bears

The unifying thread of this post is bears. What may appear to be a sequence of random anecdotes are all related in that they have bears in common. Quare id faciam, fortasse requiris? (That's Catullus, that is. I'm educating you all. Look it up. Google is your friend). No, I don't know either. I feel as though I've been depriving you of my wit and hilarity (lol) for a few days and this was the first title that popped into my head. And, oddly, it seemed to resonate with quite a few little things that have been occurring recently in my life. So here they are, in no particular order. 

Today I made polar bear cupcakes. Here is a picture for you: 

They are polar bears because they are white chocolate sponge, with a white chocolate cream cheese frosting (the ones with the whiskers I think of as white mice; you can make your own decision). I once read somewhere that polar bears hide their noses behind lumps of snow etc when hunting in order to fully camouflage themselves, because the nose is the only stand-out dark feature on their body. Thus when I made a cake that was all-white, I decided it had to be polar-bear themed. And so it was. They took all morning to make but by jiminy they are delicious. I would not be surprised to learn that white chocolate cream cheese frosting is what the gods eat on Mt Olympus. I might get a little wristband that says WCCCF, like those WWJD ones. 

Next bear anecdote. The other day, before school/work/life, I was eating breakfast in the kitchen and my sister was reading. We frequently have the radio on in the mornings because actually talking to each other is a bit much to ask. As a family, we've been through a variety of radio stations, discarding ones that play too many adverts, or too much talking, or not enough cheesy music. Anyway, we had been listening to Smooth FM for a while, but our radio seems to be struggling with it at the moment. We have therefore moved to Smooth 70s, which my parents love (obvs) and my sister pretends to despise. It did, nonetheless, afford us a moment of brilliance at this juncture in time. A song came on the radio. It seemed to be about bears. Disbelieving, we pretended to ignore it for a bit, but it got to the point where we could only look in wonderment at each other. It was definitely about bears. We could only listen in awe and astonishment. We had missed the introduction; we have been hoping to hear it again since. If anyone knows a song about bears that may have been a hit in the 70s or possibly earlier, send it this way. 

Other things about bears. I have a pair of what I call my 'christmas pyjamas'. I bought these in 3rd year when I was sharing a flat with the Delightful Emily. Emily and I decided that we should get a pair of hilarious christmas pyjamas each, as presents to ourselves, to wear around the flat, for sleeping and festive-themed baking. Duly we went to Primark and obtained - for Emily, a pair of red pyjamas with deer and snowflakes; for me - a pair of blue pyjamas with polar bears in scarves and hats (now you see the bear connection). These are not alluring or particularly high quality pyjamas, you understand. They are Primark christmas pyjamas. They are what (I imagine) one opens on Christmas day, and wears for the day, and then retires for the rest of the year until the following Christmas eve. I, however, love my Christmas pyjamas. They are too heavy to wear in the summer, but now that the weather has changed, they have come back with a bang. There's something incredibly joyous about polar bears with scarves on. Perhaps that will be my next baking adventure. 

Another thing about bears. Are you familiar with the song 'the bear necessities', from Disney's 'The Jungle Book'? No? Well, you should be. It's excellent. I, perhaps, am overly familiar with it, which is why I can recite the tongue-twister-esque section sung by Baloo (the bear) about the pear and the paw and claw and.. well, anyway. I slightly alarmed Michael with this the other evening when we were whiling away the time on Sporcle (an online quizzing community, where people write quizzes of varying fiendishness in order to challenge the obscure trivia-knowledge of their peers). We were tackling a quiz about Disney songs - I think it was name the song from the lyric section, or name the film from the song title, something like that - and I was able to recite this to him. I don't know why it sticks in my head. It just does. 

Final bear point. Tut tut, it looks like rain. 

I don't think I can find a way of relating the two, otherwise I'd tell you about my bone marrow biopsy (nothing serious, apparently, they just want to find out why my blood is funny). It's really painful. I suppose being attacked by a bear would be quite painful too. Bears don't use long surgical needles and subsequently hide them from you so as not to freak you out, though. Likewise, I can't think of a way of bringing my awesome new satchel into the discussion (it is awesome. It is new. It is bright blue. I'm going to use it every day. I love it). Well, never mind. You've heard about them now.

