In Dublin's Fair City

I recognise that this posting is very late, but I'm lazy, and busy, and mostly lazy. This post is in fact, a procrastination method against writing my final essay. So here it is: my Dublin trip.

Dublin is supposed to be a very rainy city, so of course, it was sunny and lovely while I was there. There were moments throughout the rain where it would rain, but it wasn't a bother, and never lasted long. 'All four seasons in a day' our tour guide Kiel (pronounce Kyle) said multiple times.

I stayed at the Four Courts Hostel. The lift was broken so I got to walk up three long, winding steps of stairs to the third floor.

We were in a 12 bed room with the most obnoxious North American girls in Dublin. They went out every night and loudly came stumbling in around 3AM, giggling and whispering so loudly they may as well have been talking.
The night before we were due to leave, in fact, they woke me up at 3AM (one of them toting a drunk guy into her bed--thank God they were both so drunk they just passed out). We were supposed to wake up at 5AM to catch the shuttle to the airport, so I just stayed up the two hours until my alarm went off.

The days were fairly busy.
The first day I went on a four hour (free!) walking tour of Dublin. I got to see all the main sites and learned a lot of Ireland's sad (and sometimes embarrassing) history.

My favorite place was probably Trinity College. It had a beautiful campus and the most immensely gorgeous library I've ever seen. (George Lucas liked it so much he had it completely copied for Star Wars episode II)
Library:

Trinity College

Some of the impressive folks that attended Trinity are Bram Stoker (Dracula) and Oscar Wilde (The Importance of Being Earnest)


Also on the tour, we got to see the statue of Molly Malone, from the famous Irish song which I will now post the lyrics to:



In Dublin's Fair City
Where the girls are so pretty
I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone
As she wheel'd her wheel barrow
Through streets broad and narrow
Crying cockles and mussels alive, alive o!

Chorus
Alive, alive o!, alive, alive o!
Crying cockles and mussels alive, alive o!

She was a fishmonger
But sure 'twas no wonder
For so were her father and mother before
And they each wheel'd their barrow
Through streets broad and narrow
Crying cockles and mussels alive, alive o!

Chorus

She died of a fever
And no one could save her
And that was the end of sweet Molly Malone
But her ghost wheels her barrow
Through streets broad and narrow
Crying cockles and mussels alive, alive o!

Chorus

^ Molly ^


There was also just a lot of beautiful buildings.

For dinner I ate a legit Irish pub called O'Neil's. I split a fish and chips platter with Sarah.

Inside O'Neil's

I'm always so immensely surprised when I see Cuban stuff in countries so far from Latin America

Dublin also, apparently, loves President Obama. They were stoked that he came to visit.

Dublin's Answer to Fun Dip:

conclusion: good, but not as good as legit Fun Dip.

My second day I went to the Writer's Museum in Dublin.

My favorite writer 'quote' is the one Oscar Wilde supposedly said to a customs agent: 'I have nothing declare except my genius.'


Over the River

The rest of the day I spent in museums, wandering, having a general good time and buying gifts for family members.
I was really excited to find a flat cap with a shamrock on it, as it was the first thing I have ever in my life seen that I thought my grandfather would like as a gift. I spent a probably foolish amount of money on a mickey mouse shirt for my 2 year old sister from Dublin's Disney store, but I showed it to her when I skyped and her excitement confirmed that it was a worthy purchase.


I had amazing gelato, Snickers the first day, and something magical called Dark Forest the last day, which had some kind of awesome fruit that I do not know of.

I'm not saying I'm insanely in love with Snickers gelato, but I will say that if there was the last cup of Snicker's gelato about to fall off a cliff, and a human child about to fall off another cliff, and I could only save one...I'd have to think about it.



After our escapades in Dublin, it was back to the airport and home to Leeds.

Oddly enough, Leeds really has become home. I love this city, I love the people (who, of course, now that the semester's nearly over have actually begun talking to me) and I LOVE the Cupcakes shop. Lol.
I'll really miss England, I'll be home in less than two months. It seems to be coming too soon.




(I apologise for any grammar/spelling errors, I am really tired and will come back and revise when I next need to procrastinate.)
BREAKING NEWS: my flatmate's friends won't stop knocking on our door at all hours of the day! Won't miss THAT!

