Being under 21, I never really drank in the states. I mean, I also had the threat of being one of the 1% of people with an adverse reaction to certain depressants, presumably alcohol included, to deter me from drinking. Still, before I came to the UK two of my friends hung out with me for a night and agreed to make sure that I didn't go on a rampage if I got drunk. Turns out, I'm a pretty happy drunk, moody if anything, but not a rampaging monster.
With that background in mind, I went on a tour of the Fuller's Brewery on Wednesday. I made the mistake of wearing new leather shoes to walk around for 5 hours, so I was distracted by the blisters forming on my heels. The guide showed us around the brewery, explained the process of brewing, and cracked the occasional joke. At the end of tour, we were offered an open bar of all of their products for about an hour and a half.
Since I had only drank once previous to this, I had never had beer. All of my friends hate it for the most part, so they didn't have any to offer me during my one experience. Our guide started us with a bitter beer, which I mostly dumped out. He then worked his way up to stronger and sweeter ones. I found that I could stand the stronger ones more, but I still ended up dumping most of my glass each time.
Finally, I ended up settling with a glass of cider, which was dry and a bit sweet. I finally understood why my friends hated beer. It tastes like dirty water.
Friday, February 27, 2015
Wednesday, February 18, 2015
The view from the Cereal Killer
Dear Diary,
Today involved the usual rush of customers starting around 10 am. They clattered through the old door and dodged around the thrift shop tables and benches to gawk at the massive shelves of cereal. Most people opted for the American cereals and some coffee, and nearly all preferred a large bowl with a topping. Reese's and Lucky Charms were the crowd favorite this morning, and people swarmed downstairs to watch cartoons on the vintage televisions that lined the inner wall.
As the hours waned, the crowd died down. By about 7 pm, there were only a handful of people sitting around vintage cereal bowls with electric tea lights in them. The dim and flickering lights added a strangely somber mood to a product with such a nostalgic and childish attitude. There were no more cartoons playing and now black and white static added to the eerie feeling downstairs. Still, though the sun had set, the customers did not seem to notice. They shoved spoonfuls of cereal in their mouths happily, talking about their childhoods.
Today involved the usual rush of customers starting around 10 am. They clattered through the old door and dodged around the thrift shop tables and benches to gawk at the massive shelves of cereal. Most people opted for the American cereals and some coffee, and nearly all preferred a large bowl with a topping. Reese's and Lucky Charms were the crowd favorite this morning, and people swarmed downstairs to watch cartoons on the vintage televisions that lined the inner wall.
As the hours waned, the crowd died down. By about 7 pm, there were only a handful of people sitting around vintage cereal bowls with electric tea lights in them. The dim and flickering lights added a strangely somber mood to a product with such a nostalgic and childish attitude. There were no more cartoons playing and now black and white static added to the eerie feeling downstairs. Still, though the sun had set, the customers did not seem to notice. They shoved spoonfuls of cereal in their mouths happily, talking about their childhoods.
Wednesday, February 11, 2015
The Victorian Shopkeeper
The streets were boisterous that day. The Saturday crowds always brought in a ruckus, and I longed to be part of it. What a feeling it would be to wonder about the shops, change jingling in my pocket, like the more fortunate lads my age, fancying what a nice hat I had on and how I would like another. But no, there I was, stuck inside my tiny shop, hardly a soul in it, surrounded by porcelain dolls staring into empty space, fairy sized tea sets, and corduroy clothed bears. I leaned across my counter, sighing, fixing the circus figurines a little boy had knocked out of place earlier. The lion tamer was hitting the ring leader with his whip instead of the lions.
Through the front window, I saw a little girl, fair haired with sparkling green eyes, looking rather longingly up at one of the dolls. It was one I was questioned about often, but never able to sell. It had fair hair and dazzling green eyes, like the little girl, and a pink bonnet and dress. The quality of the doll was astounding, perhaps too good for a doll. It was imported from France, where the dress had been tailored by a well-known designer, who had commissioned the doll to be “worthy” of his work.
A tall man picked the girl up onto his shoulder and charged through the door. “How much for the one with the pink bonnet in the window?”
“No, Papa,” the girl said softly, “I don’t need it. I just said it was rather pretty. That’s all.”
“Nonsense!” her father said, “She looks just like you! You deserve pretty things, my dear.”
I cleared my throat. “Two pounds, sir.”
“For a doll?” the man said.
“Imported from France, sir, by the finest designers. It was specially--”
“For a doll.” The man repeated.
“Yes, sir.”
The little girl’s face was red. “Really, Papa, I don’t need it.”
“You’re last one broke didn't it?” He smiled, putting her down. “It was quite old. Let me get you a new one.”
He looked back at me. “Please, son, I can’t afford that. Who really can, for a toy? I've got one pound. I’m lucky to have that at all.”