Right, bedtime. Sleep tight, and if you dream of bears, I hope they are the friendly sort. 

atonement

Hullo all. I have a disgusting cold that I definitely picked up in Wales (that's no slur on the Welsh, by the way - two of my fellow travellers had colds already so I reckon I've got theirs', combined). I am feeling a bit sorry for myself. My nose is running and my throat is sore and my ears ache and my head is a bit woozy. The wooziness may be something to do with the fact, however, that I have spent today fasting. I have not long broken said fast. This was on purpose, and it was nothing to do with my cold. I've been in synagogue, atoning. 

A couple of posts ago (see 'honey') I mentioned it was Rosh Hashanah, or Jewish New Year. Well, it is now ten days later and today is Yom Kippur, the day of atonement. Depending on your level of Orthodoxy/commitment/desire for self-castigation, this entails different physical manifestations of religious activity. Some people wear all-white, don't brush their teeth, don't allow any food or drink to pass their lips from the sighting of the first star the evening beforehand until (I believe) 26 hours later. Some spend the day in synagogue, bobbing and bowing and chanting and praying. Some do all or none or a variety of these things. 

We went to synagogue for the start of the service at 10.30 (most people turn up late; it's called 'Jewish/Jerusalem Mean Time'), sans breakfast, in smart -but not white- clothes. We joined in with the singing and praying. There came a break in the service for the obligatory 'reflection' time. I had time to think of one thing for which I wanted to repent before the service picked up again. How frustrating! I know you're supposed to spend the whole period of time in between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur 'repenting', but surely you can't just get to that break in the service and say 'see above' to God. Can you? Or is it the case that I am an exceptionally sinful person and that time is sufficient for everyone else? The latter may well be true. When I think about it, even over the course of the year I wonder how I can possibly maintain the illusion that I am a nice person. 

There's a passage in the machzor (that's the festival prayer book) in the Yom Kippur service which is sung, quite mournfully, as a community; I really like this bit because it's everyone, all together saying 'we are cruel'; 'we conceal our mistakes'; 'we have hurt people intentionally and unintentionally' etc. We're not apologising for not studying enough Torah or for failing to persecute the heretics; we are acknowledging our own failings as human beings. We need to say these things as a group because they are quite difficult to admit on an individual level. Few people look at themselves in the mirror and truthfully self-criticise, but group admonishment is easier and encourages reflection. When I think of this passage in the machzor - whether I'm singing it or not - I think about my behaviour and I think about how I ought to behave differently. Not in order to guarantee myself a good write-up in the Book of Life, you understand - more to save myself the shame of repenting of the same things the following year. I suppose ultimately we are all selfish beings but there are ways of rerouting one's selfishness so that it benefits others. 

I thought about writing the list I didn't have time to mentally articulate in synagogue in that brief moment of the service where I was distracted into wondering how much more I've sinned than everyone else there. But there seems to be something show-off-y in that. 'Look at me, repenting, woo! Aren't I a good person for publicly acknowledging my faults'. I suppose this whole post is a bit of that anyway (*awkward*). But it seems to me that the best repentance is simply to change. I have hurt people this year and I hope that, by thinking about how I did that, I'll remember how to avoid doing it again. 

So that was what I wanted to have time to work out in my head in that tiny gap in the service for 'reflection'. I've reflected, now. And now it is time to start looking forward again. 

May you be written down for a good year. 

recap

Hullo folks. I'm back! It's been a busy few days. 

Adam and Alice with bridesmaids and ushers

Aren't they the cutest? And look in the background - castle! I do love a bit of old stuff. Happy days. Weddings are fun. Everyone looked lovely, especially bride and groom, and everyone had a grand time. We had great fun loafing around the cottage we rented for the weekend (even though Tom made everything smell like smoke thanks to his inability to build and maintain a woodburning stove) and it was SO GOOD (again) to interact with people my age, even in a scenario that might suggest we ought to perhaps act a little bit more grown-up... 

We all danced like loons to the live band. I wore a top hat for a significant proportion of the day considering it wasn't my top hat. I fell over on the same knee twice - it's very blue now - and the first time I was completely sober. I had an extremely animated conversation about the merits of this season's Doctor Who with the ineffable Calum. I told Alice how gorgeous she looked at least three times (which is totally allowed and acceptable no matter the quantity of alcohol one may have consumed). Our table laughed much more raucously than anyone else at the best man's speech, because, let's face it, most of the jokes were in-jokes anyway. I saved my corsage from my ushering duties. I made fun of Tom's sunglasses - his gayviators, as they are colloquially known. We all had a great time. An awesome time. And after this one, Laura said she quite liked the idea of getting married after all. So there's hope for me yet ;) 

Beauty and joy and light and happiness. 

