In which Anthony abuses the humble comma, a retrospective
This post has been a while in the making. For the last three or four or five days I have sat down at the computer and said 'I'm going to update my eljay!' and then other things have got in the way. Specifically, mostly, an essay that I've now given in to be marked so that I can send it off to Oxford. It'll form the majority of my philosophy coursework in addition to hopefully making the tutors of Magdalen want to have my existentialist babies, so although it's been a lot of hassle getting it done it'll be a lot less hassle later, which given that I will have two other pieces of coursework to do as well in the next six weeks is probably rather good thing. Yes.
Anyway. A retrospective:
Half term was odd, for a number of reasons. The first week was spent doing very little, really, with a few exceptional incidents in which I saw Stardust, got lost, discovered that there is a sheep named Eat More Bacon, made strategic cups of tea, entertained a five year old for half a day, encountered what I can only assume was actually cider made from bananas and walked home through St Albans at the dead of night moving very carefully so that my coat did not shout 'Exterminate!' at members of the public in a Dalek voice. Trufax.
Much of the second week, as many of you may have guessed, took place in Villiers Park, in Foxton, near Cambridge. This was the aforsaidmentioned Creative Writing course, which was really rather wonderful. I learnt how not to be afraid of formal verse, saw a play, wrote an award-winning sitcom pitch set in a funeral parlour and had people say lovely things about my poetry, which is always nice. (Other things occurred too, of course, including introspection and some mad people and tea and the discovery of coffee. Apparently, coffee is always in the bigger jug at these sorts of events. Now you know. Then I went to Cambridge (which was only one stop further) and met up with purplefringe and bought an awesome hat and trolled around a little bit and bumped into a certain David Tennant look-alike and went back to her awesome awesome room (which is wonderful) and listened to music and drank tea (and she introduced me to drinking tea through Kitkats, which I had never done and must now repeat when I have sourced some suitable Kitkats) and talked about Life and Things, etcetera, and committed ourselves to going to Cambridge and buying pocket watches.
(If you haven't noticed, purplefringe is awesome. I am very jealous of her university life. In fact, I am very jealous of everybody's university lives, so I should visit them all and then I could be jealous of them too.)
Eventually, alas, I had to leave, and so I did, and managed to not get lost on my way back to the station, and overheard someone saying 'And she had a friend who's a Catholic porn star', which perplexes me somewhat, and phoned people who were at fireworks and then went and got on a train home and sat and underlined things lightly in my copy of Player of Games.
Other things occurred, naturally, and further happenings ensued over the weekend, but right now I ought to go and find Brave New World Revisited and brush my teeth and read a chapter or two of Oliver Twist and go to sleep (in that order) and stop listing things.
Anyway. A retrospective:
Half term was odd, for a number of reasons. The first week was spent doing very little, really, with a few exceptional incidents in which I saw Stardust, got lost, discovered that there is a sheep named Eat More Bacon, made strategic cups of tea, entertained a five year old for half a day, encountered what I can only assume was actually cider made from bananas and walked home through St Albans at the dead of night moving very carefully so that my coat did not shout 'Exterminate!' at members of the public in a Dalek voice. Trufax.
Much of the second week, as many of you may have guessed, took place in Villiers Park, in Foxton, near Cambridge. This was the aforsaidmentioned Creative Writing course, which was really rather wonderful. I learnt how not to be afraid of formal verse, saw a play, wrote an award-winning sitcom pitch set in a funeral parlour and had people say lovely things about my poetry, which is always nice. (Other things occurred too, of course, including introspection and some mad people and tea and the discovery of coffee. Apparently, coffee is always in the bigger jug at these sorts of events. Now you know. Then I went to Cambridge (which was only one stop further) and met up with purplefringe and bought an awesome hat and trolled around a little bit and bumped into a certain David Tennant look-alike and went back to her awesome awesome room (which is wonderful) and listened to music and drank tea (and she introduced me to drinking tea through Kitkats, which I had never done and must now repeat when I have sourced some suitable Kitkats) and talked about Life and Things, etcetera, and committed ourselves to going to Cambridge and buying pocket watches.
(If you haven't noticed, purplefringe is awesome. I am very jealous of her university life. In fact, I am very jealous of everybody's university lives, so I should visit them all and then I could be jealous of them too.)
Eventually, alas, I had to leave, and so I did, and managed to not get lost on my way back to the station, and overheard someone saying 'And she had a friend who's a Catholic porn star', which perplexes me somewhat, and phoned people who were at fireworks and then went and got on a train home and sat and underlined things lightly in my copy of Player of Games.
Other things occurred, naturally, and further happenings ensued over the weekend, but right now I ought to go and find Brave New World Revisited and brush my teeth and read a chapter or two of Oliver Twist and go to sleep (in that order) and stop listing things.