Many Men Snore--And Other Things I Learned in Barcelona

My week in Barcelona was something of a beautiful mess.
Gardens, museums, paintings, stained glass windows, sweets, and rain were all absorbed like my very absorbent Converse sneakers--which were only dry for 2 out of my seven days there.
There is a saying: It never rains in Barcelona. But for me, the weather made an exception. It rained every. single. day. (excluding my first and last days there). Wet socks, however, did not keep me from fun. Even beneath the grey drippy sky, Barcelona is a beautiful city, and, as if trying to make amends, the clouds cleared away nearly every afternoon or evening.
The trip began as most trips do: with stress.

Due to some rubbish cab driver in Norwich, Sarah missed her train and the later train was scheduled to arrive at the airport leaving little time to get through security. Sarah, relieving us both, arrived with time to spare.
Arriving in Spain, however, we realised our own foolishness in not having printed a map on how to get from our bus stop to our hostel.
After three confusing phone calls, we arrived at Backpackers BCN Casanova.
The hostel was nice and small, and it came as a surprise that the rooms were mixed gender. The only problems I encountered sharing the room with male strangers were that many hadn't learned personal hygiene, and, a bigger issue: many men snore. I am a light sleeper. Add to that the fact that some guests arrived after one in the morning, nearly every day, banging open the door and fumbling with lockers, and the nights were not quite serene. Thank God I brought ear plugs.



Sarah and I got to enjoy the living room area, where every other night snacks were laid out near the games (I lost at Connect 4, Uno, Checkers, Chess and Dominoes). One night, when Sarah and I had gone after the olives and cheese snacks, we found our space invaded. Not to be dissuaded from the snacks we had come to rely on, we sat down, played War, and eventually got into conversation with a soft-speaking German man and a charismatic, slightly vain Australian bloke. Funny and crazy stories were swapped (getting kidnapped: the fastest mode of travel in Bali). It was a fun way to pass the evening and self-righteously feel culturally superior "Oh yeah, I had cheese and wine while sharing funny stories with this German guy and Australian guy in Barcelona one time."

But the real fun was in the city.
Something some of you may not know--I surely didn't--is that Spanish is not the main language spoken in Barcelona. It's Catalan: a weird mixture of Spanish and French, it seems, with lots of words utilising the letter 'X'. That means that most signs around the city are translated into 3 languages: Catalan, Spanish, and English. Lucky for me, everyone also speaks Spanish, and I got by, although sometimes understanding their Spanish felt equivalent to an American understanding a Scottish person's English.
The main street (which I have walked up and down too many times to count) is called La Rambla. It's the kind of scene I love: vendors, street performers, bright colors and cheap souvenirs spread down the street. There were also men that sold some kind of abominably annoying squeaky toy. By the end of the week, Sarah and I were ready to commit murder. We couldn't imagine any sane parent that could be foolish enough (or have the grace and patience) to buy their children that annoying squeaking monster.
So I bought one for my sister, Natalie. JUST KIDDING PARENTS! =)
On La Rambla




There were also many street performers on La Rambla. All of them were human statues. These impressive folks dress entirely in one color, painting their faces and hair so that they really look like statues, until they decide to move.


Down one of the branching streets is the opening to the St. Josep market, which is home to the most brightly coloured, luscious looking fruit I've ever seen. There are vendors of fruits, fish, meat, nuts, peppers and vegetables to delight anyone.






My first day, my major successes were finding the Catedral Barcelona, getting a lay of the land, and trying for the first time--how had I never had it before?--churros con chocolate!
In fact, let me pause this narrative right now to list some of the AMAZING sweets I devoured in Barca.
-Churros con Chocolate
-Ferrero Rocher gelato
-Chocolate croissant
-Toblerone shake (think McDonald's McFlurry onliny with bits of Toblerone chocolate and caramel drizzled over it!)

I know, I know, that's a lot of unhealthy food In my defense: are you crazy? There's absolutely no defense necessary! When life (and Barcelona shops) offer you Rocher gelato, you don't turn that stuff down!

Similar to the amounts of chocolate, I also shoved in as much beauty as I could. Some of the most gorgeous sights:
La Sagrada Familia's beautiful stained glass windows


The view from Castell (Castillo for you Spanish speakers)


And the gardens near the Olympic Stadium.




There are also a lot of streetlamps, which I felt compelled to photograph.


Some of the cultural spots we hit were the Olympic Museum and Stadium, the Picasso Museum, the Barcelona Arc de Triumph and Casa Batillo.