The next day dawned grey and wet and miserable, but even that couldn't dampen the mood. I had the vestiges of the fringes of a hangover - you know, where you feel a bit tired and woozy because you've stayed up late, rather than the vicious headache you get because you've been downing shots for four hours (there were no shots. What must you think of me?). So that was good. We had a lazy start and eventually set off on the drive from Wales to Oxford, getting me to Gloucester Green just in time to get on the penultimate bus from Oxford to Cambridge. I know it's not the most efficient way of travelling but given that I fell asleep between Bicester and Milton Keynes I probably wouldn't have been safe driving. 

Anyway. When I got home, MICHAEL was in my house. This is Michael. I feel this picture (nicked off facebook) approximately sums him up:

Yeah. He's fab. Anyway, he's just started a job at my office (yay!) and he's currently staying at my house until he finds somewhere to live. 

Because we have newbies in the office, mr bossman is on a mission to rejuvenate the office space to fit everyone in with maximum efficiency. He is a scavenger by nature, however, so what this means in real terms is that he has been hunting for desks that have been thrown out by other businesses in the office block in which we work. He goes off with some of the bigger software chaps and comes back with things, which he then has to arrange, tetris-like, around the office until other things have been moved out of the way to accommodate them. Today I turned back to my desk after I had been working somewhere else to discover that I was no longer able to reach said desk, because there was another desk aligned with it. So I sat on the extra desk for a while, to make the point that it was slightly in the way. It has now been moved. 

Anyway. Now you are all caught up. More banter to follow. Toodles!

crossover

Hullo folks. It's been one crazy evening. I got home to discover the egg whites I had been (mentally) saving to turn into a beautiful meringue extravaganza to take to work tomorrow for our country-themed bake-off had been appropriated by the mum and sis in order to make dinner. Alas! If I were my mother or my brother this might have been a much bigger problem than it actually was, but as I have grown up in a house with them, I was able to circumvent this minor setback with minimum raging. The day was saved by the arrival of the shopping and I was able to make a mango and strawberry meringue roulade with lemon curd and extra thick cream, and all before 9pm. Winning at life. I have also packed my bag and organised myself to go straight from work tomorrow evening to the X5, whereupon I shall journey forth to Oxford in readiness for the trip to Wales on Friday. And then it's time for a WEDDING. At a CASTLE. YEAH. So excited. Which reminds me, I must pack my camera. Thanks, blogger. 

Right. Before all this palaver occurred, I was thinking about Classics and about reception, as is my wont. I had been reading - on the bus to work, in my lunch break, and in the bus from work - various articles about reception theory; the point, the techniques, the dangers. All very interesting (and frequently verging on the really quite contradictory, but no matter). I had also been thinking about why *I* want to study reception, and what reception actually has to offer us, because I have various applications to write and people to persuade that I deserve money/a place at their Noble Institution. 

So. There I was, pondering the reception of the Classics. When, like a bolt from the blue, I realised that reception is not, of course, limited to Classics. Once you have a theory, you can apply it to - well, whatever you like. So you can study the reception of Shakespeare in Keats, or the reception of Virgil in Tacitus (actually I had this idea in about February, but whatever. Don't steal it, I might use it some day) OR - and this one I really quite like - the reception of Austen in contemporary literature. 

Now the last one especially appeals to me because, yes, there are some pretty shocking takes on Pride and Prejudice et al around, but there are also some EXCELLENT ones. Bridget Jones is an example of the latter. So is The Marriage Plot, by Jeffrey Eugenides. The Marriage Plot is really interesting because it uses the idea of literary criticism (which in this case includes but doesn't specifically refer to reception) as a plot device; the heroine becomes obsessed with Barthes' The Lover's Discourse after a nasty breakup with her bipolar boyfriend and later on she seeks intellectual refuge in studying the construction of female heroines in Victorian literature. This leads to the end of the novel which is itself explicitly a subversion of a female Regency/Victorian literary motif. And of course in Bridget Jones, the heroine is extremely aware of the fact that the guy her parents are trying to hook her up with is called Mr Darcy and how ridiculous this is. I think early on she comments   something along the lines of 'it's utterly ridiculous being miserable at a party when your name is Darcy. You might as well be called Heathcliff and spend all your time on the moors wailing 'Cathyyyy, Cathyyyy!'. Added to this is the heroine's own awareness of the current serialisation on television of Pride and Prejudice, and her love of Colin Firth (taken to bizarre lengths in the films, of course, by having Colin Firth play Mark Darcy). So in both these cases, the reception of the source texts is by no means a straightforward affair. 

