter sweaters. Except I don't have any winter sweaters here!

The wind is pounding against my windows like nobody's business. People are rushing around even more than normal so that they can avoid being splashed on by passing buses. Women are wearing their winter coats, and scarves are something more than a fashion statement. After witnessing this dreary weather in August, it's no wonder that the weather became such a focal point in English novels, especially those of the Brontes and Dickens--They write about the wind as if it's constantly tapping them on their shoulders. To wit:

'A Christmas frost had come at midsummer; a white December storm had whirled over June; ice glazed the ripe apples, drifts crushed the blowing roses; on hayfield and cornfield lay a frozen shroud: lanes which last night blushed full of flowers, to-day were pathless with untrodden snow; and the woods, which twelve hours since waved leafy and flagrant as groves between the tropics, now spread, waste, wild, and white as pine-forests in wintry Norway.' --Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre

'The business of eating being concluded, and no one uttering a word of sociable conversation, I approached a window to examine the weather. A sorrowful sight I saw: dark night coming down prematurely, and sky and hills mingled in one bitter whirl of wind and suffocating snow.' --Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights

'A blight had fallen on the trees and shrubs; and the wind, at length beginning to break the unnatural stillness that had prevailed all day, sighed heavily from time to time, as though foretelling in grief the ravages of the coming storm. The bat skimmed in fantastic flights through the heavy air, and the ground was alive with crawling things, whose instinct brought them forth to swell and fatten in the rain.' --Charles Dickens, Nicholas Nickelby

'The wind began to moan in hollow murmurs, as the sun went down carrying glad day elsewhere; and a train of dull clouds coming up against it, menaced thunder and lightning. Large drops of rain soon began to fall, and, as the storm clouds came sailing onward, others supplied the void they left behind and spread over all the sky. Then was heard the low rumbling of distant thunder, then the lightning quivered, and then the darkness of an hour seemed to have gathered in an instant.' --Charles Dickens, The Old Curiosity Shop

The Girl with One Pancake

There's a cardinal rule when you're living abroad. Don't try and find those things for which you're homesick; you know, fresh-squeezed lemonade, your favorite shampoo, a brand of coffee you've been using for years. Just relish the thought that soon you will be back at home with life's familiar goings-on. Basically, to put another spin on it, travelling is a time to try out new things!

But I was craving pancakes. Honestly, I think pancakes may be my favorite food. Ever since my Grandma Opal made them for me when I would spend the weekends at my grandparent's farm, I've adored pancakes. Grandma made them perfectly. I think she probably greased the pan with just a light layer of butter and then left the pancake on the griddle (no peeking!) for just long enough until it was a rich shade of sienna before she flipped it over. I remember sitting in the yellow vinyl chairs turning myself towards the kitchen so I could see her standing over the stove. Grandpa and I would smile in anticipation. Then comes the butter. You have to make sure that the little pad of butter is evenly divided over the top pancake, but that there's enough left to hide under the top one and cover the one underneath. Then comes the syrup. As many of you know, I will go through liters of this stuff given the chance. No really. I make sure that syrup has hit every centimeter of the pancake and then keep pouring until the edges of the plate almost drip with the stuff. Now K. and I make banana pancakes on the weekends, and sometimes we'll even have them for dinner along with a few eggs.

Ahem. So obviously, pancakes are very important to me. Honestly, I don't miss that much because I like trying new things, but I have been craving pancakes for a few weeks. When I saw that the Jacobite Cafe's special was 'American style' pancakes, I dragged Kevin into the cafe for my lunch. I should have known there'd be a problem when the waitress sheepishly came up to us after 10 minutes and told me that they couldn't find any self-rising flour for the batter. "Just put in some baking powder," clever K. replies, and off our happy waitress goes to finish making my flap jacks. About 15 minutes later she comes back with two plates in her hand: K's panini and my.....

pancake. After all that trouble, I received a single pancake, about 4 inches in diameter. Even though I found the experience sadly funny, I was ready to dig in until I smelled the telltale 'burnt pancake' smell that I know so well. I flipped my pancake over and was greeted to a smoking, black door-way into my own personal hell. I had one pancake, and it was burnt! I slathered it in butter and syrup, tasted it, and the consistency almost threw me. It was cakey, spongey, and not at all the consistency of anything I wanted to eat. Boo.

I made the same mistake the next day when I again ordered pancakes. This time, there were three smallish pancakes on my plate--nicely cooked, but still having a strange consistency. No more pancakes for me, my friends. But you can all bet that my first morning back in Los Angeles, that K. will be firing up the griddle!

Realization of the Day:

Tomorrow! Tomorrow! I'll see K. tomorrow! It's only a day away!

Realization of the Day:

British Library (6)
Originally uploaded by McTumshie

One's surroundings are important.

Although the staff area where I spend much of my day is nothing to write home about, the public areas of WBL are amazing. The new building is airy, spacious, and full of a wonderful buzz of people talking. One of my favorite spots to have a quick tea with friends is in the cafe. The picture to the right cuts off most of the cafe table except the ones at the very edge. The wall-like structure is actually a clear tower filled with bookshelves. Apparently the architects really liked the Beinecke Library at Yale and decided to build a similar structure as the centerpiece for the new British Library. The tower of books goes up 5 or 6 stories and provides an impressive backdrop while one drinks tea or reads a book. It also means that the cafe feels very open and bright.

