Oh, but so much has come! And so much has gone! How can I choose a beginning for this story, really?
I could, of course, try to remember back to a year ago when things really began-- I remember a tea party, for instance, I see a wash of faces smiling, talk of Jane Austen and giggles float through the air, and Anne Hathaway overshadows everything-- but my memory is a foggy piece of work, as you can probably see, a faulty thing with many veils, many shimmery gauzy veils, between clarity and actual recall (if memory is a heritable trait, then mine I probably got from my father)-- which is all to say, simply, I think it for the best that we begin with today.
The sun rose, my alarm chimed, and I got out of bed.
In a fictional tale, at any rate, that's how my day would have begun.
In reality, the sun rose, hours passed, my alarm chimed-- and then I hit the snooze button. Ten more minutes. Ten more precious, comfortable, gloriously warm minutes of life I decided really should be lived under a mound of fleece piling and memory foam pillows.
Half my allotted time passed in sweet silence before my cell decided to intervene.
The reason for the alarm, and (what turned out to be) the reason for the phone call, was a planned meeting between myself, Liz, and Kathleen at the student Union. Liz had no Internet, and thus no Facebook, and thus was calling to discover the appointed time and place of our rendezvous.
I must have been surprisingly coherent in my half-asleep state because by the time I strode into the Union, half-melted and sunburnt, Liz and Kathleen were already there. I sat, I flicked the sweat and dripping makeup from my face, and the meeting was called to order.
The task at hand?: Our itinerary. Theoretically that was the task at hand at any rate. Kathleen had brought her trusty laptop along, placed reverently before us on the table (til it started to crash and we had to quest for electrical outlets), and we began to research things.
By "things," I mainly mean modes of travel, the problem that I had not previously conceived to even be a problem and which is most definitely a very key problem.
We decided bikes would be clever. We will rent bikes, we cheered, and bike ourselves cost-effectively whither we wish to go. If properly caffeinated, we might even make London on a clear day if we set out early enough. London is only an hour away from our lodgings in Brasenose via train (30 dollars per trip) and two via the bus (10 dollars).
This clever decision depends entirely, in my mind, upon a heat wave. Should there happen to be a heat wave, I might have to put my foot down and declare with authority, "The train, my ladies, the train."
This clever decision also depends upon my will power. Should there happen to not be any (highly likely occurrence), I might have to put my foot down and declare with authority, "I have a mysterious disease and must thusly avoid sweating. The train, my ladies, the train."
Earnest vehicular brainstorming researches aside, we began attempting to list the places in London proper that we want to go.
Only to be struck down by the universe for our audacity in even thinking it possible to list all the places-- obviously, obviously, there are an INFINITE number of places that we want (need) to go! By attacking such a dense, infinite sort of topic with our delicate sheets of notebook paper, scrawny pencils, and finite mental energy, we posed a threat to the universe, and the universe knocked us flat.
Or that was my feeling, as I dazedly smiled down at my scrawled, two page list: Natural History Museum. Madam Toussand's Wax Museum. Millennium Bridge. A standard flight on the London Eye (What makes it "standard"? You go slower? Liz asked. Don't question the eye, I retorted. You offend the Universe. Don't question the standardization of the Eye.). Big Ben (I imagine that one's hard to miss, Kathleen noted). Tate Modern (Of course we'll see that when we're at the Globe, Liz decided. Free admission then, Kathleen explained to my confused face. Mysterious, how they know all this). Tower of London (I bet there're ghosts. Royal ghosts.). Westminster. The Royal Parks. The National Galleries.
And I could go on, but your eyes are crossing, aren't they?
I'll admit to a minimal amount of eye crossage myself. How to untangle all of these places properly? How to fit them all into the schedule of classes and day trips? What about Paris? What about Scotland?
What about the surrounding neighborhood of Oxford? Kathleen inquired of my starry eyes and raised fists.
What ABOUT it, indeed? I bet it's amazing! I bet it's beautiful! I bet it's territory we have an actual hope of exploring on rented bicycles on balmy, British summer afternoons!