It occurs to me that perhaps this sort of analysis and awareness of what you can really do with a bit of clever reception and intertextuality goes far beyond what many Classical scholars are currently looking for. In these examples, we can see just from the merest glance at the storylines and characters that the authors of the texts are using their sources as entities within the new texts, entities externally influencing the texts, controlling plot devices and conceptual tools to explore relationships and even literary theory. If we turn back to our Classical texts and their receptions, why should we look at them any less critically? This is beginning to happen, of course (see Steven Yao, The Languages of Modernism, especially on H.D) but Classics seems, as ever, to be woefully behind. It's time to apply some current thinking to our old texts, so we keep them fresh and don't lose the chance to use them in the future. 

Perhaps that's a bit academic for you all, oh lovely readers. Sorry. You should see what I inflicted on my poor colleagues today in my 'office' blog. You can, in fact. Here's a link. It's the one with the title on a theme of pirates: http://shorttalks247.wordpress.com/

honey

Happy Jewish New Year! Or as those in the know say, shanah tovah! (Bronx accent optional). 

I've had a three-day weekend and it's been beeyootiful. I've baked something tasty every day - lemon curd and lemon drizzle cake on Saturday, scones on Sunday and fruit cobbler and chocolate cupcakes today. I've watched films (Archipelago), bought books (Lampedusa's 'The Leopard'), changed my phone contract + phone itself (new Blackberry), visited a whole bunch of family in Leeds (granddad's 80th), been to my brother's new student house (on 3rd most-burgled street in Britain, apparently) and sat down and thoroughly analysed Anne Carson's translation of Catullus' poem 101. 

In the immortal words of Sheldon Cooper, 'bazinga'. 

I've also rediscovered just how DAMN AWESOME my copy of Winnie Ille Pu (that's Winnie the Pooh in Latin) really is. Like, seriously awesome. Here is a small excerpt. It is from ch.1. For a bit of context, Winnie the Pooh is sitting under a tree when he hears something:

Primum secum dixit: 'Iste bombus aliquid significat. Nullus exstat bombus bombans atque rebombans significatu carens. Si est bombus, est etiam bombans aliquis, et unica causa bombi bombantis, quod equidem sciam est haec: apis esse.'

Postea iterum per longum cogitavit deinde dixit: 'et unicus finis apium existentiae, quod equidem sciam, est mellificium.'

Deinde exsurrexit et 'unicus finis mellis conficiendi,' dixit, 'est a me sumi.' Itaque ad summam arboris niti coepit. 

Isn't that excellent? I think it's excellent. You don't have to agree if you don't know any Latin. But if you do know any Latin, go and BUY THE BOOK. The translation is by a v clever chap called Alexander Lenard, and it was written sufficiently long ago that the adulatory reviews for it in the newspapers were themselves written in Latin. In the front of my copy I have written my name in sparkly blue gel pen, and also my form at the time, which was L4 alpha. Yes, I bought a copy of Winnie the Pooh in Latin at the age of 12. Pretentious, moi? 

Now this post is about to simultaneously become pleasingly circular and also linked to the title - sort of tear-drop shaped, I suppose. Winnie the Pooh likes honey. And what do Jews eat on New Year? Honey! Yeah! Despite not being bears, nor having anything to do with bears. Honey. For a 'sweet new year'. And because other bear-pleasing treats, like condensed milk, were not exactly desert-friendly for the Jews of 2000+ years ago. 

Anyway, New Year. The funny thing about celebrating Rosh Hashanah as a religious festival, rather than - as is the case with January 1st - an excuse for a piss-up - is that you do actually think about the year in a wider context. Sat in synagogue (well, the Cambridge Guild Hall, because we don't have a 'synagogue' yet), you can actually reflect on where you were 12 months ago, and where you are now. And when you think about a whole year's worth of stuff you realise that actually, gosh, you've got a lot done, and achieved a fair bit, and yes you've had your ups and downs, and you will have again, but you'll always have one day a year where you can think about it all and take stock. It's like putting on a bracelet for every year of your life, but tying a ribbon around the whole collection - that ribbon is New Year, and what you do with that ribbon, that day to remember, will determine how you approach the next year. Every year you have to untie the ribbon to attach the new bracelet and you can stop and think about the old ones. 