I pass through this area many times a day and I'm always thrilled to see the motley group of people that the British Library attracts. Old scholars, young academics, families, teen-agers, all speaking different languages and all happily on their way to look at books. Many people have their laptops out or have covered their table in papers. Most carry the clear British Library reader's bags. If one wants to use the library's collections, one puts everything in a locker and puts necessaries in a clear bag to take in-and-out of the reading room. This makes checking bags much easier for the staff, so they can make sure none of the collection is going home with anyone! The above picture gives an idea of how large the cafe really is. (The reflective surface to the right is the wall of books.)

Realization of the Day:

I'm on the mend!!

I can't believe how sick I was. My fever finally broke and I'm feeling much less weak than I was on Friday and Saturday. I think I was a lot more sick than I wanted to believe. Even though the sky is still crystal clear today, I'm not going to walk around too much. I must admit, I will be leaving the confines of my room today, but only to walk a short distance and plop myself down in a movie theatre so I can finally watch the new Harry Potter film.

There's something extra-special about have my morning coffee again instead of a morning herbal tea!

In the words of Michigan J. Frog:

Realization of the Day:

It sucks to be sick in a foreign country without minions.

Okay, not minions, but someone to go get ginger ale and advil. I woke up last night with a really awful sore throat and a fever, complete with aches and pains. Me thinks I have the flu. So what do I do? I call Kevin and my dad and mom so I can whine about my sorry state. I haven't cried about missing anyone since I got here, but last night, as I hoped I wouldn't have to bust out my health insurance cards at foreign urgent care centers, I was sniffling a lot.

I know it's 'just England' and I don't have to mime my maladies to a doctor that doesn't speak my language, but it takes a good fifteen minutes of staring at a map to figure out how to get to a bookstore that's down the street, so finding some kind of doctor wasn't high on my list of things I wanted to do whilst I was here. (Oh, and just as an example of how things are different here: yeast infections. (close your eyes, boys.) If you go to a pharmacist and tell him/her that you have a yeast infection, they will think you have an STD. One must say they need medication for...wait for it... thrush instead. What did a hapless bird do to these people?)

I'm very glad that I decided to buy a can of rice pudding, since it was the perfect thing for my throat along with some tasty ginger beer. (See, I just use being sick as a way to try new foods!) So I've slept all day; hopefully I'll make it to work tomorrow since my boss comes back from her 2-week holiday and I want to make sure that I'm there when she gets in.

Realization of the Day:

Dickens lived in a pretty small world!

On Sunday I went down near Rochester, past the castle where Kevin proposed to me, and to a kitschy theme park called Dickens' World. Frankly, I would be much more excited in Bede's World, but that's just because I'm a sucker for medieval kitsch much more than I am for faux Victorian.

Dickens' World has only been open for 6 months, so some of the sites were still under construction. There was a 3-D animated movie on Dickens' life, a classroom where one could play snakes and ladders whilst answering Dickens' trivia questions, and a haunted house where you saw 'ghostly' stories from Dickens' novels projected onto the walls. Basically it's set up in a big warehouse that is made up to look like Victorian England. It's very dark though, so even the fake ooze on the walls was hard to see. And, as Shana pointed out, it wasn't so much a glimpse into Victorian England, but a snippet of the seedier side of things, minus the prostitutes.

Then there was the boat ride. The people who made it had obviously been on Disneyland's Pirates of the Caribbean. The boat ride meandered around a river (maybe the Thames?) and ended up in an 'underground' sewer, complete with smell-o-vision (basically a sewer-like scent was sprayed in the air to make the experience more authentic). After one drop and a wet butt later, the ride was finished.

Thing is, I can go see Victorian England by looking out my window. Many of the buildings that are part of everyday life here were made by the Victorians, so the World seemed a little anticlimactic. Besides, there wasn't even a rotting wedding cake in sight, and Mrs. Havisham is certainly one of the coolest characters that Dickens' made up. Bede's World seems like it would be a little more fun simply because the year 700 is much more difficult to imagine than the 19th century.

Realization of the Day:

I finally understand this whole "Cheers!" thing.

I've made it a personal goal to get people to smile here. My colleagues at WBL tell me that people only say hello to each other in the country. Perhaps that's why I really like the friendliness of the little villages in the UK. People here make fun of the super nice American wait staff at restaurants, something that I usually don't enjoy if I'm served by a complete tool, but when a person smiles a little, it brightens my day. When I walk down the road to work people walk very fast, look straight ahead with a stony face, and even when they almost run into someone they don't say a word. Granted I'm walking right by King's Cross a lot, one of the biggest tube/train stops in London, but still.

There's nothing better to a person abroad than a local giving that person a smile. I've had the most luck with the Waitrose checkout people. I think they probably get tired of the usual grim Londoner not even looking them in the eye. The wait staff in the British Library canteen just think I'm completely hapless, so they take pity on me and smile when they see me.

Today I experimented a little. Instead of saying "have a nice day," my usual mantra after purchasing something, I tried the much more colloquial, "cheers!" I almost fell over when the man at the video store smiled and said it as well. Now I'm trying to define this pesky word. It's not "thanks," because I hear people saying "thanks! cheers!" It's an innocuous phrase that many a pretentious American appends to the end of his/her email to sound...I don't know...smarmy? When I see cheers in that context, it almost always makes me think mean thoughts. But here, it's a powerful little word. It's a combination of 'have a nice day, thanks for your help' and a general acknowledgment that someone did something for you.

In the right context, (i.e. whilst I'm here) this is a powerful little word that I plan to use more often!