DINNER
Moving on to meals. Trying to be financially smart (and also being too lazy at the end of walking around all day) 2 of the nights, Sarah and I cooked a frozen pizza in the hostel kitchen It was Spinach pizza, and it was pretty darn good.
The meals we had out, were also, obviously great.
Perhaps the most fun was eating at the Bar Estudiantil while watching the Barcelona football match against AC Milan (don't hold me to that, I don't know team names well and I'm too lazy/tired upon my return to double check it). The burger and fries were good, but the most entertaining part of the meal was watching the reactions of the locals watching the game. Victorious cheers and a foghorn was blown at each goal scored, the men inside sang a little ditty. Our waiter was exceptionally nice and placed our table directly in front of the TV screen in the dining area outside, so we had a perfect view of the game. Stuffed with good food and happy, victorious feelings, we walked back to the hostel.
Another night, being in Spain, Sarah and I went out for Tapas. Actually finding a place that sold appetizing tapas at an affordable price proved more vexing than we had anticipated. I didn't make things easier by saying I flat out refused to eat paella, the delicacy of Spain, as my olfactory memories of it were stomach churning, to say the least.
We finally found a place and I clumsily ordered (the whole menu was written in Catalan and, of course, the man at the register seemed to expect me to know that the word Truita obviously is pronounced 'tortilla') But we ordered and received out Tapas.

Quick Review:
-Patatas in garlic cream sauce and salsa picante=muy rico.
-Croquettas: weird consistency and not even close to as good as the one Yeya (my grandmother) makes
-Ruca Salad: never again.
-Truita/Tortilla/Whatever-the-hell-you-wanna-call-it: much like the breakfast casserole that BZ makes at home. Pretty darn good.

The major hardship when I first arrived was the total breakdown of Old Faithful, BZ's camera that she had let me borrow. It meant, however, that I got to buy my first new camera since I was fourteen years old. It's a Nikon Coolpix, for anyone that cares, and all the pictures posted above are courtesy of my kick-culo new camera.

I may add more another day. But now I am tired, I've been traveling all day, and am ready for a night's rest without any men's snoring to keep me awake.

Barcelona was absolutely fun, I leave for Dublin in a few days, which hopefully will be equally fun.

I leave you with a video of the penguins from the Barcelona Aquarium...mostly cause they're so cute.

"He Has Become Ood Kind, And We Will Take Care of Him"

^ ^ ^ THAT is an Ood, for the Doctor Who deficient.

Saturday, I, with my Ood ticket, entered the Doctor Who Convention at the Millennium Centre in Cardiff.

What can I say? Dreams come true.

I'm not going to get into details about the Convention (mainly because I spent the past two hours journaling about it).
Things I will say:

1) Being on the TARDIS set was one of the coolest experiences of my life.
2) Being on the TARDIS and at the Convention made me sure, more than ever, that I need to become a TV writer someday.
3) Karen Gillan has watched U.S. show Community and therefore has gained my esteem.
4) Arthur Darvill is adorable as Rory, but he is Hot as Arthur Darvill.
5) Matt Smith rocks some badass socks.
6) Steven Moffat is a self proclaimed git, but he's kind of a writing rock star, and I admire him immensely.
7) Getting to see a sneak peek at the season 7 trailer before everyone else is immensely satisfying.
8) I did not waste 99 pounds on the convention ticket, we got MEGA awesome swag bags.
9) Prosthetics=way cooler than I ever could have imagined.
10) Doctor Who is a show that has inspired many for nearly 50 years, and you can add my name to the 'many'.


This is me on the TARDIS

Finally Finally

As my friend Sarah recently noted, I am immensely negligent in keeping up with my blog.

That's because (along with a myriad of other reasons) I am writing a lot creatively.

Tonight, I started something that I've been putting off. My re-write of a re-write of a re-write for a TV show idea I've been toying with, I guess you can say, since I was 10 years old.
When I was ten, I didn't know it was a TV show. I thought it was a story. I wrote a few pages of something vastly different from what it has become now. I've written it at least 6 times since then, each time turning out, ok, but not what I wanted.
I had my epiphany my freshman year of college: it wasn't a story. That was the reason it had failed every time I'd tried to write it. It was a TV mini-series.

