A Volunteer To Test A Theory

I recently got a chance to catch up with a few people, on Facebook chat and my Pogolink international calling (how great a name is that?) most notably my literal BFF for life Ally and my beloved Rachel, which was terrific. It’s a great consolation that while I will eventually have to leave this amazing place I have spectacular people to come back to and hang out with all summer.

Summer. By this time last year I think I’d already signed a contract for a summer internship with JPSI, whereas now I am woefully behind on that process. But I get back before the end of April so I should be able to rustle up something gainful, but then with this job market… Alright, no more with things I can’t do anything about right now.

More with things I can justifiably freak out about now, like the labor-intensive process that is crafting a course schedule to carry two majors and two minors, writing my British fiction paper, finishing my postcards, and showing Flat Stanley an appropriately good time around the city. I have so far declined offers to take Flat Stanley clubbing on the pretext that he belongs to an eight year old and that that would be wildly inappropriate albeit hilarious, but we did take in Big Ben (so pretty lit up at night!),the tube, and tea. Photos to follow.

My Introduction to British Culture class involves a lot of walking tours, which actually aren’t rubbish but instead rather educational and cool and get me to parts of the city I’d never go to on my own, but frequently involve spending some forty minutes of would-be class time in the café of a museum drinking tea and eating pastries. Also Professor Fosdal is wonderful if perhaps excessively passionate about his views on architecture.

However: thirty some years ago whenever anyone fell in the Thames the first thing they did upon fishing them out was pump their stomach because the river was so full of toxic sludge that ingesting a bit of water alone could kill you never mind drowning. Professor Fosdal has a theory that attempts to clean up the river have so improved the water quality that you might stand a chance of survival if you fell in today. I’m the smallest in the class, so he started at me quite hard while asking for volunteers to be thrown in…

Chloe has several cousins living in and around the city, one of whom invited us to lunch. Umlaut hadn’t seen some of these people in a decade so while we were reassured that ‘Hugh’ would pick us up from our flat and we wouldn’t have to mess with the weekend tube, we realized we had no idea whatsoever Hugh might look like. Fortunately he was the lost looking gentleman pacing Praed Street who we suspected might be him.

All the cousins were absolutely lovely, lunch was divine, and we got Chloe back to Paddington station in time to catch her train to go see her other cousins, so a perfect afternoon overall. My previous experiences with being an outsider at family reunions (Hello Davitt clan! )had prepared me well for what could have been a potentially daunting occasion, a formal lunch and all, and then everyone was so so nice, so it was fine.

My advice should you find yourself in such a situation however: Do whatever your host is doing if uncertain about accepting or declining offers of hospitality, except in the case of gin and tonics. Always accept a gin and tonic. Remain amiably and unfailing polite and you’ll be fine. Also: don’t be fazed by silverware. If a frightening amount is laid out always use whatever is farthest away from the plate first and work your way inwards as appropriate.

When conversing with native Brits it’s very easy to slip into their vernacular and start to fling about fiercely unnatural phrases like ‘mate’ and ‘dreadful row’ and ‘fancy a cuppa tea’ and other such. Especially since I confess to expressing myself in a somewhat affected manner to begin with and am no stranger to excessive ‘quite’s and ‘lovely’s and other such circuitous articulation. …for an example of that claim, examine the craft of the previous sentence. And then there’s the temptation to put the slant of an accent on certain words where it feels like it belongs, and before you know it your speech is an utter travesty. At all costs, remain true to your own linguistic heritage.