As does the IND.

Ok, actually, the IND doesn't suck. They have protocol and they have to follow it, and the only fair way for them to function is to answer the correspondence and applications they get in the order in which they are received. I understand this - I worked for Immigration for a couple of summers back home in Canada.

BUT... I called them today to find out what's up with my passport and when I might be getting it back, and guess what? Because it wasn't part of an actual application for anything, they've not got any record of my documents, either my letter or my passport, and so can't advise me as to whether my request is pending, whether it's being looked at right now, whether it's been looked at and is on its way back to me...

What the hell kind of system doesn't allow you to track documents that are sent? The Immigration system in Canada allows you to create a temporary file for a request like that so that it CAN be tracked. Especially valuable documents like passports! Honestly! What the hell is up with that? I'm very reassured that the IND has no fucking clue what's up with quite possibly the most important document in my life. So, to Sonya from the IND who answered the phone today, I say thank-you for being polite, but your "you're just going to have to wait, dear, I'm sorry" was less than reassuring.

Oy.

And now, in an attempt to be completely uncreative and usless, I bring you, fresh from the genderist, "never have I ever". I list ten things I've 'not' done/that have 'not' happened to me, and you tell me if you've done any of them. I've cheated a bit with some future predictions on some of them...

1. I've never been stung by a scorpion in Mexico.
2. I've not visited 9 different countries (11 if you split up the UK into its constituent parts).
3. I'll not have three university degrees in six years.
4. I've never played with books that are nearly 400 years old and manuscripts two hundred years older than that.
5. I've not lived in another country for... wow... 8 months now.
6. I've not sat in a CF-18 fighter jet
7. I've not climbed the tallest mountain in a country (2nd tallest if we're NOT splitting the UK up)
8. I've never met Brad Pitt
9. I've never been up at 4 a.m. chasing people through the bush so they can't take photographs of a movie set for three weeks straight.
10. I've never slapped a guy for making extremely sexist comments.

One of my other favourites is two truths and a lie - it's good when you're meeting brand new people, and I have a standard set that I generally use. You just give three facts about yourself - two are true, one's a lie (even if only slightly) and it's up to the hearer/reader to figure out which is the falsehood. If you've been reading this blog closely or know me fairly well you'll be able to figure out easily which is which.

1. I'm named for my great-great-grandmother.
2. For my first degree, my major was English and my minor was Ancient and Medieval History
3. When I worked for Immigration, I was the third generation in my family to do so.

I Am Reading
Academically: No change. Had to read an entirely different book in the meantime as some MF recalled it to the library.
For Fun: Read a Cosmo magazine. Remembered why I hate Cosmo so much. Will now choose between Eco's "Baudolino" and Hawthorne's "Scarlet Letter".
Pile of Books on my Windowsill: 12. 3 read, 8 unread, 1 half-read.

Yup, back.

Got to Aberystwyth at about 7:30 on Friday night - the trains were running only slightly late. My classmate R and I had been talking about my upcoming weekend, and were chatting about how he hadn't been to Wales since he was a kid. He said that all he really remembered was a bunch of sheep and really rainy weather. He was right. You crossed the border at Shrewsbury, and the weather got steadily greyer, and there were more and more and more sheep in the fields. Reminded me of Ireland, the sheer amount of sheep. I texted him to tell him he was right.

As mentioned, the trains were only slightly late. I was quite impressed afer some of the horror stories that L had been telling me about the route from Birmingham to Aberystwyth (refer to map in last post - Birmingham is ALMOST there, just on the right-hand side). L picked me up at the train station, and it was rather nice to finally meet her in person (she and I have only ever conversed via email). Her and her husbands' house is about a 20 minute drive out of Aberystwyth proper, a place called Fern Cottage. It used to be an inn back in the day and was built in about 1850. The place probably never saw a plumb line, has walls 1.5 feet thick, and is absolutely amazing! I fell in love. They have two cats, which was lovely - I miss having a furry creature to go home to.

By the time we ate dinner and chatted for a while, it was bed time. Woke up on Saturday and headed into town for a bit. Stopped in at a stationery store, where I found some stuff I've been looking for for a while (figures I'd have to go to Wales to get it...), and then into the Ceredigion museum, which is basically a small, general-interest museum about the area. It's in an old converted theatre, which was really nifty.

