Idag sökte jag mig till Oxford Modern Art och Miroslaw Balka. Han har varit spännande sedan 90-talet och efter mycket om och men, på väg att ge upp, hittade jag lokalen, som var insprängd i ett hål i en vägg som jag passerat två gånger. Det är frustrerande att se skyltar som all pekar mot en och samma korsning och att inte se det man söker. Lokalerna var fantastiska men Balka var en besvikelse. Mest för att jag inte var i rätt läge. Jag ville ha en upplevelse, som grep tag i min lekfullhet, som eggade existensen och sporrade politiken. Precis allt det som utställningen faktiskt gjorde. Men referenserna grep inte tag i mig. Basen låg politiska sammanbrott och förintelsen, mötet mellan natur och mänsklig förnedring i fattigdom och förtryck, samt i science-fiction och guldfärgade rymdvarelser. Andra vandrade omkring i utställningen med lånade guldoveraller och blev därmed en del av det hela. Jag hade mitt blå regnställ och det förflyttade mig inte på samma sätt. Jag ville uppleva och inte agera idag. Så jag gick vidare till Oxford Museum som hade en mycket minimal utställning om fornhistoria (Falu museum har mer omfattande på alla sätt och vis). Resten var tillfälligt stängt. Forfarande sugen på en upplevelse cyklade jag omkring bland byggnaderna och njöt av det som blivit vardag: En exposé längs gatorna av magnifik arkitektur från 13-1700-talen. Nästa vecka ska jag börja utforska den interiört. Fortfarande i jakt på upplevelsen. Dagens stora upplevelse blev annars att teckna elavtal. Ja, om man flyttar ihop, så är det faktiskt en eggande upplevelse.
Efter en curryomelett ägnade jag eftermiddag och kväll till att skriva klart en ansökan till doktorandtjänst i matematikdidaktik. Jag får den nog inte, men det vore enormt roligt.
Today I went looking for Oxford Modern Art and Miroslaw Balka. I was yearning for an impressive cultural experience. And I have to say, the crossroads and roadsigns of Oxford makes an enigma worthy of any postmodern piece of art. Every signed pointed to a specific intersecition, but there the signs suddenly pointed in different directions. And Oxford Modern was nowhere to be found. I cycled around the four blocks twice until I found a hole in the wall. THe galleries were impressive, but Balka was a disappointment. Some of the installments were really striking and impressive but the mixture of fading references to the Holocaust and political Polachs dressed out to space men in golden suits was simply not my thing today. Some visitors put on suits and walked around as part of the exhibition, which made it better. Surreal and intense.
After a vistit to Oxford Museum - not much to say or see - I cycled around and enjoyed the architecture. THat is a mixture I like, buildings of all sizes from 14th to 18th century. Such a beauty that so quickly becomes everyday life. Next week I will begin exploring the interiors.
Todays greatest experiences was signing a contract for electricity. I like the idea of moving in more thant I can ever express. Thrilling in every sense, I guess. And I like being able to browse Oxfam book shelves to find £1 books in English.
lördag 27 februari 2010
Friday 26 Feb
Till frukost gjorde jag klart kalendern för 2010, sent om sider. Under löpturen bestämde jag mig för att börja skriva på svenska. Fråga mig inte varför. Det kan vara så att hemlängtan är större än tidigare. Otvivelaktigt var det inte beroende på det engelska vädret. +10 i skuggan och fullt med blommor på gräsmattorna.
Jag läste lite, tänkte en del, skrev lite på en ansökan. Det kändes nödvändigt och lustfyllt att i varje fall söka en doktorandtjänst i matematikdidaktik med språklig inriktning.
I finished the 2010 Calendar at breakfast, better late than never I guess. Please email to order a copy. Running in the park I decided to write in Swedish, first and foremost. Don´t know why. Perhaps I am homesick. Undoubtably, it wasn't due to the English weather. +10 and flowers on the lawns. Can't complain. It was a fantastich day in the sunshine. THen I read a bit, did some thinking and wrote a bit on an application. By necessity and pleasure I have to at least try to get the announced Phd position in didactics - mathematical language.
Jag läste lite, tänkte en del, skrev lite på en ansökan. Det kändes nödvändigt och lustfyllt att i varje fall söka en doktorandtjänst i matematikdidaktik med språklig inriktning.
I finished the 2010 Calendar at breakfast, better late than never I guess. Please email to order a copy. Running in the park I decided to write in Swedish, first and foremost. Don´t know why. Perhaps I am homesick. Undoubtably, it wasn't due to the English weather. +10 and flowers on the lawns. Can't complain. It was a fantastich day in the sunshine. THen I read a bit, did some thinking and wrote a bit on an application. By necessity and pleasure I have to at least try to get the announced Phd position in didactics - mathematical language.
torsdag 25 februari 2010
Wednesday-Thursday 23-24 Feb
Wednesday 24 Feb
It was a highly productive day, although in the end of it I proclaimed I had done nothing. Perhaps that is what it is like to have fun with what you are doing. Nevertheless, it is time to summarize the first month. I like summaries for no other reason than the opportunities they give to see patterns and phenomena in life. It is easy to just walk the treadmill.
As expected, I miss my sweet princess daily and long for her intensively morning, day and night. I miss family and friends. Studies are approximately the same as in Sweden, and my English is good enough to cope. I have yet to establish a social base here. Experience from my own life and others shows that it takes a couple of months unless you go partying. To befriend Englishmen must be next month’s goal here in Oxford.
Sleep and noise have been in a constant conflict, which is good has affected my whereabouts and mood ever since I got here. I need to find good earplugs.
What have I learnt? First of all, UK is a nice place to live. The weather is fantastic. Canadians are slippery though. And I have been tuned in more and more to social and pedagogical approaches. I guess I do belong there. I like evaluation and seeing patterns and connections in people’s behavior. Also, flying easily becomes a habit.
What have I done? I have bought new clothes. That’s the major achievement so far, and talked to a lot of interesting people after all. I have found the joy in seeing the world from a bicycle. Spotify and BBC are nice too.
What have I not done? Although I have done some reading, writing, running, I have not really started reading, writing, running the way I would like to. I have not established a social life.
Thursday 25 February
Sunshine +10; I am sorry to say. It is a lovely day for many reasons and as usual Pete Boss lecture is a whirlwind of inspiration and fun. So the warm spring rain really didn’t matter as I went to finally get into Grand for afternoon cream tea. I have to say it is overrated. Tea was served to early, scones were like buns and the atmosphere was that of a postmodern pub, a mixture of new and original decorations that made it more trendy than classic or cosy. Overcrowded, noicy and glossy. Still remains to find my tea spot in Oxford.
Today was also the day when dear Emma at Accomodation Office was going to solve all my problem’s. Joyfully I entered and asked to see her. After a few minutes she arrived, well prepared with her list of available rooms in her hand. She smiled as from expectation of something good to come, to my surprise and asked how I was. She had never been social before. I couldn’t make out if it was because she too was glad to finally help a fellow human being in despair, or if it was her smile was related to that of a dog who spots a new toy. I preferred to believe the former, and told her I now new what room I wanted. In the back of my head, I saw the image of the keys that the reception staff had seen and how they had checked told me the room was available, maintenance staff who had cleaned the room. I told her about it. “H2b?” she said. She still smiled as she threw a glance in her papers. “It’s still under contract, isn’t it?” She turned to a colleague, who looked up and said “Yes, it is”, with a smile. Or was I imagining? “But he has moved out. Left the keys and the room is cleaned.” I said. “He is still under contract”, was all she said and I had to ask “What does that mean?” hoping for an opening. “That he has paid the rent. The room is not available.” she said. “And you can’t contact…” “No”, she said still smiling, I think. I was a toy for fun. So I resign to my room and the idea of a good insulation board. Spotify and BBC are nice.
It was a highly productive day, although in the end of it I proclaimed I had done nothing. Perhaps that is what it is like to have fun with what you are doing. Nevertheless, it is time to summarize the first month. I like summaries for no other reason than the opportunities they give to see patterns and phenomena in life. It is easy to just walk the treadmill.
As expected, I miss my sweet princess daily and long for her intensively morning, day and night. I miss family and friends. Studies are approximately the same as in Sweden, and my English is good enough to cope. I have yet to establish a social base here. Experience from my own life and others shows that it takes a couple of months unless you go partying. To befriend Englishmen must be next month’s goal here in Oxford.
Sleep and noise have been in a constant conflict, which is good has affected my whereabouts and mood ever since I got here. I need to find good earplugs.
What have I learnt? First of all, UK is a nice place to live. The weather is fantastic. Canadians are slippery though. And I have been tuned in more and more to social and pedagogical approaches. I guess I do belong there. I like evaluation and seeing patterns and connections in people’s behavior. Also, flying easily becomes a habit.
What have I done? I have bought new clothes. That’s the major achievement so far, and talked to a lot of interesting people after all. I have found the joy in seeing the world from a bicycle. Spotify and BBC are nice too.
What have I not done? Although I have done some reading, writing, running, I have not really started reading, writing, running the way I would like to. I have not established a social life.
Thursday 25 February
Sunshine +10; I am sorry to say. It is a lovely day for many reasons and as usual Pete Boss lecture is a whirlwind of inspiration and fun. So the warm spring rain really didn’t matter as I went to finally get into Grand for afternoon cream tea. I have to say it is overrated. Tea was served to early, scones were like buns and the atmosphere was that of a postmodern pub, a mixture of new and original decorations that made it more trendy than classic or cosy. Overcrowded, noicy and glossy. Still remains to find my tea spot in Oxford.