I've written the first pages of the pilot about 2-3 times now.
I don't want to commit because it's an idea I've nurtured all these years, and I love it more than human mothers love their children (I'd wager). I don't want to ruin my baby so that it grows to be a pot smoking, vapid, popular crowd, fluff script.

The book Essentials of Screenwriting by Richard Walter has helped me tentatively retry writing, now knowing more about script format that I previously have.

A frustrating aspect of writing it is that, in previous drafts, I have lines that I really like but cannot remember. When my stupid laptop died, I lost those drafts, which my kick-culo padre got back for me but are back home.

But now I've written something new, still sticking more or less to the same sequence of events. And I must decide if I like it more.

I'll probably just do what I've done in the past: put it away for three more months.



In other, non-writing related news
DOCTOR WHO CONVENTION THIS WEEKEND!!!

Yes. I am immensely excited. Like...WAY WAY EXCITED that the event I have been waiting for since last semester is almost here.

It seems almost crazy.
Just a year ago I was falling in love with the show, and now I'm about to see the writer, and stars!
And let's not forget (as if I could) the TARDIS set tour!!


I laugh and say, yes, I'm a nerd, when I tell people about how excited I am about it.
But is it even something to be embarrassed about? Think about it, Doctor Who was once somebody's baby. It got put out there nearly 50 years ago, and Literally generations have loved it.

Television (much like novels) provide an escape. They give us stories and characters to love and learn from in a fun, engaging way.

People might mistake shows like Doctor Who or Buffy the Vampire Slayer as silly shows about aliens, time travel, monsters and vampires, but these shows are successful because they're really not about those things. They give us messages about hope and strength and fighting for what's right and giving our enemies chances to be good. And yeah, sometimes they're just about badass, smart, witty dialogue penned at the hands of writing God's like Steven Moffat and Joss Whedon.

Inspirational pep talk aside, I'm saying, this show has something (the Doctor) that may be hard to define (the Doctor) that makes you care about it. So getting to go see the workings of not just a show, but the people and the industry that I'm so fascinated by (and hope to someday work in), is pretty damn awesome. And I am a nerd. And SUPER excited for my Doctor Who Convention weekend.

And all you nerd haters can suck it. =)

Sometimes Inspiration

A few years ago I read a book about writing. In fact, quite enough years have passed (and it was at a time where I was practically inhaling different books on methods of writing) that I have no memory of the name or author of the book, but something I recalled today from that book, was something the author said about how sometimes, seemingly out of nowhere, an idea strikes a writer. He (or she?) called it inspiration, something that just happens to writers (the author then followed up by saying that this is not necessarily a common occurrence in writers and therefore, the best way to produce a flux of ideas was to make a pattern for yourself: writing at the same time daily so your brain knows: now is the time to come up with ideas).

Inspiration does not happen to me often. And even though I semi-regularly sit down to write each night, I often sit there, writing because I know I must, but grimacing at the page, thinking 'Idiot, that line sounded so stupid, you're going to have to go back later and completely revise that entire section.' (Another thing that book--or possibly a different book I read that summer--told me was that you must silence your inner critic to just get everything down on the page, I have as of yet, to learn to silence the critic in my head).

Now, when faced with less than two weeks to write 3 essays (2 of 1,700 words and 1 of 3,000 words) the pressure is on to write, but (in my opinion) the most stressful/difficult form of writing: essay writing.

'But you're an English major!' all my friends protest whenever I groan about it, 'All you people DO is write essays!'

True, but that doesn't mean I enjoy it.

I have a method for essay writing. It comes in stages.

Stage 1: Procrastinate. Television, Doritos, rereading books you know you love,
youtube.com, iwastesomuchtime.com, collegehumor.com. Put off the writing
as long as possible.

Stage 2: Open the word document, adjust the settings to 12 size font (which for some
reason never stays that way. Write name in top right corner. Write a title
if you can come up with one or if professor has provided one. Add page
# to bottom of screen.

Stage 3: Stare blankly at screen. 15-18 min (Itunes playing optional)

Stage 4: More youtube! You deserve a break! 5 min

Stage 5: Begin writing, not your essay, but an angry letter to your professor/TA
about all the reasons you cannot
write this essay and how stressed out you are and all the reasons you are
currently stressed (profanity and emotion encouraged).