It has everything from pharmacy to agriculture to archaeology to fashion to music in a tiny little space, but it's free, which was totally awesome. And, as if to confirm Mr. S's suspicions that all seaside towns in England have a very late-Victorian/early Edwardian feel to them, I present to you folks the sea front at Aberystwyth: row upon row upon row of Victorian houses that are now protected by legislation so that the appearance doesn't change. L told me a story about how when, a few years ago, a few of these houses burnt down, they were rebuilt in exactly the same style in order to avoid having a 'scar' on the face of the seaside. There was mini golf, but unlike Filey the other week there was no amusement rides or mini donutes (although I'm sure there would have been fish and chips if I had looked hard enough).

Just ignore the cars, and the fact that it was raining, and feast your eyes on these two photos. How awesome are these, eh? I mean, really? The seaside in this country is never more than two and a bit hours away, really, it's amazing. I love it. You can't just pick up and wander to the ocean when you feel like it when you live in the middle of Canada in some land-locked province. But, anyway, we wandered up and down the promenade, and stopped at the War Memorial and Aberystwyth Castle (which is a ruin now, it was destroyed in the Civil War), then went back to L's place for lunch. Her in-laws were there, having just 'popped by' for an afternoon, so there was tea and conversation, after which it was another quick drive down the road to L's mom's house, to run some errands, and then we wandered out to Devil's bridge - actually three bridges, built one on top of the other. The first dates from the 11th century, the second from the 17th (I think) and the third from the nineteenth. The bridge is over a river and a series of waterfalls, and it's absolutely gorgeous. The vegetation is so lush it's like being in a rainforest, and the mist coming off the falls is something like you'd get at Jasper or the like. Legend has it that the devil built the bridge there to lure people across, as the first living thing that crossed the bridge would forfeit its soul. A woman was out walking with her dog, and the devil tempted her to cross, but, knowing what the devil was up to, she sent the dog across first, and the devil was foiled.

That evening we went to see the Da Vinci Code. Apart from horrible Latin (unless you're the one that's a dying nun, you usually commit HER soul into God's hands, not your own) and some dubious claims about witchcraft persecutions in Europe and the States, it wasn't too bad. Tom Hanks wasn't all that great, though, and he certainly didn't live up to my expectation of Robert Langdon.

The next day we were up bright and frickin' early. Why, you ask? To make the two hour drive to Snowdonia National Park. Where I climbed THIS beast. Audience, meet Snowdon. Or, as the Welsh actually call it in, well, Welsh, Wyddfa (which sounds like "withfa" and is in the region of Snowdonia/Eyryri, which literally means "haunt of Eagles", although I didn't see any eagles... I think that whoever put the stupid steam railway on the side of the mountain for lazy and unfit people to climb the thing scared them all off, and quite frankly, the only reason you should be taking the train up to the top of the mountain is if you have severe medical problems that totally prevent you from EVER climbing the damn thing on your own. If you're just lazy you don't deserve to get to the bloody top... right. Rant off). We took the 'easy' route up, which involved some bits that were basically just a hike, other bits that involved climbing up these rock stairs that occur quasi-naturally, and other bits that involved actually scrambling up pretty steep bits of rock. It was good fun, and although I do ache today, it was totally worth it. After chips with cheese at an eatery nearby, we went back to Aberystwyth and settled in for the evening with some Buffy the Vampire Slayer (I'd never seen the musical episode! Can you believe that?! So I finally watched it last night) and a movie called MacLean and Plunkett. I was very proud of the people who shot that movie - their attention to detail during the execution scenes was extraordinary. And that night... I got to take a bath. My room here at the uni doesn't have a bathtub, and I've missed just sitting in the warm water and soaking and letting my muscles relax. After some Anadin for the aching muscles, it was off to bed curled up around a cat. Seriously don't think it could have gone better.

The trip back to York was entertaining, though. The train from Aberystwyth was overbooked, to say the least, and this mother and her children couldn't find the seats they'd reserved. She was the LOUDEST, most OBNOXIOUS woman ever, and her kids were just about as bad. Not a big fan of children, and that's precisely why. When the mother couldn't find her seats, she accused the guy sitting in front of her of having removed the reservation tag from the seats and taking her spot. Turns out it was a fault with the booking, and the guy was totally innocent of any crime, but she didn't even apologize. Oy. The train was running a little late as well, and because it needed to turn around and go back, it stopped at Wolverhampton rather than Birmingham, where I was supposed to switch. I was switching trains at Wolverhampton at precisely the time I was supposed to be catching my connection from Birmingham to York. Thank God for flexible tickets, though, and I was on a train about half an hour later, and got back here at about 4:10 p.m. I've done nothing much since. It was a great weekend. I accomplished no school work, but, hey, it's all good. And now I think I may take some more Anadin, have a hot shower, and head to bed. It's another long school day tomorrow.