Today was also the day when dear Emma at Accomodation Office was going to solve all my problem’s. Joyfully I entered and asked to see her. After a few minutes she arrived, well prepared with her list of available rooms in her hand. She smiled as from expectation of something good to come, to my surprise and asked how I was. She had never been social before. I couldn’t make out if it was because she too was glad to finally help a fellow human being in despair, or if it was her smile was related to that of a dog who spots a new toy. I preferred to believe the former, and told her I now new what room I wanted. In the back of my head, I saw the image of the keys that the reception staff had seen and how they had checked told me the room was available, maintenance staff who had cleaned the room. I told her about it. “H2b?” she said. She still smiled as she threw a glance in her papers. “It’s still under contract, isn’t it?” She turned to a colleague, who looked up and said “Yes, it is”, with a smile. Or was I imagining? “But he has moved out. Left the keys and the room is cleaned.” I said. “He is still under contract”, was all she said and I had to ask “What does that mean?” hoping for an opening. “That he has paid the rent. The room is not available.” she said. “And you can’t contact…” “No”, she said still smiling, I think. I was a toy for fun. So I resign to my room and the idea of a good insulation board. Spotify and BBC are nice.
tisdag 23 februari 2010
Tuesday 23 Feb
2.30 The first Canadians arrive home. 4.30. A second round of Canadians make certain that no one is awake. How come Canadian women are so loud? Any hypothesis that may add to my understanding of this breed is welcome. 7.00 Alarm bell decided to wake me up, but in spite of the fantastic night I felt much better in body and soul than the day before.
After some budget work I read an article and went to lectures/seminars where I did well. 45 years old I still like to get positive feedback after the seminars by Oxford professors. I guess I am vain as well. We discussed capital sins this weekend and I seem to be guilty of quite a few. Vanity, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath, ignorance, covetousness,pride; I’ve got it all. That isn’t …good, is it?
At the end of the day I felt tired, but hopeful. Tomorrow I might be able to swap rooms. The mysterious Taiwaneese guy has checked out. Yet, my neighbour has changed his story tonight, saying that his (and thus that) room lets a fair amount of party noice in from the next door corridor common room which is situated on the other side of those rooms walls. Perhaps, It is time to settle in and embrace Canada instead.
After some budget work I read an article and went to lectures/seminars where I did well. 45 years old I still like to get positive feedback after the seminars by Oxford professors. I guess I am vain as well. We discussed capital sins this weekend and I seem to be guilty of quite a few. Vanity, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath, ignorance, covetousness,pride; I’ve got it all. That isn’t …good, is it?
At the end of the day I felt tired, but hopeful. Tomorrow I might be able to swap rooms. The mysterious Taiwaneese guy has checked out. Yet, my neighbour has changed his story tonight, saying that his (and thus that) room lets a fair amount of party noice in from the next door corridor common room which is situated on the other side of those rooms walls. Perhaps, It is time to settle in and embrace Canada instead.
Monday 22 Feb
I had to stay up and read. Had to get up early to read. Head aching, throat getting sore and my entire body screamed: Let me get a fever and just lie in bed for a week. I emptied the orange juice and poured honey and tea into it, with an assertive NO, for an answer.
My presentation wasn’t all that bad, but I was tired and perhaps not as clear as I could have been. People, 20 or so, were spread out in a 100 seats auditorium. I went home to finish the assignment for Tuesday, which included watching Room with a View, which was nice. Florens is amazing on the screen.
My presentation wasn’t all that bad, but I was tired and perhaps not as clear as I could have been. People, 20 or so, were spread out in a 100 seats auditorium. I went home to finish the assignment for Tuesday, which included watching Room with a View, which was nice. Florens is amazing on the screen.
Friday-Sunday
It is good to be home. Enjoy it my friends, doing as little as possible with the one’s you love. No wonder it took so long for Arwen and me to leave Uppsala. But on the way we managed to see our new flat. We will have to walk-in-closets and two bathrooms. Quite a setback to find that there wasn’t a view over the cathedral and a water landscape from a big balcony. And there wasn’t a washer in the bathroom. Can you imagine?
In Falun we both had a lot of studying to do. It was still nice to be together and really nice to see mother as well. I am a lucky guy. I am marrying my sweetest friend, a beautiful, angelic and intelligent princess, and I could not wish to have a better friend for a mother, than my mother. Still I cannot help missing my other friends. I am hard to please, aren’t I?
Coming to Lövhult just completed the set of three homecomings for the weekend, which past all to0 quickly, but I felt at ease when I left. We are getting into a routine, which makes it less scary to part, yet harder still since I just want to be in one specific place, more and more.
Maybe nature tried to tell me something, although it may be a bit egocentric to believe that all the winter chaos was to get a message through to me. Taking the train in good time from Uppsala should not be a problem. 17 minutes, what can go wrong? And I stood there wondering if I should take the five minute earlier replacement bus instead. Opted it out since the bus takes longer. Bad choise. All was well still when the train left 20 minutes late. Thought I was lucky since the previous train to leave was 187 min late. Then it stopped. And no word. 15 minutes passed before it moved. For a few minutes. Then it stopped again. I was not the only one worried when after a while we got the message, with a tone as if nothing was the matter, that the train would not go into Arlanda. Instead passangers who wanted to depart there had to go to Upplands Väsby and take the next return train back or get off at Märsta and try to get to Arlanda as best as we could. I did. No taxis available, but a bus was to depart in 12 minutes.
Eventually, I got to Arlanda five minutes before the plane departed. But checkin was closed. I had seen several options flash by: Returning if possible to Arwen and never leave again. Staying the night at Arlanda or with Arwen to take the 7 o’clock flight. I didn’t expect to find a ticket two hours later. Well at Heathrow bus station, I saw the back of the bus leaving. Apparently the bus driver didn’t see me waving and running behind it. But all in all, at that point what is another 30 minutes wait.
In Falun we both had a lot of studying to do. It was still nice to be together and really nice to see mother as well. I am a lucky guy. I am marrying my sweetest friend, a beautiful, angelic and intelligent princess, and I could not wish to have a better friend for a mother, than my mother. Still I cannot help missing my other friends. I am hard to please, aren’t I?
Coming to Lövhult just completed the set of three homecomings for the weekend, which past all to0 quickly, but I felt at ease when I left. We are getting into a routine, which makes it less scary to part, yet harder still since I just want to be in one specific place, more and more.
Maybe nature tried to tell me something, although it may be a bit egocentric to believe that all the winter chaos was to get a message through to me. Taking the train in good time from Uppsala should not be a problem. 17 minutes, what can go wrong? And I stood there wondering if I should take the five minute earlier replacement bus instead. Opted it out since the bus takes longer. Bad choise. All was well still when the train left 20 minutes late. Thought I was lucky since the previous train to leave was 187 min late. Then it stopped. And no word. 15 minutes passed before it moved. For a few minutes. Then it stopped again. I was not the only one worried when after a while we got the message, with a tone as if nothing was the matter, that the train would not go into Arlanda. Instead passangers who wanted to depart there had to go to Upplands Väsby and take the next return train back or get off at Märsta and try to get to Arlanda as best as we could. I did. No taxis available, but a bus was to depart in 12 minutes.
Eventually, I got to Arlanda five minutes before the plane departed. But checkin was closed. I had seen several options flash by: Returning if possible to Arwen and never leave again. Staying the night at Arlanda or with Arwen to take the 7 o’clock flight. I didn’t expect to find a ticket two hours later. Well at Heathrow bus station, I saw the back of the bus leaving. Apparently the bus driver didn’t see me waving and running behind it. But all in all, at that point what is another 30 minutes wait.
torsdag 18 februari 2010
If you ever get the opportunity, get married to a magical princess. Or prince. Someone may say, what do you now about that? Your just engaged to one. Well, I got a vivid imagination and a pretty good idea that it will only be even better.
Oxford was raining. Cold rain. Headache, dry mouth, feeling cold and sleepy. I mounted my blue Viking bike and got off to the morning seminar after I packed my bags. I feared I would be grumpy, cold and tired when I got back to Sweden. I feared I would be a mess.
Pete Boss spoke about Bazin and in the interval we talked about French philisopher and cultural science in general. He commented Deleuze as the last grannd narrative, regarding film theory, which is true, and as a theorist who forgot the audience. I felt revived. I believe in the audience. I love the audience. Reception studies are inviting me daily. Moreover, he spoke about Sokin and his challenge to overtheorised criticism and the science envy in cultural studies. Interesting. A nother nudge towards receotion studies, antrhopology and phenomenology. Got to bring Merleau Ponty back to Oxford. Ordered Sartre. Must also check my film literature for Staiger.
Rain poured down as I mounted my bike to go to Westmister College. 40 minutes in jeans. I stopped down town and bought a pair of dry Umbro soft pants and a BLT-sandwich. Wet and cold I got there, and was reminded that the heating system had broken down. Critical media studies may not be done in an advanced way, although we covered Althuser, Marc, Gramsci and the Frankfurter school in an intense and inspiring way.
I dreaded the end and going out in hte rain again.
Home, shower, get dressed and go. I was washed out. And got on the bus, which was late. I thought I was 20 minutes early but got just in time. And it all poured out. I was on my way home in a happy body and soult. So my friends: Get yourself a prince or princess. If you donät already have one. If so. Give her or him a hug.
Oxford was raining. Cold rain. Headache, dry mouth, feeling cold and sleepy. I mounted my blue Viking bike and got off to the morning seminar after I packed my bags. I feared I would be grumpy, cold and tired when I got back to Sweden. I feared I would be a mess.
Pete Boss spoke about Bazin and in the interval we talked about French philisopher and cultural science in general. He commented Deleuze as the last grannd narrative, regarding film theory, which is true, and as a theorist who forgot the audience. I felt revived. I believe in the audience. I love the audience. Reception studies are inviting me daily. Moreover, he spoke about Sokin and his challenge to overtheorised criticism and the science envy in cultural studies. Interesting. A nother nudge towards receotion studies, antrhopology and phenomenology. Got to bring Merleau Ponty back to Oxford. Ordered Sartre. Must also check my film literature for Staiger.
Rain poured down as I mounted my bike to go to Westmister College. 40 minutes in jeans. I stopped down town and bought a pair of dry Umbro soft pants and a BLT-sandwich. Wet and cold I got there, and was reminded that the heating system had broken down. Critical media studies may not be done in an advanced way, although we covered Althuser, Marc, Gramsci and the Frankfurter school in an intense and inspiring way.
