(no subject)
A pleasant day at Strawberry Hill yesterday, with, finally, a proper history lecture from the woman who is replacing Skippy as he wanders off to the States to do who knows what. This may be the last time we go to Strawberry, and we've done little or nothing there, apart from wander around aimlessly and listen to lectures under uncomfortable conditions. Very galling. The class have arranged privately to get a proper tour of the building from the Friends of Strawberry Hill next month, but the university people don't seem to be interested. Maybe I'll get some work there when the actual restoration project begins...
I especially like the chicken.
On the way back, Lauren pleased me immensely by comparing me to John Locke in Lost - someone who has spent a large chunk of their life in a dull office job, but with a rich fantasy life, who then finds himself in a situation where all his odd skills are suddenly useful, and he is the only one who knows all the answers and is able to help the rest of the group. She was afraid the comparison would offend me, but I was absurdly pleased by it, and we spent the rest of the train journey home trying to match the rest of the class to the cast of Lost.
This evening, I went with the DrunkPeople and their son to watch the Lord Mayor's Show fireworks, set off from a barge on the river. This is always a good show, and early enough for the sky to still be slightly light when they start. The show finished with huge sheaf of different shades of glittering whites. Then we walked up the embankment, while the son explained to me how a firework show had to be arranged like a piece of music, and sat on the terrace of Somerset House, drinking wine and watching the moon through the leaves of the plane trees beside the river. The weather is still absurdly warm - surely I shouldn't be able to sit outside in November, and still feel that the woolly scarf I'd brought was too warm.
I especially like the chicken.
On the way back, Lauren pleased me immensely by comparing me to John Locke in Lost - someone who has spent a large chunk of their life in a dull office job, but with a rich fantasy life, who then finds himself in a situation where all his odd skills are suddenly useful, and he is the only one who knows all the answers and is able to help the rest of the group. She was afraid the comparison would offend me, but I was absurdly pleased by it, and we spent the rest of the train journey home trying to match the rest of the class to the cast of Lost.
This evening, I went with the DrunkPeople and their son to watch the Lord Mayor's Show fireworks, set off from a barge on the river. This is always a good show, and early enough for the sky to still be slightly light when they start. The show finished with huge sheaf of different shades of glittering whites. Then we walked up the embankment, while the son explained to me how a firework show had to be arranged like a piece of music, and sat on the terrace of Somerset House, drinking wine and watching the moon through the leaves of the plane trees beside the river. The weather is still absurdly warm - surely I shouldn't be able to sit outside in November, and still feel that the woolly scarf I'd brought was too warm.