I Am Reading
Academically: No change.
For Fun: Dunno - finished Keeping Faith, now need to find something else.
Pile of Books on my Windowsill: 11. 3 read, 7 unread, 1 half-read

Yup. I'll be leaving this room, this campus, and my laptop behind shortly (well, in just under two hours) to head to the train station from whence I shall commence my journey into the country of the Gaels - Wales! I shall be headed to the lovely Aberystwyth and hopefully will be able to see many of the sights!

Aberystwyth is sort of in the middle on the left hand side there, just under the giant "Wales" bit. You should be able to click on the map to enlarge it if you're really interested.

I bought hiking boots a while ago, so hopefully we will, in fact, be able to "climb" Snowdon (it's more like walking up a really giant hill on some of the easier trails, so there will be no picks or ropes involved...).

As mentioned, the laptop is being left behind (unfortunately some school books are coming with me - I can't spend 5 hours on the train and not do SOME work, I'd just feel ridiculously guilty), and I'm not sure what sort of access L has to the internet at home, so there may be no posting until Monday or so. There will be photos and such at that time as well.

Take care, all, and I'll see you on Monday!

I Am Reading
Academically: The Craft of Dying: A study in the literary tradition of the Ars Moriendi in England (Nancy Lee Beaty)
For Fun: Keeping Faith (Jodi Picoult)
Pile of Books on my Windowsill: 10. 3 read, 6 unread, 1 half-read.

I'm totally back in high school. The neverending blows to the self-esteem that had me running home from school to my room to cry most nights. I know, really, in the long run, that this year isn't the be-all and end all of my life, but I watch the circles of friends around me and I'm not quite in the loop with any of them...

I realize this blog must read like I'm manic-depressive or something, but there are highs and lows in everyone's life, and for me writing is cathartic. I suppose I could keep a private notebook or something of the sort, but there are events and emotional responses that I do want to convey to people, and I don't want to edit myself and pretend that I'm something or someone that I'm not. And quite frankly, if I just wrote factually about what I did each day, it would be boring as all hell...

"Woke up at 8:15 this morning. Took a bloody long time getting ready, as usual, and was out the door around 9:40. Went to the library. Read two tracts on executions from the sixteenth century. Met my classmates (including BEB) for lunch. Ate lunch at Alcuin and had homemade cake that N and C made for dessert. Wandered over to Langwith where I had to give a presentation, as did BEB. Presentation went fairly well. Spoke briefly to S and to J who attended presentation. Walked home with N & C. Am writing this blog, will be going to bells this evening."

See, told you, boring.

I'm constantly comparing myself to the people around me - I'm not the most garrulous person around and don't feel the need to talk all the time, and I'm constantly censoring myself out of sheer shyness, but my silence gets mistaken for unfriendliness or lack of interest and I'm left out because people assume I'm not interested, and I don't know how to change that. I'm not a supermodel, sure, but I'm not ugly. I'm not the wittiest person around, but I'm smart. I'm not a party animal, by any means, but that doesn't mean I won't hit the bars for a few drinks.

N&C are best of friends. They were hanging out again last night and having an absolute blast, just two doors down from me and I knew nothing of it. I know three's a crowd, but why the hell am I always #3?

To top that off, S. asked if I was coming out on Sunday. "Sunday?" I asked. I hadn't heard about Sunday. In short, someone either didn't bother asking me if I was even remotely interested in having a night out with people on Sunday. I mean, I'll be in Wales and wouldn't be able to anyway, but the fact that I wasn't asked and there were obviously plans being made... ouch.

I can't even manage to find one good friend in 8 months in a new country. I just want someone on this side of the ocean that knows that my silence _doesn't_ mean lack of interest. I want someone I can just watch a football game with and who doesn't expect me to keep up a constant stream of chatter. I want to be able to tell someone here that I'm homesick and have them _listen_ and not judge me a wimp. I was hurt so often by 'friends' when I was younger that I've built up this wall and only a very select few manage to get behind it. I wish I could drop the wall. I wish I could develop some of the self-confidence I'm so desperately lacking.