I dreaded the end and going out in hte rain again.
Home, shower, get dressed and go. I was washed out. And got on the bus, which was late. I thought I was 20 minutes early but got just in time. And it all poured out. I was on my way home in a happy body and soult. So my friends: Get yourself a prince or princess. If you donät already have one. If so. Give her or him a hug.
Wednesday
I got up and started writing. Feeling the time pressure hanging over me. I really wanted to 1. Finish the essay on Ranciere. 2. Go through 2347 newsarticles where Alexander Payne and Election were mentioned. 3. Read two articles by Bazin. 4. Write a comment to them 5. Write an analysis on Renoir¨s Toni, 6. Collect a parcel 10 km away before the seminar at 17. I simply was too tired to make it. So I skipped number 2,
When I got home after the seminar, whuch was shortened because of technichal difficultues I was just sitting there and spent some time with my favourite girl on Skype. Then I started browsing articles and did a structure on what I could do for the presentation.
I fell a sleep too late.
When I got home after the seminar, whuch was shortened because of technichal difficultues I was just sitting there and spent some time with my favourite girl on Skype. Then I started browsing articles and did a structure on what I could do for the presentation.
I fell a sleep too late.
onsdag 17 februari 2010
Monday-Tuesday 15-16 Feb
Some guys have all the luck. Not only do I get to see my love next weekend, I also get to be first in line to do a presentation next Monday. Looking at it from a Swedish perspective the English assessment system is has its ups and downs. First of all the grading system is rigorous. 100% means A. Fail meet a deadline with one minute 5-10% off. 24 hours, and it is 10-40% off. For every assignement the details are clear, as are the criteria. In this respect, we are way behind. Fail to attend a seminar 5% off. Sick? See a doctor and write and appeal. Each class is based on handins, not graded but you get points off for not handing sufficient material in, a presentation (40%) and an essay (60%). For two of the courses the presentations are spread out over 10 weeeks, and I am lucky enough to be first in line. At least it will be over and done with.
Otherwise I am mostly studying. I have another essay (5000 words) to handing for French Philosophy I Falun. I did some more running and have been chatting with Frank, who is also writing something. And yes, risotto is an art yet to master.
And perhaps the room swap is drawing to a close. I went to the accommodation office, to meet the mysterious administrator who had written that I should to enable a room swap. Hope was brief, but accommodation turned out to be less accommodating. I reminded her of our email conversation, but her eyes were both blank and repellant to what I said. Which room do you want? She aske. Well, I do not now what rooms are available, do I? I said. So you don’t know at all, which room you want? How could I? I asked. After the series of exchanged questions, she sighed and left without a word. After two minutes she came back with a folder. So you don’t know what room you want? she repeated. No, I said. I don’t know what rooms are available and where they are situated. What rooms are available? Well, I have lots of rooms, so I don’t know either, she said. May I have a copy, I enquired. No. I suddenly realized why they charge for room swaps. It was a measure of the subjective bother. After a few more questions I finally got some kind of an answer: Go to the reception of Clive Booth Hall, and ask them instead. Do they know what rooms are available? I asked. She didn’t know. I left her to return to her world of ledgers and went back to writing.
Otherwise I am mostly studying. I have another essay (5000 words) to handing for French Philosophy I Falun. I did some more running and have been chatting with Frank, who is also writing something. And yes, risotto is an art yet to master.
And perhaps the room swap is drawing to a close. I went to the accommodation office, to meet the mysterious administrator who had written that I should to enable a room swap. Hope was brief, but accommodation turned out to be less accommodating. I reminded her of our email conversation, but her eyes were both blank and repellant to what I said. Which room do you want? She aske. Well, I do not now what rooms are available, do I? I said. So you don’t know at all, which room you want? How could I? I asked. After the series of exchanged questions, she sighed and left without a word. After two minutes she came back with a folder. So you don’t know what room you want? she repeated. No, I said. I don’t know what rooms are available and where they are situated. What rooms are available? Well, I have lots of rooms, so I don’t know either, she said. May I have a copy, I enquired. No. I suddenly realized why they charge for room swaps. It was a measure of the subjective bother. After a few more questions I finally got some kind of an answer: Go to the reception of Clive Booth Hall, and ask them instead. Do they know what rooms are available? I asked. She didn’t know. I left her to return to her world of ledgers and went back to writing.
måndag 15 februari 2010
Friday to Sunday 12-14
I was tired. So tired that I lost track of days. But last Friday was Thursday and Thursday was Wednesday. Just to get rid of any confusion, or addying to it.
My vision was to read and write intensively Friday. Not much happened. I am however getting used to turning night to day and sleeping very late. But I cannot say I like it. What happens the day after is that I sit by the computer and manages to get nothing done. It takes a lot of work do actually do nothing. I had a nice cup of tea though. Getting a drop of tea in Oxford is not as easy as it sounds, given the enormous number of cafés. Saturday and Sunday I failed to get a seat at Grand Café which is legendary. Even Starbucks and Costas were full, so I went to Tescos and bought a teapot substitute for 50p and had myself a cup in my room, while diving into the confusing depths of Ranciere. He isn’t all that confusing, but since he repeats his message over and over, I get the notion he has more to say. And I still have to figure out exactly what it is he wants to tell me specifically.
I have also done some running in the parks. It is heaven. And cooked some fantastic food. Whatever my expectations where of going to England and living in a corridor it was not to revive my enthusiasm for cooking. But I am actually having fun in the kitchen again. This week my mission is to do something with Brussels sprout.
These were strange days, and maybe my displacement was due to the feeling I should have been in Uppsala. There 11th was one a double anneversary, 12-13 was one and then Valentine's Day. Oxford was busy these days, but my mind was elsewhere.
My vision was to read and write intensively Friday. Not much happened. I am however getting used to turning night to day and sleeping very late. But I cannot say I like it. What happens the day after is that I sit by the computer and manages to get nothing done. It takes a lot of work do actually do nothing. I had a nice cup of tea though. Getting a drop of tea in Oxford is not as easy as it sounds, given the enormous number of cafés. Saturday and Sunday I failed to get a seat at Grand Café which is legendary. Even Starbucks and Costas were full, so I went to Tescos and bought a teapot substitute for 50p and had myself a cup in my room, while diving into the confusing depths of Ranciere. He isn’t all that confusing, but since he repeats his message over and over, I get the notion he has more to say. And I still have to figure out exactly what it is he wants to tell me specifically.
I have also done some running in the parks. It is heaven. And cooked some fantastic food. Whatever my expectations where of going to England and living in a corridor it was not to revive my enthusiasm for cooking. But I am actually having fun in the kitchen again. This week my mission is to do something with Brussels sprout.
These were strange days, and maybe my displacement was due to the feeling I should have been in Uppsala. There 11th was one a double anneversary, 12-13 was one and then Valentine's Day. Oxford was busy these days, but my mind was elsewhere.
fredag 12 februari 2010
THursday-Friday 10-11 February
Thursday 10 Feb
From some reason I didn’t get much sleep. Honestly, I don’t know. Tossing and turning, I was. The morning still was a bright one, I got some of these need-to-dos done and above all in the early afternoon my baggage arrived. Happiness can come from such simple things. It is just a matter of focusing and appreciating on the right thing each day. I just love her so.
To late for comfort I started writing my first ever rewrite. It really bothered me. And with that in the back of my head it has been a constant struggle between that anxiety and the invaluable learning experience it offers. What do you do when your excellence suddenly is rejected, and you cannot simply say “it’s a matter of perspective and preference”. In this case I had to face it.
After class, primarily a viewing of early documentaries by Grierson and Flaherty, reminiscing my own childhood experiences of documentaries at school. A reel sounding in the back of the room, and spellbounding poetic images of the world as a struggle capturing the mind of a young boy.
I kept on writing till four thirty and was glad I did. The writing as such was probably the worst I have ever produced, but outside the party people were running amok. I blessed that cursed rewrite, because it saved me from waking upp.
Friday 11 Feb
I do not understand inner life of my mobile phone. If anyone can deliver an explanation why it suddenly has decided not to wake me up at 8.25, I would be ever so grateful. After all, I have tried to turn that 8.25 off for half a year. How come it chimes at the time it is programmed to go off. I woke up at nine, and found myself in a hurry. Coffee, sandwich, bacon, egg for lunch and off I went.
I thoroughly enjoy Pete Boss’ lectures. He walks around the room with a giant mug of coffee and delivers, in accordance with a very well prepared material, a stream of consciousness on early realist films that mixes fascinating trivia, philosophical remarks, theoretical comments with a down to earth outlook.
A nice 30-min bikeride took me to Harcourt Hill and Westminster College and the most relaxing class of the week: Critical Media Literacies. I cannot help think that it does my confidence some good to summon up the weeks seminar, finding that among all these Englishmen, Canadians and Americans I do alright. What it does to my ego in the eyes of others is another thing.
Check out Pete Boss criticism by the way:
http://screen.oxfordjournals.org/cgi/pdf_extract/27/1/14
And if anyone in this wide world hasn¨t heard it yet: I have found what and who defines what is good for me, good in life, life itself. It is the loveliest and only rosebuddaisy. Today,it is three months since our first date. Three months and a week since she said yes.
From some reason I didn’t get much sleep. Honestly, I don’t know. Tossing and turning, I was. The morning still was a bright one, I got some of these need-to-dos done and above all in the early afternoon my baggage arrived. Happiness can come from such simple things. It is just a matter of focusing and appreciating on the right thing each day. I just love her so.
To late for comfort I started writing my first ever rewrite. It really bothered me. And with that in the back of my head it has been a constant struggle between that anxiety and the invaluable learning experience it offers. What do you do when your excellence suddenly is rejected, and you cannot simply say “it’s a matter of perspective and preference”. In this case I had to face it.
After class, primarily a viewing of early documentaries by Grierson and Flaherty, reminiscing my own childhood experiences of documentaries at school. A reel sounding in the back of the room, and spellbounding poetic images of the world as a struggle capturing the mind of a young boy.