Stage 6: As you are writing your angry letter, use specific details about the book
you're supposed to write the essay on about how stupid it is. This will
somehow (about 1/2 to 3/4 of the page down) begin to turn into an idea (ex:
and I don't know how the HELL to write about the oppression of women
expressed through Jane Eyre! The
entrapment of Mrs. Rochester in the attic perfectly exemplifies a physical
entrapment of the female in the nineteenth century, while Jane portrays the
emotional and psychological aspect) This can also lead to a thesis
statement.

Stage 7: Delete the angry letter portion and continue writing off of your idea.
Open your essay like your ENGL 200 professor taught you: with a specific
line showing that you did close reading. Then use an overabundance of
textual support to make it look like you know what the hell you're talking
about.

Stage 8: Finish and proof read. Despair over how horrible it is and the terrible
grade you will receive.

Stage 9: Get A- to A+ on the paper.


Yes, it's a long process, but like I said, it normally works out for me.

Except now, I am in England, and my whole system is out of whack.
Things are different here. For the first time, I am in an upper level course (here it's actually considered to be senior year courses!). They have a completely different citation method (called MHRA which is completely stupid and confusing in regards to footnotes vs bibliography vs in text citations) and I actually have absolutely no expectation of getting a good grade. I have worked hard the past 3 semesters to get straight A's, while I'm here, however, I'm here for the experience. If I leave with C's, I'll be satisfied. Because I've already gotten out of this adventure more than I could have hoped for.

Like yesterday, for example.

Yesterday I went with Don't Be a Tourist to Warwick and Stratford Upon Avon.

We spent around 3 hours in Warwick Castle and it was (I think I can safely say) one of the most beautiful place I have yet been to in my life.
To anybody else, it might seem cool, ok, but nothing fantastic. The reason I enjoyed myself so much was that it inspired me. I mean HELLO it was a literal castle that people once lived in! I was walking through living quarters that Duchesses had stayed in and walking up ramparts and towers and there were peacocks in the gardens and I got to see a catapult shoot a flaming boulder across a field! I saw a vulture, an eagle, a knight, wax figures, and went on the ghost tour.

The trip gave me so many ideas for creative writing and I took so many pictures, my tiny memory card couldn't hold them all, and I had to delete some so that there was space left for Shakespeare's grave.















And here's some of Shakespeare

His grave:


His grammar school:


His Bust by his grave (the only true likeness ever recorded of him, approved by his wife)




I may also add now, that this entire blog post was my attempt at procrastination on writing my essays. However, I do already have one page done of one essay and have a pretty strong thesis (I hope?) for another. So...yeah.

Dinner: a Semi-Success (and a bit of Scotland)

I did it.
For the first time in my life, I cooked myself a real dinner.
SUCCESS!!!

In the wonderfully/magical/super-fantastic package that BZ sent me, I received, not only the salad dressing mix and two kinds of soup (broccoli and alphabet) but also free samples. The samples were two kinds of curry powder and a pizza pasta flavoring powder.

I decided to be brave and give cooking a shot. I bought some broccoli, I bought some carrots, I bought pre-sliced boneless chicken breast, and I walked into that kitchen today, and I cooked!


A minor setback: I didn't exactly know the curry to water ratio, so what ended up happening was that I was essentially boiling my chicken, carrots and broccoli in yellow curry soup. But I just emptied the liquid when it was done and ate the rest as it was and...

and it was fine!

Not delicious, not I MUST have more of this, but definitely something I would be willing to eat again. Especially if I figure out the curry part! But the curry gave the otherwise bland ingredients a nice spice to it. I was thrilled.

There was one point where my condescending, officious neighbor came in. At that point I knew I'd already put way too much water and when she asked me what I was making, I didn't want to tell her. She enjoys trying to make me look stupid with little comments that sound innocuous. So I mumbled something about kind-of frying it, hoping she'd get off my back. "That's not frying, sweetie" she said with her usual snark.
"Ha ha, yeah," I said with a serene smile, flicking her off as she walked out the door.

I did, however, end up frying. The other chicken breast was already defrosted and I didn't want it to go to waste, so I fried it in a different pan and soaked it in lemon juice (yum!! Yes, I'm a lemon addict) and added that to the lettuce, tomatoes, and avocado salad.

Needless to say, that was probably the best meal I've cooked for myself....ever.

I almost wish I'd taken a picture of it. I'm really quite proud of myself.