I will pick up. I will move on. I will get over this. But in the meantime I needed to write about it and get it off my chest. And I'm glad you are all there to read and thank-you all for caring. It's people like you who have saved me on a regular basis.

*Ironically enough, in the six or so hours since I originally wrote this, I've had a good night at bells with the gals and am feeling much better about life, the universe and everything*

I Am Reading
Academically: A true reporte of the death & martyrdome of M. Campion Iesuite and preiste, & M. Sherwin, & M. Bryan preistes, at Tiborne the first of December 1581.
For Fun: The Constant Princess
Pile of Books on my Windowsill: 8. 3 read, 5 unread.

Yesterday some friends and I went to the seaside! We went to this place called Filey, which was pretty neat. We wandered the beach, we ate fish and chips, had those donuts that come from the little flippy machines at fairgrounds (except the ones here aren't mini like the ones in Canada, they're full-sized). We wandered to the end of Filey Brigg. 'Twas awesome. We then moved on to Bempton Cliffs in an attempt to see some puffins (I've never seen one in real life... unfortunately our attempt failed).

The catch?

'Twas only about 10 degrees and bloody well pouring rain.

I've discovered it's a distinctly English sort of thing to not let the weather ruin whatever your plans are for the day (even to the extent that one girl actually brought her bathing suit and took the plunge - nutter!). I may have had mild hypothermia by the time we got home, but it was definitely worth it.

I have my Latin final this evening. Have I touched a book? Nope. Sure haven't. I may quite possibly fail quite badly. Do I care? Not really. It's not actually part of my MA, so I'm not all that worried. I probably should be. I probably SHOULD open a book at some point in the next two hours. Am I going to? No.

The bad weather continued today - was bloody pouring this morningn when I walked to the library, where I ran into R.

I'm also off to Wales this weekend to visit a friend L at Aberystwyth. Hopefully the weather will be decent - I'd really like to climb Snowdon (highest mountain in England/Wales - granted, it's nothing compared to the Rockies, but hey, it's an accomplishment in and of itself, right?) and do some hiking and wandering around and the like.

Right. Off to make some (black) tea. I'm having a caffeine withdrawal headache.

I Am Reading
Academically: Making Women Martyrs in Tudor England (Megan L. Hickerson)
For Fun: The Constant Princess
Pile of Books on my Windowsill: 8. 3 read, 4 unread, 1 half-read.

is the title of the Official FIFA World Cup song. Sung by Il Divo and Toni Braxton. Gag me now. Please. Seriously. Granted, I haven't heard it, but quite frankly I still remember "The Cup Of Life" from '98 and in spite of its Ricky Martin-ness, I grooved to that one. I have doubts that Il Divo can come up with something groove-able, and if Toni Braxton is with them, I have visions of a soulful ballad, which, while having its time and place, certainly doesn't get me moving. Although, I suppose, plastered, getting highly emotional in some pub somewhere just might be the time for a soulful ballad. Ah well.

If you can't be bothered reading an entire post about soccer, stop now.

Mini-rant aside, I note from FIFA's website that there are now only 20 days left until the World Cup begins. Yay! The joy, the excitement! Assuming I find someplace to watch the games, that is.

One of my goals is to manage to get to Premiership game before I leave this island. And right now it's looking like my best opp will be in October when my friend B/H gets here for a bit - and we'll hopefully snag tix to a *coughliverpoolcough* game at *coughanfieldcough*. It's either that or get R to go to a *coughnewcastleunitedcough* game with me. This said friend of mine is a bit obsessed. She cried when Fowler was traded off, she cried when he was traded back on. I was there for the first one. I mean cry literally. So it MUST be a Liverpool game for her. And it MUST be at Anfield. None of this away game crap.

Don't hate me for my choice of teams - it's just what's easily available to me.

Having said this, I must say that I don't really have any sort of preference for any particular team. I mostly just watch my mouth and mind what I say, depending on who I'm with. My friend A, down in London, has a housemate, J, that loves Chelsea. So when I'm with her, I become a Chelsea supporter. My friend M down in Kent's husband is Arsenal all the way... so I'm quite content to watch the Arsenal games when I'm in their house. B/H is Liverpool all the way, so God forbid I say anything to her that's positive about any team other than the Reds. R is hardcore NUFC... I didn't grow up with any particular loyalty, so I guess in a way that makes me fairly lucky - I can watch just about any football game, not really care who wins, and still have a great time just watching the players practice their art.