I kept on writing till four thirty and was glad I did. The writing as such was probably the worst I have ever produced, but outside the party people were running amok. I blessed that cursed rewrite, because it saved me from waking upp.
Friday 11 Feb
I do not understand inner life of my mobile phone. If anyone can deliver an explanation why it suddenly has decided not to wake me up at 8.25, I would be ever so grateful. After all, I have tried to turn that 8.25 off for half a year. How come it chimes at the time it is programmed to go off. I woke up at nine, and found myself in a hurry. Coffee, sandwich, bacon, egg for lunch and off I went.
I thoroughly enjoy Pete Boss’ lectures. He walks around the room with a giant mug of coffee and delivers, in accordance with a very well prepared material, a stream of consciousness on early realist films that mixes fascinating trivia, philosophical remarks, theoretical comments with a down to earth outlook.
A nice 30-min bikeride took me to Harcourt Hill and Westminster College and the most relaxing class of the week: Critical Media Literacies. I cannot help think that it does my confidence some good to summon up the weeks seminar, finding that among all these Englishmen, Canadians and Americans I do alright. What it does to my ego in the eyes of others is another thing.
Check out Pete Boss criticism by the way:
http://screen.oxfordjournals.org/cgi/pdf_extract/27/1/14
And if anyone in this wide world hasn¨t heard it yet: I have found what and who defines what is good for me, good in life, life itself. It is the loveliest and only rosebuddaisy. Today,it is three months since our first date. Three months and a week since she said yes.
tisdag 9 februari 2010
Tuesday 9 February
The sun was shining and somehow my alarm had decided to respect the silence mood for once. There were only three reminders chiming when I turned it on, but not even that could make the day less bright. A simple phone call informed me that I would be contacted by a courier service that would deliver my lost baggage at my doorstep tomorrow. I spent the morning reading before class on nationality, subjectivity in the global world and British cinema.
The lecture and seminar made me think. The lecturer had just talked about nationality as cultural belonging, as communicative discourses, media constructions, existential, habitual security net in what we can take for granted or recognize when we feel lost. And I can´t help feeling lost when someone changes the topic suddenly to say: “Anyway, the weather is nice today.” He uttered the words as we walked from lecture to seminar room. To him it was a moment of cultural belonging, normal discourse. For me “anyway” signaled “in contrast to what we just said”, so I wondered what we had talked about that wasn’t nice at all. But I new it was only me who was lost in national discourse.
Like one of the English students said about half a year in the US: “here is this huge gap when it comes to humour and references. You would think there was more of a common ground. Instead there were constant misunderstandings.” (I cannot guarantee I give an exact quote since construction workers were pounding outside and the echoing room. And I couldn’t help thinking of all the times I wondered what my former Norwegian college actually meant, although she spoke perfect Swedish.
We were asked to introduce ourselves to the seminar group, with name, focus in our studies and a comment on our nationality. I couldn’t, as always, just produce the ‘Swedish’ answer: “Swedish, but we are have a very low key sense of nationality.” Sometimes comments and questions are like Rorschack-tests. It is nice to treat them as such as long as the subject isn’t changed too much: So I said “Swedish, but since I am going to marry an American, I assume my sense of nationality will be a blend in the end.” I gave all allowance to the fact that culture always is affected by global trends. After all we were talking about our sense of nationality, of perceived and conceived subject positions. Then he surprise me with a follow up question: “So if or when you eventually have children, what will they be? American or Swedish?” I hadn’t thought about it before, and I recalled former pupils who either try to distance themselves from or longed for a closer relationship to the most distant nationality of the two they had been brought up with. Seemingly, after a very thorough examination of all facts available, my conclusion is that any enforced second nationality creates an opposition, whereas an explorative approach based on curiosity results in a more natural relationship to the culture. However, I may in the future both revise and add to this statement.
The seminar addressed limitations of being caught in a subject position, or the frustrated defense against being caught in a definition. One of my fellow students stated with what I perceived as a politically correct arrogance: “I don’t acknowledge ‘nationality’. I cannot see myself as English or British. I am European”. The new liberal concept of nationality was presented. All concepts of nationality are defined as inclusions and exclusions. ‘European’ include a specific set of values, but is still opposed to being Asian, American, African, Oceanic, South American. It is still full of can’ts and cans. I suddently could define myself in numerous ways: Jakobsberg, Västerås, Haga, Falun, Utanmyra, Dalarna, Västmanland, Sweden, English or American too for that matter, regarding my present and future position. However, I have a hard time to see myself as European, although I know I am. History, culture, legal issues, traditions and politics make me a European. What my dislike to the concept tells me is how much I regard ‘European’ in a political, legal, cultural and philosophical perspective – an abstraction and intellectual influence, just like British is opposed to English. As it said in this weeks text by Kumar: “ ‘English’ evoked a people rather than a state , with a specific set of traits regarding rusticity, emotions and common history: a notion of something smaller and gentler, compared to’ British’: something hard rather than soft”.
On the way home I thought of what constructs me the most: cannots or cans. I do react strongly when someone says I can’t, mustn’t, shouldn’t. It isn’t that I want to do something different, because when people use those words they usually have some kind of a point, and out of respect alone I would generally do things their way, but it is the relationship between the imperative and the trust in my judgement that makes me react, I think. Where there are can’ts, shouldn’ts and mustn’ts there seem to be a need for an external domination of the will and mind; a prisonlike state, as if the internal “I” cannot be trusted. I guess I am a sucker for trust. Trust is sexy.
Running, trying to find an entrance to the park system, actually the park system altogether, I kept thinking. I wonder how I became so sensitive to distrust and exclusion. In general, I go back to my dad-experience, but I cannot find the answer there. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I wasn’t trusted as a child. Can you tell me what is wrong with wanting to see firsthand what happens if you jump from the top of Svampen in Örebro? I was a curious child!
Still, I hope I act in accordance with the idea of an open mind and more often ask if something is possible, wanting to try things anew instead of saying can’t, mustn’t, won’t, don’t and shouldn’t. There are so many things in the English culture that I wonder about and really could say “I don’t like it” about, if I didn’t and don’t give it a second or even a third chance. But I even begin to accept the plumbing, the separate hot and cold water taps, the closing hours of the supermarket and the typically British asphalt. I have learnt to accept the rugs and coffee. Eventually, I will learn to appreciate paying £2,8 per machine+dryer doing laundry.
Still there are things I can’t learn to live with. It is far from the Britain it used to be in the 70’s, with people smoking at the cinemas and the supermarket, but still, so many smokers. I don’t think the percentage is worse than in Sweden, but there are more people cramped in on a tiny island. Also, there is here as everywhere else, so many people who cannot understand how others, like the Scots, Irish etcetera, can think and react the way they do. I guess when it comes to identity and nationality we live in a time of subjectivity, rather than empathy. I hope that I will manage to go against the grain, in the end.
I guess todays seminar addressed me.
The lecture and seminar made me think. The lecturer had just talked about nationality as cultural belonging, as communicative discourses, media constructions, existential, habitual security net in what we can take for granted or recognize when we feel lost. And I can´t help feeling lost when someone changes the topic suddenly to say: “Anyway, the weather is nice today.” He uttered the words as we walked from lecture to seminar room. To him it was a moment of cultural belonging, normal discourse. For me “anyway” signaled “in contrast to what we just said”, so I wondered what we had talked about that wasn’t nice at all. But I new it was only me who was lost in national discourse.
Like one of the English students said about half a year in the US: “here is this huge gap when it comes to humour and references. You would think there was more of a common ground. Instead there were constant misunderstandings.” (I cannot guarantee I give an exact quote since construction workers were pounding outside and the echoing room. And I couldn’t help thinking of all the times I wondered what my former Norwegian college actually meant, although she spoke perfect Swedish.
We were asked to introduce ourselves to the seminar group, with name, focus in our studies and a comment on our nationality. I couldn’t, as always, just produce the ‘Swedish’ answer: “Swedish, but we are have a very low key sense of nationality.” Sometimes comments and questions are like Rorschack-tests. It is nice to treat them as such as long as the subject isn’t changed too much: So I said “Swedish, but since I am going to marry an American, I assume my sense of nationality will be a blend in the end.” I gave all allowance to the fact that culture always is affected by global trends. After all we were talking about our sense of nationality, of perceived and conceived subject positions. Then he surprise me with a follow up question: “So if or when you eventually have children, what will they be? American or Swedish?” I hadn’t thought about it before, and I recalled former pupils who either try to distance themselves from or longed for a closer relationship to the most distant nationality of the two they had been brought up with. Seemingly, after a very thorough examination of all facts available, my conclusion is that any enforced second nationality creates an opposition, whereas an explorative approach based on curiosity results in a more natural relationship to the culture. However, I may in the future both revise and add to this statement.
The seminar addressed limitations of being caught in a subject position, or the frustrated defense against being caught in a definition. One of my fellow students stated with what I perceived as a politically correct arrogance: “I don’t acknowledge ‘nationality’. I cannot see myself as English or British. I am European”. The new liberal concept of nationality was presented. All concepts of nationality are defined as inclusions and exclusions. ‘European’ include a specific set of values, but is still opposed to being Asian, American, African, Oceanic, South American. It is still full of can’ts and cans. I suddently could define myself in numerous ways: Jakobsberg, Västerås, Haga, Falun, Utanmyra, Dalarna, Västmanland, Sweden, English or American too for that matter, regarding my present and future position. However, I have a hard time to see myself as European, although I know I am. History, culture, legal issues, traditions and politics make me a European. What my dislike to the concept tells me is how much I regard ‘European’ in a political, legal, cultural and philosophical perspective – an abstraction and intellectual influence, just like British is opposed to English. As it said in this weeks text by Kumar: “ ‘English’ evoked a people rather than a state , with a specific set of traits regarding rusticity, emotions and common history: a notion of something smaller and gentler, compared to’ British’: something hard rather than soft”.
