One Pound for an hour means I'm willing to write a little here
Sitting in an internet cafe in Cambridge, stuffed full of ale and dinner.
(calliope, please send my apologies to mikewd for not finding out how to find him)
Today has been a long day. Work in New York in the morning, a bunch of running around in Manhattan finishing errands, then a plane....for a flight that was far, far, far too short. And people behind me who were pissed that I wanted to recline, so kept either shoving or kicking my seat. Now I find myself in Cambridge, having passed through London at morning rushhour (A thing, which is, incidentally, something to behold. Lots of pink ties. I can also say that apparently ballet slippers and legwarmers and bangles are back? in?) and then on to my country house hotel, whose chief recommendation originally was that it was cheap and near Stansted (where I must be tomorrow morning at an ungodly hour) but which has turned out to be beautiful, if staffed by slightly dumb people.
After some rest, I found myself on a train to Cambridge. Cambridge, five or six hours later, has left me with this question: Why did nobody demand I think about this University when I was applying to college?!?!? To be fair, miserable fails to describe how I would have felt here my Freshman year. But really. Of course, in that delightfully American way, my first thought process, walking through town, was something like "this whole area reminds me of Boston. Oh. Wait."
But I stood in a church from the 1100's, saw colleges from the 1500's, and finally found the Eagle tavern, whose ceiling was signed by the American airmen stationed near here during the Second World War. Now, as I said, stuffed full of Ale and Sausage, I am ready to go back to my hotel and sleep early, in anticipation of a Very Early Morning Flight.
More updates as they're available, of course.
(calliope, please send my apologies to mikewd for not finding out how to find him)
Today has been a long day. Work in New York in the morning, a bunch of running around in Manhattan finishing errands, then a plane....for a flight that was far, far, far too short. And people behind me who were pissed that I wanted to recline, so kept either shoving or kicking my seat. Now I find myself in Cambridge, having passed through London at morning rushhour (A thing, which is, incidentally, something to behold. Lots of pink ties. I can also say that apparently ballet slippers and legwarmers and bangles are back? in?) and then on to my country house hotel, whose chief recommendation originally was that it was cheap and near Stansted (where I must be tomorrow morning at an ungodly hour) but which has turned out to be beautiful, if staffed by slightly dumb people.
After some rest, I found myself on a train to Cambridge. Cambridge, five or six hours later, has left me with this question: Why did nobody demand I think about this University when I was applying to college?!?!? To be fair, miserable fails to describe how I would have felt here my Freshman year. But really. Of course, in that delightfully American way, my first thought process, walking through town, was something like "this whole area reminds me of Boston. Oh. Wait."
But I stood in a church from the 1100's, saw colleges from the 1500's, and finally found the Eagle tavern, whose ceiling was signed by the American airmen stationed near here during the Second World War. Now, as I said, stuffed full of Ale and Sausage, I am ready to go back to my hotel and sleep early, in anticipation of a Very Early Morning Flight.
More updates as they're available, of course.