Vicky and I have rehearsed all this week and we're having stupid amounts of fun coming up with material.
There are little peacocks all over! Just chilling on roofs, mewling loudly. They really do mewl. It's the noise a kitten/monkey hybrid would make.
We popped into St. Mary's Cathedral a few days ago. I am continually stumbling across dates from 1320 a.d., 1240, 1150. Ancient. I share every inch of ground I stand on with thousands of years worth of spit, blood, sweat, gum. And the churches have big graveyards in the front lawns - ivy-covered above-ground caskets with crumbly feet, just free to be touched or graffiti-ed. I guess it would be impossible to protect all the history here. And the vandals are probably bored of it.
We'll go to Oxford tomorrow.
Stratford? Stratford was sweet, if a little underwhelming. We saw King John at the RSC for a mere five quid and hope to see a lot more there for the same price. This summer, along with the Olympics, England is host to the World Shakespeare Festival. All of Shakespeare's works will be produced, mostly by international companies (to my fellow Russophiles - Vahktangov's Measure For Measure is their ambassador. TAKE THAT, REIKEN!) at various hotspots; Stratford's RSC is one, The Globe in London is another, Brighton... I really want to see Japan's Coriolanus, but I don't know if we'll get to. There's also a really cool-looking piece called "The Rest Is Silence" playing in Brighton - an adaptation of Hamlet stretched out across a warehouse. But what I'm truly keeping my eyes peeled for is an amateur production of Grease. I will drop everything for that. A lusty Danny Zuko played by Wesley Frothingham of Snitterton would be the highlight of my summer.
Aside from the occasional day-trip, Vick and I have been very anti-social. We don't know anyone our age here and we're both a little shy when it comes to making friends. We've also built ourselves a pretty tight schedule, so we've only gone out for a pint a few times. FOR A PINT. It's so novel! PUDDING. PINT. BISCUIT.
Oh, yeah. So I bought a box of "Wheat Bisks," using my serious Brit Slang knowledge to deduce that I was about to enjoy some whole wheat cookies. Upon opening, I found in my hands two sleeves of something that looked like the horse treats I used to feed Sally, our old pony.
"Psh," said I, "clearly a 'bisk' is distinct from a 'biscuit.' Using my powers of reason, I shall conclude that this is, in fact, a very thick cracker."
I plopped some honey on it and set about munching. It was very thick.
Several days later, Vicky asked me why I never put milk on my wheat-a-bix. It's cereal. Like, you put it in a bowl and pour milk on it and it disintegrates. But at least it wasn't embarrassing.
Erm, let's seeeeeee... still on the list of things to see are Warwick Castle, which looks incredible from the outside (that's where all the damn peacocks are coming from), a Victorian mansion Vicky's been on about ("on about." listen to me. soooo fetch.), as many sites featuring historical re-enactors as possible because we're both the nerdiest, and STONEHENGE!!!!! For the summer solstice with Vicky's mom's hippie best friend! Can't wait. Apparently, when Vicky went last year it was just a bunch of stoned 14-year-olds, so my exciting Earth Mother naked dance scenario will have to wait for another occasion, BUT it's one of the few times of the year when tourists can get close enough to touch the stones. Eeeee! Aliens!!!
Whelp, it's 1 a.m. here, and for this little lady, that means bunkbed time. Love you all, miss ya. I've taken pictures! Maybe I'll post?
Mgootnait, fyemily yend fryends.
There are little peacocks all over! Just chilling on roofs, mewling loudly. They really do mewl. It's the noise a kitten/monkey hybrid would make.
We popped into St. Mary's Cathedral a few days ago. I am continually stumbling across dates from 1320 a.d., 1240, 1150. Ancient. I share every inch of ground I stand on with thousands of years worth of spit, blood, sweat, gum. And the churches have big graveyards in the front lawns - ivy-covered above-ground caskets with crumbly feet, just free to be touched or graffiti-ed. I guess it would be impossible to protect all the history here. And the vandals are probably bored of it.
We'll go to Oxford tomorrow.
Stratford? Stratford was sweet, if a little underwhelming. We saw King John at the RSC for a mere five quid and hope to see a lot more there for the same price. This summer, along with the Olympics, England is host to the World Shakespeare Festival. All of Shakespeare's works will be produced, mostly by international companies (to my fellow Russophiles - Vahktangov's Measure For Measure is their ambassador. TAKE THAT, REIKEN!) at various hotspots; Stratford's RSC is one, The Globe in London is another, Brighton... I really want to see Japan's Coriolanus, but I don't know if we'll get to. There's also a really cool-looking piece called "The Rest Is Silence" playing in Brighton - an adaptation of Hamlet stretched out across a warehouse. But what I'm truly keeping my eyes peeled for is an amateur production of Grease. I will drop everything for that. A lusty Danny Zuko played by Wesley Frothingham of Snitterton would be the highlight of my summer.
Aside from the occasional day-trip, Vick and I have been very anti-social. We don't know anyone our age here and we're both a little shy when it comes to making friends. We've also built ourselves a pretty tight schedule, so we've only gone out for a pint a few times. FOR A PINT. It's so novel! PUDDING. PINT. BISCUIT.
Oh, yeah. So I bought a box of "Wheat Bisks," using my serious Brit Slang knowledge to deduce that I was about to enjoy some whole wheat cookies. Upon opening, I found in my hands two sleeves of something that looked like the horse treats I used to feed Sally, our old pony.
"Psh," said I, "clearly a 'bisk' is distinct from a 'biscuit.' Using my powers of reason, I shall conclude that this is, in fact, a very thick cracker."
I plopped some honey on it and set about munching. It was very thick.
Several days later, Vicky asked me why I never put milk on my wheat-a-bix. It's cereal. Like, you put it in a bowl and pour milk on it and it disintegrates. But at least it wasn't embarrassing.
Erm, let's seeeeeee... still on the list of things to see are Warwick Castle, which looks incredible from the outside (that's where all the damn peacocks are coming from), a Victorian mansion Vicky's been on about ("on about." listen to me. soooo fetch.), as many sites featuring historical re-enactors as possible because we're both the nerdiest, and STONEHENGE!!!!! For the summer solstice with Vicky's mom's hippie best friend! Can't wait. Apparently, when Vicky went last year it was just a bunch of stoned 14-year-olds, so my exciting Earth Mother naked dance scenario will have to wait for another occasion, BUT it's one of the few times of the year when tourists can get close enough to touch the stones. Eeeee! Aliens!!!
Whelp, it's 1 a.m. here, and for this little lady, that means bunkbed time. Love you all, miss ya. I've taken pictures! Maybe I'll post?
Mgootnait, fyemily yend fryends.
POST THE PICS!
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