On the way home I thought of what constructs me the most: cannots or cans. I do react strongly when someone says I can’t, mustn’t, shouldn’t. It isn’t that I want to do something different, because when people use those words they usually have some kind of a point, and out of respect alone I would generally do things their way, but it is the relationship between the imperative and the trust in my judgement that makes me react, I think. Where there are can’ts, shouldn’ts and mustn’ts there seem to be a need for an external domination of the will and mind; a prisonlike state, as if the internal “I” cannot be trusted. I guess I am a sucker for trust. Trust is sexy.
Running, trying to find an entrance to the park system, actually the park system altogether, I kept thinking. I wonder how I became so sensitive to distrust and exclusion. In general, I go back to my dad-experience, but I cannot find the answer there. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I wasn’t trusted as a child. Can you tell me what is wrong with wanting to see firsthand what happens if you jump from the top of Svampen in Örebro? I was a curious child!
Still, I hope I act in accordance with the idea of an open mind and more often ask if something is possible, wanting to try things anew instead of saying can’t, mustn’t, won’t, don’t and shouldn’t. There are so many things in the English culture that I wonder about and really could say “I don’t like it” about, if I didn’t and don’t give it a second or even a third chance. But I even begin to accept the plumbing, the separate hot and cold water taps, the closing hours of the supermarket and the typically British asphalt. I have learnt to accept the rugs and coffee. Eventually, I will learn to appreciate paying £2,8 per machine+dryer doing laundry.
Still there are things I can’t learn to live with. It is far from the Britain it used to be in the 70’s, with people smoking at the cinemas and the supermarket, but still, so many smokers. I don’t think the percentage is worse than in Sweden, but there are more people cramped in on a tiny island. Also, there is here as everywhere else, so many people who cannot understand how others, like the Scots, Irish etcetera, can think and react the way they do. I guess when it comes to identity and nationality we live in a time of subjectivity, rather than empathy. I hope that I will manage to go against the grain, in the end.
I guess todays seminar addressed me.
måndag 8 februari 2010
Monday 8 February
I have seldom woken up so often in a single day as this day. That I left Arwen in the morning set the day's mood. I had to check in a bag since I wasn't assertive enough carrying my backback. It probably seemed to weigh 60 kg, but it was the weight of separation that burdened my shoulders. The result was I had to check a bag in and could only take the laptop as handluggage with Viking Air/Aer Olympic. Boarding made me wonder since it was me and an Mid-Asian conference or something. I couldn't make out if they were all from one and the same country, possibly Iraq, all in transit. Moreover we were all asked to step outside to identify our luggage, although once outside mine was presumably already on the plane since I was not in transit. Still, it made me wonder if I really was on the right flight. I fell asleep before we had left the ground, but was constantly disturbed by two charming kids who were running up and down the isle with exited voices to go with the running. I opted not to trip them, in order to get a proper sleep. I fell a sleep between every other run as it was.
A thump finally woke me up as we touched ground and I still wasn't sure I was in England or if I had landed in Iran. Getting luggage was chaotic. People didn't seem to now what bags they had, and together with quite a few I couldn't see my luggage. It was gone. I filed a complaint and missed the bus with two minutes, but thanks to nice traffic still made it to class with the same margin. I got approximately ten microsleeps in the coach, and probably more in class. I sat in the first row and couldn't keep my eyes open. I think I got it all anyhow, and just hope that I didn't cry out "Arwen?" during one of the many micropauses I took. Dreaming came quick and every time I closed my eyes I suddenly was in the same room as my love. No wonder I fell asleep time and time again.
Back in my room I had a quick shower and ran off to the next lecture and screening.
The day is now about to end and thanks to all the dreaming it wasn't such a bad day after all.
A thump finally woke me up as we touched ground and I still wasn't sure I was in England or if I had landed in Iran. Getting luggage was chaotic. People didn't seem to now what bags they had, and together with quite a few I couldn't see my luggage. It was gone. I filed a complaint and missed the bus with two minutes, but thanks to nice traffic still made it to class with the same margin. I got approximately ten microsleeps in the coach, and probably more in class. I sat in the first row and couldn't keep my eyes open. I think I got it all anyhow, and just hope that I didn't cry out "Arwen?" during one of the many micropauses I took. Dreaming came quick and every time I closed my eyes I suddenly was in the same room as my love. No wonder I fell asleep time and time again.
Back in my room I had a quick shower and ran off to the next lecture and screening.
The day is now about to end and thanks to all the dreaming it wasn't such a bad day after all.
Thursday-Sunday
Thursday promised not to be hectic; Two lectures, lunch inbetween, some arrends and then catch a flight from Heathrow. Little had I taken into account that the first lecture would last more than an hour longer than scheduled and that it would take 40 min of speed-cycling to get to Westminster College. But I was at the airport with plenty of time to catch up with lunch. The weekend was to short. But we will have many weekends together in the future, me and my wife.
onsdag 3 februari 2010
Wednesday 3 February
Today’s word is ”Umbellical”, as in a backup is umbellical for rewriting an earlier text. Or a shower is umbellical for the energy of the day. It is one of those words that needs saving. And I need to apply those umbellical things to my life. Otherwise the day was dull. I sat in my room reading, doing my first assignment and had planned to write a text due to Uppsala, but I had forgotten to create backup files from my laptop, so instead I spent most of the day organizing files on hard-drives, hoping to find what was not there. With a slight headache Arwen cheered me up with the presence of her voice. And yes: I got the Perrotta-books. It is very likely that Perrotta will be in my focus for quite some time. He is the novelist to adapt to be nominated for an Oscar: Election, and Little Children for example. Hal Hartley’s scripts are on their way and Roger Ford and Cormac McCarthy are runners up. I just began reading The Road. It is stunning, purely concentrate of being, as if Ezra Pound had decided to write a novel together with Gorkij.
Most importantly, the slowness of the day might have been due to expectations. It is after all the day before Christmas. Tomorrow I fly home to see Arwen, after a few seminars. After two weeks I will see her again.
Most importantly, the slowness of the day might have been due to expectations. It is after all the day before Christmas. Tomorrow I fly home to see Arwen, after a few seminars. After two weeks I will see her again.
Tuesday 2 Feb
Tuesday 2 February
To my big surprise no one woke me up at 4.30. I was cheerful as a guinea pig, before the injectionHowever, my mail box contained of two mails of purely negative sentences . Not a single positive response. No “I miss you”. No “good effort to start with” about the blog. Instead the guinea pig had been injected with severe negativity and reacted harshly with spasms in the keyboard fingers. On my way to the university I started thinking. On the one hand, I thought about how we react when we miss someone, and on the other on how one can turn a bad day to good.
First of all, we are I guess just like children. So often when we miss someone and are afraid of losing them frustration turns to anger or attacks, instead of sincere fragility and warmth. Or we turn away and pretend that we aren’t affected at all. Silence is then what we do, when we miss someone. And sometimes, we top up our phone card, when the internet connection is broken, and call to say how much we miss each other.
So what do I miss, and I guess the question also raised an even bigger and more sensitive question. What will I miss? There is no doubt Arwen is the one I miss most, so much that she is actually present. Every step I take, as the song goes, every move I make, every thought I think. So that is really not to miss someone, it is longing for someone. The difference lies in the assurance that we will meet day after tomorrow. So to begin with, I miss intense philosophical talks, hearing people feverishly outline ideas on the phone or at a table. I miss hearing about cultural politics, staff problems and film clubs and gardening. I miss being in Lövhult. I miss volleyball. Here in Oxford they play all sorts of games but not volleyball. It simply isn’t cricket, is it. I miss all these things because they have not been reestablished yet. And I guess, Lövhult is what I will miss the most, walking the streets of Falun, it is and will always be my hometown. However, it is not my home. Because that is where my heart is, and my heart is anywhere you are, as Elvis sang.
Class was ok and I found my Wensleydale Cranberry Cheese. Delicious. Yet, I guess it wasn’t until when the day was about to end and I heard Arwen’s voice again that it turned around again. I guess we need a bit of help to make things happen. Without any positive impulses it is hard. Conclusion? We should always, me included, think twice before we let a negative phrase or response leave our mouth or keyboard: How can I turn this into a positive phrase. After all, we might turn a good day bad for someone else. I wish so, I could live up to this idea. I fall a sleep a wiser man than when I woke up.
To my big surprise no one woke me up at 4.30. I was cheerful as a guinea pig, before the injectionHowever, my mail box contained of two mails of purely negative sentences . Not a single positive response. No “I miss you”. No “good effort to start with” about the blog. Instead the guinea pig had been injected with severe negativity and reacted harshly with spasms in the keyboard fingers. On my way to the university I started thinking. On the one hand, I thought about how we react when we miss someone, and on the other on how one can turn a bad day to good.
First of all, we are I guess just like children. So often when we miss someone and are afraid of losing them frustration turns to anger or attacks, instead of sincere fragility and warmth. Or we turn away and pretend that we aren’t affected at all. Silence is then what we do, when we miss someone. And sometimes, we top up our phone card, when the internet connection is broken, and call to say how much we miss each other.
So what do I miss, and I guess the question also raised an even bigger and more sensitive question. What will I miss? There is no doubt Arwen is the one I miss most, so much that she is actually present. Every step I take, as the song goes, every move I make, every thought I think. So that is really not to miss someone, it is longing for someone. The difference lies in the assurance that we will meet day after tomorrow. So to begin with, I miss intense philosophical talks, hearing people feverishly outline ideas on the phone or at a table. I miss hearing about cultural politics, staff problems and film clubs and gardening. I miss being in Lövhult. I miss volleyball. Here in Oxford they play all sorts of games but not volleyball. It simply isn’t cricket, is it. I miss all these things because they have not been reestablished yet. And I guess, Lövhult is what I will miss the most, walking the streets of Falun, it is and will always be my hometown. However, it is not my home. Because that is where my heart is, and my heart is anywhere you are, as Elvis sang.