Having said that, when it comes to the World Cup, there is a malleable heirarchy as to where my sympathies lie. Let's face it. Canada sucks when it comes to football. We _almost_ beat Mexico a few years ago, and that was cause for celebration. So I have happily abandoned my loyalty to my country of birth, and will admit to anyone and everyone that we suck. So, here's where my loyalties lie:

First round. England, Czech Republic, and Brazil. Luckily none of them are grouped together. No conflict of loyalties for moi this time around. England - the country of a good 50% of my ancestors. Czech Republic - country of about 25% of my ancestors (ok, well, they were actually from the part that's now Slovakia, but close enough). Brazil - well, let's face it... they're bloody good. I admire them for sheer talent and balls.

Should any of them face one another - England and Brazil trump the Czechs, but I'm not sure, to be quite honest, who I'd support in an England-Brazil matchup. Probably, given my geographic location this cup around, it'll have to be England. In my heart of hearts, though, I can't make a decision.

Le sigh.

I Am Reading
Academically: Penal Practice and Culture, 1500-1900 (ed. Devereaux and Griffiths)
For Fun: The Constant Princess (Philippa Gregory)
Pile of Books on My Windowsill: 9 - 3 read, 1 half-read, 5 unread.

said Friedrich von Schiller.

So it's good to know that my soul is getting a good dose of ozone-fresh smell. I suppose I'm still a little bitter about the 'loss' of the job, and the fact that the IND _STILL_ hasn't gotten my passport back to me (I call them on Monday if it isn't back by then, 'cuz I really want it back. Screw getting a job, I'd just feel a lot better if I had my passport back in my hands). But in spite of all that, I did wake up on Monday after my giant point-form rant and feel much better about life, the universe, and everything even if I still don't exactly feel happy.

I've been cooped up in the Borthwick Institute for a the last few days now, only emerging at 3:30 this afternoon from THREE straight days of reading documents that look rather like this (in fact, this is one of the books I was reading, just a slightly earlier edition): Holinshed's Chronicles, and Foxe's Book of Martyrs (those being the short titles, because the long titles are a few paragraphs long). Holinshed's Chronicles was a little easier as it was an 1808 edition, and so was in a much more modern typeface and with slightly modernized spelling - the long 's' symbol (the one that looks like an 'f', but that's really an 's') died out somewhere in the eighteenth century, thank god, but really, once you get the hang of it, it's not that bad. I was just thankful that I wasn't trying to read someone's 16th century handwriting for three days straight. The woodcuts in this book are absolutely amazing - each one is quite unique (although a lot of them are of people tied to stakes being burnt, so thematically... not so much difference), so this book would have been fairly expensive. Unfortunately the Borthwick's copy of Volume III also has mold in it, but fortunately all the mold in that particular copy is dead, so I was able to use it right away.

I don't know how I ended up in England with a group of friends that couldn't care less about football. I mean, honestly. What is up with that? With the exception of the R (to whom I made mention of potentially watching the friendly on the 30th with Hungary in an email but have yet to hear anything), all my classmates couldn't be bothered with football, and when I mentioned that I was really looking forward to next month and the football to the people from bells, they just looked at me like I was slightly nuts. Which I am. But that's completely beside the point.

The more I think about it, the more I'm entertaining the idea of going into book/paper conservation (esp. book conservation). I met the Borthwick's conservator after discovering the mold in the Foxe, and he was just as nice as the lady at the Minster Library. Didn't get to ask him as many questions, though, but he seemed to really enjoy his job and not get pissed off that I was bothering him. The lady at the Minster has an MLIS (or its equivalent) in historical bibiography and about three other degrees, though... which sound kinda boring (sorry Bonobo)... and Borthwick dude wanders around in a lab coat checking the temperature and humidity in the reading room about three times a day, which seems a bit technical, to be quite honest...

It was a girl from bells' birthday last night... went to her place, sat, ate, chatted, sang show tunes (yup, geeks, the lot of us)... must have ate something manky, though, as I have been feeling like ass since...

And tomorrow it's back to the library (although I will be reading modern stuff this time 'round).

I Am Reading
No change since last time - took a few days off to read Foxe/Holinshed and am back to where I was before I started (with a lot more people dead on the floor than there were last week).