The metaphor is getting rather strained now but I hope you get what I'm trying to say. The point is that a year ago I had no degree, no job prospects, no tutor, no plan. Now, despite having what I would probably call the toughest year for me personally of my life, I have all of those things (even the tutor, oddly). So the point of the point is that even if things are going shitly, you may well look back and discover the whole is far, far greater than the sum of its parts. 

So I enjoy New Year. Partly because of the honey. But mostly because of the thinking. 

tarts

Hullo hullo hullo. I'm back. Didja miss me? I know you did. 

It's been a fairly busy week, believe it or not. I now have a blog that I run from the office, too, which is exciting. Rach came over for dinner yesterday eve and we ate a lot of biscuits and watched some truly dreadful television. Happy days. 

Just as I was waiting at the bus stop this evening, I had a phone call from...

Emily! Hooray! We've been planning to 'surprise ring' each other for about two weeks, so it wasn't that much of a surprise, but still awesome. We talked for aaaaaages, all the way home (ie over an hour). Happy days. I expect I was one of those people who everyone else on the bus hates, but I hope that I at least provided one half of an amusing conversation. Chats with Emily AND with Rachel in two days? Winning at life. 

Mum has gone out this evening, which brings me to the title of this blog. 

My sis said, as we were washing up after dinner, 'have you got a social life this evening? By which I mean, can you do some baking...?' 

So all the cookbooks came out (hooray!) and the ingredients (hooray hooray!) and the music went on and the pyjamas were assumed (baking in pyjamas is the best kind of baking) and the recipe was selected. HOORAY!

I made (with expert help from the sis, obvs) caramel chocolate tarts. Like caramel shortbread, but tart-shaped. Yeah, man. And then we ate the spare caramel (there was rather a lot...) with ice cream. Best. Tastesplosion. Ever. Although it did get to the point where sis and I were like... no, can't eat any more. So I put the rest in a pot in the fridge. Mmmmmmm. 

Anyway. Might put a picture up here for you. Might just eat them all first. Now watching Blackadder/Mock the Week with vati so slightly distracted from actually communicating at any length. More soon! xx

borders

Today, I had another brilliant (rather in the manner of Lt George in Blackadder Goes Fourth) idea. So I thought I'd share it with you. Bear with me through the Classical (ie most of it) bits. It's surely more entertaining than me complaining? Well, try it, anyway. See what you think. 

I’ve been writing ‘case studies’ which are used as marketing material for our company and for the companies for whom we write them. In a couple of the more recent ones (ones which we are writing on behalf of another company – so requiring knowledge of even more different types of business) the point is that these companies have set up US bases in order to show a commitment to the marketplace they have already developed there through their UK headquarters.

Now, this isn’t perhaps a connection that everyone would make, but it reminds me quite a lot of the early Imperial Roman stance on Germany. Ok, so Augustus and his heirs weren’t building on business opportunities (although maybe the idea that war is a business wouldn’t be that weird to them..) but I quite liked the idea inherent in the comparison.

The Romans used to make military incursions, especially in Germany, to lay down a bit of Roman law and to remind the locals of the might of the Empire. From Augustus’ time, especially, this was also excellent propaganda material and a reason to have a few poems written about you. Before Augustus, things are a bit tricky – Archias wrote a poem in Greek celebrating the achievements of Lucullus but it’s awkward to praise Roman might when the state is not unified under one banner, let alone one leader, and Ennius’ era was a time of many significant military men. Possibly why Virgil’s epic was more of a ‘critical success’ than that written under the Republic by Ennius. Anyway (Enni-way?), off the Roman armies went, under the command of various members of the imperial family (Augustus’ sons-in-law Tiberius and Drusus were very active in Germany and Drusus died there – not before earning the honorary surname ‘Germanicus’ for his sons, one of whom became the Emperor Claudius). Now this was all well and good, because in the eyes of the Romans the Germans were a savage bunch and not to be trusted; they were a continual threat to the peace(ish) established by Julius Caesar in Gaul and could cause problems all around the alps and to the north, into areas on which Augustus was keen to make a mark. 