Class was ok and I found my Wensleydale Cranberry Cheese. Delicious. Yet, I guess it wasn’t until when the day was about to end and I heard Arwen’s voice again that it turned around again. I guess we need a bit of help to make things happen. Without any positive impulses it is hard. Conclusion? We should always, me included, think twice before we let a negative phrase or response leave our mouth or keyboard: How can I turn this into a positive phrase. After all, we might turn a good day bad for someone else. I wish so, I could live up to this idea. I fall a sleep a wiser man than when I woke up.
måndag 1 februari 2010
Monday 1 February
White. The ground was white when I woke up. Is this the way it is going to be? My cleaning lady said the February forecast says worse than January. I don’t think she referred to the spring-like weather I have recorded, but the winter chaos they had earlier with snow and 18 degrees below. Still, once again I had a full night´s sleep. Can Oxford really be like this?
I rushed downtown, almost. Locked my self out and had a maintenance guy meet me to open the door to my corridor so that I could get into my unlocked room and get my key. Then I cycled downtown to complete my shopping. No, I have not gone mad, but since I haven’t bought trousers or suits the last ten years my wardrobe is needy and to tell the truth, with a beauty like the one I am marrying, I mustn’t look like a tramp, must I? Anyway, my Russian funds were dedicated to a purpose like this.
Once at Austin Reed, I realized that there is more to a Canadian guy than meets the eye. To begin with I was a bit frustrated since we didn’t find the suits at all. He said he’d hang them aside, but hide them or hang them in his private closet, buying them just in spite? But while today’s shop assistant went upstairs to look for them, I found them neatly to the left on the hangers among the 42´s. Furthermore, he had located an extra pair of trouser. So when it comes to Canadians I must adjust my newly acquired prejudice: They simply don’t want to appear nice, but they really are just as nice as the rumour has it.
Still, I wasn’t sure suddenly. I am 34 short in trousers, but was I really 40 short in jacket. Regular felt so much more comfortable. I looked really smashing in jeans, lumber-shirt and Austin Reed jacket. But even with correct trousers and shirt on, I wasn’t confident about size. The female assistant wasn’t sure herself so she called for “a male opinion”, which was a bit odd to me. The manager appeared once again and spoke from his experience of tailoring, fitting and adjusting suits, about proportions how legs and body should appear 50-50 and contemporary fashion and classical cuts. All in all: I am 40 short. The problem was there were three suits. The sum added to a lot of too much with extra pairs of trousers and a belt. The manager noticed my concerned inner dialogue I guess and said “Perhaps we can do something still.” Then he went away. “What about my extra discount”, a devil on my right shoulder cried. After a while he came back: ”I was thinking of the XXX society” he told the assistant and explained something to her about accounts. When he was done I had got 50% to start with, buy to get one half price, and finally an additional 15% discount. Now I mustn’t gain any weight the next 20 years.
Today´s hectic schedule has been slightly reduced since this will be Week One. Therefore, the afternoon screening is cancelled. Mondays will otherwise be nice: Independent American Cinema, Lecture, Screening and seminar 13-17. 17.15-20.15 British Cinema: Industry and Text. Warren Buckland was cool. Subtle Gervaisian self-ironies. It will be a module on reception studies first of all, which suits me perfectly. I have already narrowed my master essay down to either Hal Hartley screenplays or Tom Perrotta, as far as primary sources are concerned. Ideas were bubbling and this was just an introduction. Very promising indeed.
Coming home, I went for a run, my first here in Oxford. Sweet. And in the evening, ordering Hal Hartley screenplays and setting up this blog, I felt satisfied. Finally, I will have time for the writing I want to do. I have got it bad. As I write, hordes of party people bellow and bawl outside my window, titter and tatter announcing their departure. Yippie.
I rushed downtown, almost. Locked my self out and had a maintenance guy meet me to open the door to my corridor so that I could get into my unlocked room and get my key. Then I cycled downtown to complete my shopping. No, I have not gone mad, but since I haven’t bought trousers or suits the last ten years my wardrobe is needy and to tell the truth, with a beauty like the one I am marrying, I mustn’t look like a tramp, must I? Anyway, my Russian funds were dedicated to a purpose like this.
Once at Austin Reed, I realized that there is more to a Canadian guy than meets the eye. To begin with I was a bit frustrated since we didn’t find the suits at all. He said he’d hang them aside, but hide them or hang them in his private closet, buying them just in spite? But while today’s shop assistant went upstairs to look for them, I found them neatly to the left on the hangers among the 42´s. Furthermore, he had located an extra pair of trouser. So when it comes to Canadians I must adjust my newly acquired prejudice: They simply don’t want to appear nice, but they really are just as nice as the rumour has it.
Still, I wasn’t sure suddenly. I am 34 short in trousers, but was I really 40 short in jacket. Regular felt so much more comfortable. I looked really smashing in jeans, lumber-shirt and Austin Reed jacket. But even with correct trousers and shirt on, I wasn’t confident about size. The female assistant wasn’t sure herself so she called for “a male opinion”, which was a bit odd to me. The manager appeared once again and spoke from his experience of tailoring, fitting and adjusting suits, about proportions how legs and body should appear 50-50 and contemporary fashion and classical cuts. All in all: I am 40 short. The problem was there were three suits. The sum added to a lot of too much with extra pairs of trousers and a belt. The manager noticed my concerned inner dialogue I guess and said “Perhaps we can do something still.” Then he went away. “What about my extra discount”, a devil on my right shoulder cried. After a while he came back: ”I was thinking of the XXX society” he told the assistant and explained something to her about accounts. When he was done I had got 50% to start with, buy to get one half price, and finally an additional 15% discount. Now I mustn’t gain any weight the next 20 years.
Today´s hectic schedule has been slightly reduced since this will be Week One. Therefore, the afternoon screening is cancelled. Mondays will otherwise be nice: Independent American Cinema, Lecture, Screening and seminar 13-17. 17.15-20.15 British Cinema: Industry and Text. Warren Buckland was cool. Subtle Gervaisian self-ironies. It will be a module on reception studies first of all, which suits me perfectly. I have already narrowed my master essay down to either Hal Hartley screenplays or Tom Perrotta, as far as primary sources are concerned. Ideas were bubbling and this was just an introduction. Very promising indeed.
Coming home, I went for a run, my first here in Oxford. Sweet. And in the evening, ordering Hal Hartley screenplays and setting up this blog, I felt satisfied. Finally, I will have time for the writing I want to do. I have got it bad. As I write, hordes of party people bellow and bawl outside my window, titter and tatter announcing their departure. Yippie.
Sunday 31 January
The ghost appeared today. That was my Swiss neighbors’ name for the mysterious person that occupies the room I want. Seemingly, a guy from Taiwan rents the room but stays with his girlfriend and this week his sister is visiting temporarily. So after this week, there might be hope. The corridor is really good otherwise and I have got used to my room, my cleaning lady and my yellow walls.
It is time to say something about Canadians. The last week I have come across some really loud Americans. Talking about nothing in a voice that assures them that all the world can hear them, and no one else can have a conversation in the room. My bad. They happened to be Canadians. Is that the case: Europe is invaded by Canadian tourist posing as Americans to give their neighbours a bad reputation. Or is it only our ignorance that makes us believe that anyone with a Northamerican accent is American, prejudiced about the myth of Bush-like Americans? I know better. I am in love with the living proof that Canadians and Americans are not the same. Still, it takes all kinds of all nations. There are quite a few Brits and Suedes that I would not like to share a corridor with. I probably am one of those myself to many others. However the Swiss and the German guys in my corridor are the best one could hope for.
This did however not affect my plans for the day. I went back to Austin Reed to look at some casual trousers. Shocking news ahead: I bought two pairs of jeans - and two other pairs as well. Then I went upstairs to check the suit out again. A Northamerican guy was working that day and did not seem interested in helping at all. When I referred to the conversation with the manager about the extra pair of trousers he said assertively: “Sorry Sir, that’s not possible.” When I repeated what had been said and done he continued: “Well, the manager doesn’t always know what he is talking about”. “He did”, I said, “and I heard him making the call. Is he working tomorrow?” “You won’t get any other answer, no matter who you ask, sir”, he insisted. “But I did, just two days ago.” I was really a bothersome customer. “Well, there must be a mistake. It simply can’t be done, sir”, he concluded. To assure me, he called for the other shop assistant working that day, who said “Well, XXX has connections we don’t and if you return tomorrow he will be here.” So asked him to set the suits aside, but he said he couldn’t do it since they were on sale. I retorted that the manager had done it, but he wouldn’t do it. Then when I paid for the trousers I had picked out, I asked: “You have a Northamerican accent. Are you by any chance Canadian?” He looked up, surprised. “How observant. Yes I am. Most people think I’m American.” I was about to get a new set of prejudices that I didn’t feel comfortable with. Canadians are supposed to be friendly, down-to-earth elk-hunting, bacon eaters, aren’t they?
The library at the University is open till 23.45 Sunday evenings. I may get accustomed to some things about Oxford life.
It is time to say something about Canadians. The last week I have come across some really loud Americans. Talking about nothing in a voice that assures them that all the world can hear them, and no one else can have a conversation in the room. My bad. They happened to be Canadians. Is that the case: Europe is invaded by Canadian tourist posing as Americans to give their neighbours a bad reputation. Or is it only our ignorance that makes us believe that anyone with a Northamerican accent is American, prejudiced about the myth of Bush-like Americans? I know better. I am in love with the living proof that Canadians and Americans are not the same. Still, it takes all kinds of all nations. There are quite a few Brits and Suedes that I would not like to share a corridor with. I probably am one of those myself to many others. However the Swiss and the German guys in my corridor are the best one could hope for.
