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You guys are OUT THE LOOP. I'll brief you.

Warwick, charming Warwick where I've been staying, hosts this great folk festival every year at the end of July. Quite well known, actually. Vick and I worked up about five songs that we intended to whip out at jam sessions, ultimately in the hopes of impressing many old and woollen-capped gentleman. We did end up going to a jam, but while we had worked up the songs, we had apparently NOT worked up the courage. We sat silently in a corner for over an hour while people around us played and sang. Vicky optimistically decided we were cultivating an aura of mystery. A very drunk little flautist kept unintentionally boxing us out of the circle every time we were about ready to propose a song. As the evening wore on, more and more legitimate musicians started turning up and fewer people were singing. Finally, as it became clear that the jam as we knew and loved it was dying, we asked a nearby banjo player to accompany us in a rendition of Hard Times. No sooner had we opened our mouths than Fluty McGee toddled over and started singing louder than both of us combined. We thought her enthusiasm would encourage everyone to join in, but no. The rest of the circle sat around and watched Vicky and I try to belt our carefully rehearsed harmonies over her drunken warbles, the only discernable words of which were "hard times" (though they rarely coincided with the songwriter's original placement).
We did end up going to the Warwick Folk Club open mic night after the festival had already ended. We played three songs and were the toast of the evening. We were also a good forty years younger than the next youngest person. Everyone thinks we're a sister act!

Spent the last two days in Edinburgh. I sat next to a woman from New Zealand on the bus; she and I got on quite well and ended up hanging out a lot.
Guys, I haven't liked a city so instantaneously since Russia. Edinburgh is beautiful. It actually literally is Hogwarts (J.K. wrote the books overlooking Edinburgh castle and a walking tour took us through a cemetary she visited a bunch, wherein one finds Tom Riddle's grave, except it's spelled "Riddell"). I hope everyone goes at some point. The town was so mellow, so welcoming. Like, if cities were teenage boys, Edinburgh would be that cool punk kid who chain smokes and listens to The Clash but also wears sweaters his grandma knits him (unabashedly) and anually participates in the church Christmas pageant as Joseph. I'd love an excuse to live there for a while.
Cat (my New Zealand bus friend) and I saw several shows at the Fringe - Edinburgh's very famous Fringe Festival was just kicking off when we arrived. I've been to the New York Fringe before, and it's very hit-or-miss, but out of the four shows I saw in my two days, I enjoyed... four.

But, most importantly, The Now. I'm in Liverpool in the coolest hostel ever. It's run by a father-son team, Kevin's Junior and Senior. Kevin Senior is infamous locally for having beaten The Beatles in an audience-judged competition waaaaay way back before Paul grew the mullet. I stumbled in at five a.m. after a garish night train ride... Night trains, sort of like butterscotch toffees, sound more glamorous than they are. Because they AREN'T. I've been Mr. Bean-ing it since London; I bought a tiny, tiny alarm clock that I've been carrying in my purse and setting for ten minutes before my transport leaves, and let me TELL you, that does not make you friends on a night train. But when you DON'T set it, the train conductor yells at you for not getting off the train because you're belligerantly asleep because you're SO TIRED BECAUSE WHY ARE TRAINS WITH BEDS SO EXPENSIVE.

But that's neither here nor there. I'm in the best place ever now, greeted by a cup of coffee and a peanut butter sandwich prepared by Kevin Jr., about to have my first shower since Tuesday... things are great. I'm looking forward to checking out Liverpool.

MORE LATER, LOYAL READERS!