Another thing that happened while I was making dinner was that I got to talk to one of my other flatmates, Bella.
Yesterday was her birthday and she had her friends come over. Bella is a graduate student and all of her friends are older, male, Nigerian dudes.
I met one such gentleman around the building. He was very nice and very chatty.
Yesterday, coming back from classes, I ran into him and he asked me for my number.
I balked. I do not like giving my phone number to strangers, no matter how kind they are. I averted that by giving my name, telling him to look me up on facebook because I don't use my phone.
And of course, when I walk into the living room last night to say happy birthday, who is there amongst her male friends? Yup! Him.

Another problem of mine, I really really suck at understanding people that speak English with an accent. So I sat on a couch, surrounded by 8 dudes with heavy accents asking me about my life.
I bolted out of there after two minutes, declining offers of drinks.

I locked myself in my room, putting in my earplugs. About an hour later, I heard a knock at my bedroom door.
I knew it was none of my flatmates, they wouldn't come at this time of night. So I knew it was probably this guy. I decided to pretend I was asleep.
You gotta give the guy some credit, he is persistent. He stood there for at least 3 minutes (I checked my clock) knocking on my door every 2 seconds. Eventually, he did quit.

While I was cooking my curry soup, Bella informed me that her friend said he couldn't find me on facebook and if I want, I can give her my email address so he can find me that way. "I think he likes you, but I don't know," she said "he kept asking about you."
"Oh." I said, not sure if it would be polite to say I am certain I don't like him "He seems very nice" I said instead.

Her friends are returning tomorrow (or tonight? She was vague on details) and I'm planning to lock myself in my room and avoid human contact at all costs.



Moving on: SCOTLAND!


(courtesy of Sarah)


Keeping it short: I LOVED Edinburgh!
It was a very walkable city (once I figured out ways to avoid stairs, it's a very steep city and painfully reminds me how out of shape I am).

The highlights:
The castle, which could be seen from my hostel:


The Elephant House cafe where JK Rowling wrote the first few Potter books:





It's also where Sarah and I had dinner the first evening (and it was DELICIOUS)



There was a lot of Harry Potter history there (a school behind the cafe that Hogwarts is based on, a grave in the graveyard nearby with last names of Mcgonagall, Granger and, of course, Thomas Riddell!). Needless to say, I was in nerd heaven.


We also went on a pub crawl with the tour group where an intoxicated Scots man, out with his friends for a stag party, hit on Sarah. It was highly amusing, although I learned that Sarah, apparently, loves random encounters with strangers because she finds them fascinating.

We also climbed up Arthur's Seat (an extinct volcano) the next morning.


It kicked my culo, as it was a very steep climb, but the view from the top was really awesome (especially since it was a beautiful, sunny day).

(*warning to family members: I had on 6 layers! I have not become morbidly obese in the UK...yet*)



I say yet, because after our volcano climb, Sarah and I explored the city, and tried one of Scotland's delicacies: deep fried Mars bar!
"That sounds too disgusting, we have to try it." we agreed.



And of course, it was so incredibly delicious I nearly died right there. It was like a very thin crusted chocolate pancake that dissolved into your mouth. It was a darn near religious experience.
Add to that IRN BRU (pronounced Iron Brew) the soda that is brewed in Scotland (and is the only locally made drink in a country that outsells Coca-Cola) and my life was basically complete. Irn Bru was described as creme soda on crack and bubble gum soda. It also has a mildly addictive chemical in it. SO yeah...Sarah and I ended up trying it and buying 3 bottles of it to bring back to England with us (rest easy though, I found cans of it in my 99p store in Leeds city centre!)

On the ride back, Sarah and I learned that our team (comprising of ourselves and 2 other U.S. guys that used to live in my residence hall in Leeds) had won the Scotland quiz we'd taken on the ride up. We got the prize of Scottish fudge! It was pretty awesome. When we got to Leeds Sarah went to take a picture with our tour guide (a guy that looks kind of like Alonso from Doctor Who, which therefore lead to us referring to him as Alonso amongst ourselves for the entire trip). He assumed we wanted a picture with him because we'd won the quiz (although I would've been pleased just to have a picture of him because he's hot) and I was dragged into the picture too while our other tour guide took the photo.


(courtesy of Sarah)



Sarah stayed in Leeds and I got to show her around campus and city centre and showed her the best part of our city:




That's it. Sorry for it's length, just catching up on things (and using this as a vent for anxieties I have nobody to share with).
=)