This did however not affect my plans for the day. I went back to Austin Reed to look at some casual trousers. Shocking news ahead: I bought two pairs of jeans - and two other pairs as well. Then I went upstairs to check the suit out again. A Northamerican guy was working that day and did not seem interested in helping at all. When I referred to the conversation with the manager about the extra pair of trousers he said assertively: “Sorry Sir, that’s not possible.” When I repeated what had been said and done he continued: “Well, the manager doesn’t always know what he is talking about”. “He did”, I said, “and I heard him making the call. Is he working tomorrow?” “You won’t get any other answer, no matter who you ask, sir”, he insisted. “But I did, just two days ago.” I was really a bothersome customer. “Well, there must be a mistake. It simply can’t be done, sir”, he concluded. To assure me, he called for the other shop assistant working that day, who said “Well, XXX has connections we don’t and if you return tomorrow he will be here.” So asked him to set the suits aside, but he said he couldn’t do it since they were on sale. I retorted that the manager had done it, but he wouldn’t do it. Then when I paid for the trousers I had picked out, I asked: “You have a Northamerican accent. Are you by any chance Canadian?” He looked up, surprised. “How observant. Yes I am. Most people think I’m American.” I was about to get a new set of prejudices that I didn’t feel comfortable with. Canadians are supposed to be friendly, down-to-earth elk-hunting, bacon eaters, aren’t they?
The library at the University is open till 23.45 Sunday evenings. I may get accustomed to some things about Oxford life.
Friday 30 January
Skype, I praise you for bringing my love to my room. Although I was terribly tired this morning. People chat and chat and chat outside my window. However, I have grown quite accustomed, taken a fancy to my yellow walls. They are homy, comforting, as if they are responding in color and patterns to my soul and mind. There is a world in them that is all mine, a mind expanding experience within my 7 sqm. I probably would go nuts without The Yellow Wallpaper in my cultural luggage.
Reading experiences can be like vaccination against real life terrors.I spent the day as a Wedding planner and that is all there needs to be said about that, here and now. It is comforting, sweet and inspiring to think about it, though. And I sat down and ordered tickets home every second weekend. I just can’t wait to see my love again, in real life.
Reading experiences can be like vaccination against real life terrors.I spent the day as a Wedding planner and that is all there needs to be said about that, here and now. It is comforting, sweet and inspiring to think about it, though. And I sat down and ordered tickets home every second weekend. I just can’t wait to see my love again, in real life.
Friday 29 January
A1 printouts failed. I got an A3-one. And every morning I meet that lovely smiles and those intensively warm eyes. Sorry for saying it in public, but I have got it bad.Today I decided to go shopping for clothes, since I found a hole in the crotch of my blue suit trousers. The second pair of trousers in two weeks that had to go. Strange, I had only had them since the 80´s.
Shopping clothes usually gives me anxiety. Doing it on my own in a foreign town, is even worse, and I wanted Arwen to be there, to give advice, have opinions, smile, frown, shrug and shine at my attempts to find trousers that fit in style, color and cut.To begin with this was an exploration of the sources to the Fast show Suits You, Sir sketches. English shop attendants are so polite, verbal and still direct. “I don’t mean any offense, Sir, but may I suggest that we go to the 34 section.” To me the 34 section, was nowhere near an offense. I hadn’t got any idea of what size I was, only that my legs are short, thighs sturdy and my bum is bigger than my waist. After many attempts I failed in one, two, three, four shops.
At Debenham, a nice gentleman proposed trousers that “are on the generous side in the cut, still maintaining the waist”, after my description of my proportions. He himself was quite on the generous side and spoke openheartedly of how he was waiting for spring to come so that he could start cycling again, as he had done in his youth. Funny how it doesn't matter what wiight you are. Extra kilos are allways extra kilos and sometimes that is understood by all. I really, wanted to buy a suit from him, but it wasn’t perfect.
Then: Austin Reed. I have found my brand. A trouser, Westmister cut, that is made for my body. I looked at two suits and the manager called another branch to check for extra pairs of trousers, after a female shop assistant asked him to. I set it aside and said to return. Was suits within my budget? I bought two pairs of nice trousers though, more of winter/autumn character for buy-one-get-one-for-half-price.
Shopping clothes usually gives me anxiety. Doing it on my own in a foreign town, is even worse, and I wanted Arwen to be there, to give advice, have opinions, smile, frown, shrug and shine at my attempts to find trousers that fit in style, color and cut.To begin with this was an exploration of the sources to the Fast show Suits You, Sir sketches. English shop attendants are so polite, verbal and still direct. “I don’t mean any offense, Sir, but may I suggest that we go to the 34 section.” To me the 34 section, was nowhere near an offense. I hadn’t got any idea of what size I was, only that my legs are short, thighs sturdy and my bum is bigger than my waist. After many attempts I failed in one, two, three, four shops.
At Debenham, a nice gentleman proposed trousers that “are on the generous side in the cut, still maintaining the waist”, after my description of my proportions. He himself was quite on the generous side and spoke openheartedly of how he was waiting for spring to come so that he could start cycling again, as he had done in his youth. Funny how it doesn't matter what wiight you are. Extra kilos are allways extra kilos and sometimes that is understood by all. I really, wanted to buy a suit from him, but it wasn’t perfect.
Then: Austin Reed. I have found my brand. A trouser, Westmister cut, that is made for my body. I looked at two suits and the manager called another branch to check for extra pairs of trousers, after a female shop assistant asked him to. I set it aside and said to return. Was suits within my budget? I bought two pairs of nice trousers though, more of winter/autumn character for buy-one-get-one-for-half-price.
Thursday 28 January
This day was full of confusion. First of all, sleep depravation was getting on my nerves and I started a conversation by email with the Accommodation office about people outside my window and the possibility of changing to another room in my corridor, facing the opposite side of the building. They would now by Tuesday, but did I know where else I would like to move? No I said, can we meet and talk since I do not know Oxford? I replied. That was the last I heard from them.
It is the sign of our time. Once, it was a sure way of assessing how serious a business was on the net: Do they leave an address, a phone number? The result probably was too much customer contact. Problem is, I guess that customers are not always serious either. Still, business today seem to prefer to distance themselves from the customers. They simulate customer relations rather than having them. I guess I am old fashioned, wanting to meet and talk to people.
Someone, as professor Buckland later put it, in administration came up with the brilliant idea of having the first Monday of week one on Thursday week zero. So all Monday classes where scheduled for Thursday. However, teachers didn’t find it altogether such a spiffing idea at all. So all over university foreign students were lost as our late enrollment added us to the mail lists too late for us to get the cancellation messages. All in all, Thursday amounted to nothing.
My only joy was however joy enough for any day. And I printed an archtic picture to put on my wall. I can do a A1 printout for £7, and actually cover my walls with pictures of the most beautiful, brilliant and wonderful woman in the world.
It is the sign of our time. Once, it was a sure way of assessing how serious a business was on the net: Do they leave an address, a phone number? The result probably was too much customer contact. Problem is, I guess that customers are not always serious either. Still, business today seem to prefer to distance themselves from the customers. They simulate customer relations rather than having them. I guess I am old fashioned, wanting to meet and talk to people.
Someone, as professor Buckland later put it, in administration came up with the brilliant idea of having the first Monday of week one on Thursday week zero. So all Monday classes where scheduled for Thursday. However, teachers didn’t find it altogether such a spiffing idea at all. So all over university foreign students were lost as our late enrollment added us to the mail lists too late for us to get the cancellation messages. All in all, Thursday amounted to nothing.
My only joy was however joy enough for any day. And I printed an archtic picture to put on my wall. I can do a A1 printout for £7, and actually cover my walls with pictures of the most beautiful, brilliant and wonderful woman in the world.
Wednesday 27 January
Sleep is a problem. One pane glass windows and doors that allow the friction of a silk robe to be heard in the corridor is problematic. The last of the party people get home around 4.30. And then they stop outside my window, where three paths cross, and chat, shout and brawl for a while, until they decide to go home and have a pee so that the trickle of in the pipes than run in my room can keep me awake for yet five minutes. I spent the day setting the computer up. Half awake, half asleep. Office, Norton, retrieving mail etc.
Tuesday 26 January
Tuesday was enrollment day. Very well organized station system, filling in forms, having them checked, ticking race or ethnicity. There might be a statistical interest in that, but without the explanation it seems like an obsession with race. Then again, taking that there is a purely statistical interest, just as the interest in parents education and income, it shows a difference between Sweden and theUK. Sweden is not defined my multi-ethnicity or class. Here, they are all over the place.
Then the adventure begun. Little did I know that setting things up would take the next few days. First I met with a very nice advisor and had a typical English chat. There is something so specifically charming with English conversation, the constant implicative ironies that mean no harm, the need to say more, but politeness hold you back. Like well trained dogs standing in front of an unwatched cake, they approach life and other people. Conventions and desire. So delicious but you know you can’t touch it. Desire and restrain. Not that anything at the moment can distract my desire for my American princess.
Afterwards, I learnt about administrative bureaucracy and normal human flaws. Apparently, they forgot to tick somewhere at registration so none of the Erasmus students could access the computer system. Then the system broke down but eventually I got in. It is fantastic to have access to Internet.
Then the adventure begun. Little did I know that setting things up would take the next few days. First I met with a very nice advisor and had a typical English chat. There is something so specifically charming with English conversation, the constant implicative ironies that mean no harm, the need to say more, but politeness hold you back. Like well trained dogs standing in front of an unwatched cake, they approach life and other people. Conventions and desire. So delicious but you know you can’t touch it. Desire and restrain. Not that anything at the moment can distract my desire for my American princess.
Afterwards, I learnt about administrative bureaucracy and normal human flaws. Apparently, they forgot to tick somewhere at registration so none of the Erasmus students could access the computer system. Then the system broke down but eventually I got in. It is fantastic to have access to Internet.
Monday 25 January
Gray is the sky. It is Britain, Britain, Britain. No wonder English theaters are so fond of Russian realism. After shopping – milk, water, toilet paper – seemingly the price does not include toilet paper for the shared bathroom, I went to the university for coffee and cookies. To my great surprise the coffee was good and cookies meant Danishes. Information was redundant. It told us what had already been read in the folders. A few reminders were good though such as to talk to student union for groups and activities. The Bath trip was either sold out or the guy who was supposed to sell tickets didn’t show up, or they directed us the wrong way.