But despite a few years of strong campaigning, the Roman armies didn't really establish a presence in Germany at this time in the same way they would later do in, for example, Britain. Incursions were - well, incursions. Every critic from Suetonius and Tacitus to Syme to Levick has speculated or formed a different opinion as to why the Romans didn't cross a certain point, and why they didn't put down some roots once they'd arrived. And perhaps this is where the parallels with modern businesses start (although depending on the nature of the business, perhaps other similarities, like the dynastic and murderous ones, start a bit earlier...). Businesses like playing the field a bit in foreign countries; making inroads, setting up contacts, working out who are the trusted locals and who are the ones that are going to stab them in the back. They host visits from the locals with whom they are doing business, rather like Augustus keeping a few Gallic proteges lurking around Rome, learning Roman ways, like Italicus or Meherdates (see Tacitus, Annals 11-12 for more on them). Businesses make incursions and stop - not because they have reached borders, but because they have achieved the level of exposure they need. Drusus wasn't told to stop at the Elbe because it was a natural boundary and therefore a sensible stopping place - he stopped there because, at that point, the Germans were sufficiently cowed. And that's why in later years, the Elbe was crossed and far more apparently arbitrary 'borders' were created. 

Of course, after a few Emperors, proper borders did start to come into being, but they weren't so much borders as lines between more permanent positions. The first stone forts in Germany were built under Claudius, in a line which was eventually formalised by the Emperor Hadrian, that consummate surveyor of boundaries. Businesses, too, take a long time to put down roots, and they do so tentatively and only with considerable inside knowledge, if not the assistance of the locals themselves. Happily, at least in the West, these businesses are not engaged in actual warfare to establish their position, and there is rarely a slaughter of the sort that occurred late in Augustus' rule in Germany, when three legions were massacred in the Teutoburg forests. But it is a battle, even though its mostly now fought by marketing teams and not men with gladii.

I do wish I had a gladius sometimes, though. The point is, really, that businesses are reclaiming the international 'foreign policy' of Augustus - get as many people to know about you as possible, earn sackloads of cash, and maybe some nice poetry into the bargain (well, maybe not the poetry). It's not about conquest or borders or a nation-by-nation approach any more - every single consumer is a nation worth conquering, and that's why there are no longer boundaries in global business strategy. 

I've simplified quite heavily on both sides here but I really do think it's interesting how things have come full circle. The Victorians never used to do this! Who's the more classical nation *now*, eh? 

Yeah. 

Well done for making it to the end. I'll try and write something a bit more user-friendly soon. Til then, byeee! 

direction

Two whole days of the week gone and no blog post. I know what you're thinking. Maybe I've been busy. As a matter of fact, although yesterday was a bit on the slow side, I didn't even have time for a cup of tea this morning. Many many things to package and ship to exotic locations. And this afternoon - I was building hardware. I love that job. It's really cathartic. It's like being paid to build identical lego houses (and my lego houses were always identical in any case. I'd stop building them if I ran out of a particular brick colour). So, yes, I suppose I have been busy. Well! You can't expect a complete monopoly over me. I have things to do, y'know. 

My weekend in Ox was fabulous. I went to the Gladstone link and read 2 more chapters of a book on translation and Modernism. I met Alison and Jonathon for the big reveal of the new office (it's cute. It has many bookshelves. I am jealous). We ate brownies. For the record, they were probably the best ones I've ever made. Ommnomnom. We had a looooong talk about what I've been reading and how I've been getting on and where I'm at with research etc. Alison said she was 'proud' of me for how much progress I've made (*squee*). I described my job. We agreed that Masters programs could and should be looked into. We have a plan for next time. In short, the reception of Catullus is moving on up. Hooray!

The rest of the weekend I spent with Tom and Laura, visiting their new houses - Tom's is very student-y but quite nice in comparison with where we lived in 2nd year; Laura's is absolutely adorable but a long way from town. We also spent some time in good old Exeter House before Tom cleared the rest of his stuff out, bumping into a few familiar faces en route (like Sam H, my erstwhile college father, who is returning after a year of teaching for his Ancient History M.St). On Sunday morning we made pancakes. Laura and I consumed most of a jar of Nutella but it was so worth it. We also went for a drive (I know, right), stopping off at a cute little village just past Kidlington, where we went for a walk along the canal and stopped off for a drink at a pub before I returned to Ox and to the X5. 

Socialising with people one's own age does wonders for the soul. I had been feeling absolutely miserable but I think September might turn out to be really quite bearable. And then before you know it, there'll be another paycheck in the bank and winter will be on it's way. I love this time of year. I can't wait for the transition back to woollies, boots and scarves. I was definitely born to live in a Siberian climate. 

Til the next time - toodles!