That doll had been sitting in the shop window for months, and each time someone asked about it, they scoffed at the price. Though it was beautiful, it was just a toy. My father hated when I gave into people’s sob stories, but that wasn't what this man was doing. He was offering me what he had, not asking for pity. My father would probably scold me for it later, saying the right buyer would come eventually, but I figured it was making us no money sitting in the window.
A tall man picked the girl up onto his shoulder and charged through the door. “How much for the one with the pink bonnet in the window?”
“No, Papa,” the girl said softly, “I don’t need it. I just said it was rather pretty. That’s all.”
“Nonsense!” her father said, “She looks just like you! You deserve pretty things, my dear.”
I cleared my throat. “Two pounds, sir.”
“For a doll?” the man said.
“Imported from France, sir, by the finest designers. It was specially--”
“For a doll.” The man repeated.
“Yes, sir.”
The little girl’s face was red. “Really, Papa, I don’t need it.”
“You’re last one broke didn't it?” He smiled, putting her down. “It was quite old. Let me get you a new one.”
He looked back at me. “Please, son, I can’t afford that. Who really can, for a toy? I've got one pound. I’m lucky to have that at all.”
That doll had been sitting in the shop window for months, and each time someone asked about it, they scoffed at the price. Though it was beautiful, it was just a toy. My father hated when I gave into people’s sob stories, but that wasn't what this man was doing. He was offering me what he had, not asking for pity. My father would probably scold me for it later, saying the right buyer would come eventually, but I figured it was making us no money sitting in the window.
“Fine. One pound.”
The little girl smile and tugged her father’s coat to be picked up. Once she was eye level with me, she said, “Oh, thank you, sir. This is the best gift.”
Her father handed over the money, and I got the doll out of the window and handed it to the little girl. She skipped down the street, holding her father’s hand and clutching the doll tightly.
The little girl smile and tugged her father’s coat to be picked up. Once she was eye level with me, she said, “Oh, thank you, sir. This is the best gift.”
Her father handed over the money, and I got the doll out of the window and handed it to the little girl. She skipped down the street, holding her father’s hand and clutching the doll tightly.
Thursday, February 5, 2015
A London Day
To do:
When the episode was over, I washed my bowl and made myself some tea. That episode was so good though. And what goes better with tea than a BBC show? I started another episode.
- Get cash
- Buy groceries
- Buy new shoes that ACTUALLY keep my feet dry
- Practice drawing human figures
- Read:
- The rest of Lady Audley's Secret
- 70 pages of Narrative homework
- The short stories for Creative Writing
- The next chapter for Translation Studies
- Perhaps next reading for Language and Gender
- Start the Translation Studies essay due next week
- Blog post
- MAYBE just maybe see a bit of the city
My day started at noon, which was actually before my alarm went off. I had been up until two looking at castles in Yorkshire. Why? Why not? A girl can dream. I pulled myself out of bed and got in the shower. Since it was my midweek day off, I decided to take an extra long, extra hot shower. When I got out, I indulged in myself with a bowl of cereal and an episode of Merlin.
When the episode was over, I washed my bowl and made myself some tea. That episode was so good though. And what goes better with tea than a BBC show? I started another episode.
And another after that.
And another.
Eventually, I realized it was about 4:00. I decided I need to be productive. I pulled out my sketch pad and drew one (terrible) muscular arm as I started another episode. When the episode ended, I looked down at my sketch pad. One (terrible) muscular arm flexed back at me. Well, I don't need to send the drawing until Friday, and I want to look at tutorials first. I'll finish this later. I pushed my sketchbook aside and started another episode of Merlin.
Around six, my stomach was past the point of growling and reaching the phase of aching. Finally, I conceded to go get cash and buy some noodles from Ned's Noodle Bar across the street, which I obviously ate while watching another episode of Merlin.
Sometime during this episode, Lucas messaged me that he was coming over at 7:30. He has the book that I need to read for class tomorrow anyway. I should just wait to do homework until he gets here.
So I watched one more episode of Merlin before Lucas arrived, which worked out because the next was a two part season finale.
Lucas and I lounged on our computers in my kitchen, watched funny Buzzfeed videos and attempted to productive. Eventually, I actually read the chapter for class, which turned out to be pretty interesting. I caved and got ice cream from Sainsbury's yet again.
I'm finally writing this, as the clock turns to midnight, concluding my incredibly uneventful day.
I'm abroad in LONDON, the city I've been dreaming of since age 12, but this is what I mustered the energy for today:
- Got cash
- Drew ONE (terrible) arm
- Read 12 pages for Narrative
- Wrote this pathetic blog post
- Rewatched almost all of season 3 of Merlin
I barely made it 10 yards from my door today. 12 year old me would be ashamed.
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