Lunch was free and British. As a matter of fact this was my first encounter with the tasteless British kitchen. Fries and chicken is almost impossible to make that drained from flavor. I wonder if they rinse it before serving. On the good side, I met a German fellow who resides in my corridor. The other guy that we have seen is Swiss and his kitchen behavior is half promising.
Also, I had for breakfast met our cleaning lady. That was how she presented herself. Nice lady who will come in once a week to do the floor and the surfaces. She seems to run a service for students and asked to fix me up with an English Iron since the university only provides an ironing board.
Finally, after some more grocery shopping – I have soon completed my base camp closet – I managed to connect to the Internet, but saw my battery running out. After three calls M, M and A I felt more satisfied. I really miss you dear princess. However frustration Skype may be, I cannot imagine what life here would be without the possibility of hearing and seeing you. I know, I have got it bad, and I like it that way.Finally, before getting ready for next day I cooked and although there was no salt to buy in the store, it was gratifying just to cook for the first time in the kitchen. Tomorrow is a promising day.
Lunch was free and British. As a matter of fact this was my first encounter with the tasteless British kitchen. Fries and chicken is almost impossible to make that drained from flavor. I wonder if they rinse it before serving. On the good side, I met a German fellow who resides in my corridor. The other guy that we have seen is Swiss and his kitchen behavior is half promising.
Also, I had for breakfast met our cleaning lady. That was how she presented herself. Nice lady who will come in once a week to do the floor and the surfaces. She seems to run a service for students and asked to fix me up with an English Iron since the university only provides an ironing board.
Finally, after some more grocery shopping – I have soon completed my base camp closet – I managed to connect to the Internet, but saw my battery running out. After three calls M, M and A I felt more satisfied. I really miss you dear princess. However frustration Skype may be, I cannot imagine what life here would be without the possibility of hearing and seeing you. I know, I have got it bad, and I like it that way.Finally, before getting ready for next day I cooked and although there was no salt to buy in the store, it was gratifying just to cook for the first time in the kitchen. Tomorrow is a promising day.
Sunday 24 January
The first day in Oxford promised a lot. I had already threaded on green grass and the sun was shining. It was a perfectly beautiful spring day. Welcoming programs said shopping and tours, guided by other international students. From answers given yesterday I decided I would do better on my own. Clive Booth Hall and Oxford Brookes University is 15-20 minutes walk from town centre, depending on mood, shoes and sense of geography. All three could be questioned since only the weather was opting for a morning smile. Morning coffee was, to be honest, British. There was a chemical flavor that could only come from a country who considered the issue of tea or coffee to be an international historical conflict still. However, even the afternoon tea had the same tang to it. Simple deduction lead me to question one of three common denominators: Water, boiler and the contamination from English kitchen culture. The water tasted well enough, but I was attacked by a scent of chlorine when I lifted the boiler lid. Apparently someone had cleaned it and thought it sufficient with a single rinse. A proper rinse, five boils later the smell was still there, but a touch of tea made it through, once in the cup.I arrived downtown before the shops opened and got a taste of old Oxford; colleges, gardens, the castle, churches. It really is a beautiful spot. I spent the first hour browsing and checking prices. The only thing I bough was water- or wine glasses from Debenhams – 4 rustic Jamie Oliver’s for £10. Then I picked up pans, and electrical adaptors so that I could plug into England and went to get my bike, which meant walking again.
To have a bike is nice. Let’s say no more about that. Although it was a bit wobbly since they had forgotten to secure the saddle. Going back I got a set of simple tools and an extra discount on bicycle bags. Time was not running my errands so I barely had time to pick plates, bowls and mugs up before shops closed.
I had planned to by some nice antique ones but poverty is the mother of convention too, so I settled for 6 for £12 at Whittard’s. I could have done better, going for black mugs at Marks and Spencer’s, but since I have so far exaggerated the size of my room in a Don Quixotian fashion I felt I would need some encouragement for breakfast, lunch and dinner, the room is not 10 but 6 square meters. Therefore, I picked the most colorful I could find. And with Arwen on my mind, everything I have will be ours, the mugs are dark purple, plates are red and bowls are in different matching colors, blue and purple. Just so you know dear reader what to expect if you come and visit: Bring a mattress of reasonable size. There is 70*200 cm left on the floor between my desk and my bed.Step by step I see what I have forgotten in Falun and Uppsala: Photos of passport size, electrical adaptors, computer adaptor, a Magnus Mills book to read, my England pants, so far.
Finally rain fell and all that shone was my own personal stellar constellation; the myth has it that God is still frustrated that he could never achieve anything like her after making her as a first sketch for mankind as a print on the sky.
To have a bike is nice. Let’s say no more about that. Although it was a bit wobbly since they had forgotten to secure the saddle. Going back I got a set of simple tools and an extra discount on bicycle bags. Time was not running my errands so I barely had time to pick plates, bowls and mugs up before shops closed.
I had planned to by some nice antique ones but poverty is the mother of convention too, so I settled for 6 for £12 at Whittard’s. I could have done better, going for black mugs at Marks and Spencer’s, but since I have so far exaggerated the size of my room in a Don Quixotian fashion I felt I would need some encouragement for breakfast, lunch and dinner, the room is not 10 but 6 square meters. Therefore, I picked the most colorful I could find. And with Arwen on my mind, everything I have will be ours, the mugs are dark purple, plates are red and bowls are in different matching colors, blue and purple. Just so you know dear reader what to expect if you come and visit: Bring a mattress of reasonable size. There is 70*200 cm left on the floor between my desk and my bed.Step by step I see what I have forgotten in Falun and Uppsala: Photos of passport size, electrical adaptors, computer adaptor, a Magnus Mills book to read, my England pants, so far.
Finally rain fell and all that shone was my own personal stellar constellation; the myth has it that God is still frustrated that he could never achieve anything like her after making her as a first sketch for mankind as a print on the sky.
The First Days
Oxford Diaries
To leave the one you love, knowing that you will not be able to see her for at least a week, actually unaware of how long you will be a part, is an ordeal far worse than can be imagined. It will not be more than two weeks, but uncertainty is devastating for the soul. I left in good spirit, the ring on my finger as a constant reminder of hope and return, but once airborne the distance to her voice was haunting. I wanted to talk to her, call her so badly it ached, but for the first time I was disallowed. I was in exile. Later, she reminded me that I had to enjoy Oxford, and I will, because otherwise, we would be apart for nothing. I must make the most of it. Here and now, I just wait to get my schedule so that I can book flights to go home over weekends.
I have arrived at British airports before, but this time acclimatization faced resistance. Yet, Heathrow is convenient. Bags arrive swiftly, and ironically, when I am supposed to stay in England for more than two weeks - four months all in all – I carry less weight than ever before. Thanks sis’ , for the bags, and although the one I used was close to bursting, it was “perfick”.
Going from Heathrow to Oxford is no biggie. It takes 90 minutes by bus though, but once through customs you turn left, take the ramp down towards Central Bus Station where you get on the Oxford Heathrow Express which departs every half hour. Buy a return ticket, it saves you £15. If lucky, you have time to grab a coffee and a blt in the waiting lounge, unless you have both prepared something to eat and actually brought it. Maybe it was indecisiveness that made me do only one of two.
Yesterday, Friday still in Sweden, was a fantastic day. Seeing the church in Sundborn, hearing wedding bells ringing in my head. And as we got back we were offered a flat. 89 squaremeters, three rooms and a kitchen. It is strange to think about that and at the same time trying to figure out what can be done to make a home out of 10 square meters furnished with standard issues. I am thinking decorative textiles, cushions, a lamp, an antique piece of some kind and photos. Any other suggestions?
The bus stopped just outside the University Campus, a fairly new one with Oxford measures built in the 60’s but with even newer and much older buildings as well.
When I had unpacked I went down town, or maybe up town. Oxford has local centers as well and tomorrow I will look in Oxford town centre for adaptor plugs for English plugs and an adaptor for the computer. Strange how these things have always been packed when not needed. I must also take a bunch of photos of myself. All in all they require sex of them, signed, for different purposes. The Oxford experience is the beginning of stardom, I guess. Except for the absentmindedness of the day, I bought a bike to get around, although Oxford students travel free on buses, a bike makes a place feel like home, getting around freely. Furthermore, carrots, cheddar, milk, tea and some other things.
To leave the one you love, knowing that you will not be able to see her for at least a week, actually unaware of how long you will be a part, is an ordeal far worse than can be imagined. It will not be more than two weeks, but uncertainty is devastating for the soul. I left in good spirit, the ring on my finger as a constant reminder of hope and return, but once airborne the distance to her voice was haunting. I wanted to talk to her, call her so badly it ached, but for the first time I was disallowed. I was in exile. Later, she reminded me that I had to enjoy Oxford, and I will, because otherwise, we would be apart for nothing. I must make the most of it. Here and now, I just wait to get my schedule so that I can book flights to go home over weekends.
I have arrived at British airports before, but this time acclimatization faced resistance. Yet, Heathrow is convenient. Bags arrive swiftly, and ironically, when I am supposed to stay in England for more than two weeks - four months all in all – I carry less weight than ever before. Thanks sis’ , for the bags, and although the one I used was close to bursting, it was “perfick”.
Going from Heathrow to Oxford is no biggie. It takes 90 minutes by bus though, but once through customs you turn left, take the ramp down towards Central Bus Station where you get on the Oxford Heathrow Express which departs every half hour. Buy a return ticket, it saves you £15. If lucky, you have time to grab a coffee and a blt in the waiting lounge, unless you have both prepared something to eat and actually brought it. Maybe it was indecisiveness that made me do only one of two.
Yesterday, Friday still in Sweden, was a fantastic day. Seeing the church in Sundborn, hearing wedding bells ringing in my head. And as we got back we were offered a flat. 89 squaremeters, three rooms and a kitchen. It is strange to think about that and at the same time trying to figure out what can be done to make a home out of 10 square meters furnished with standard issues. I am thinking decorative textiles, cushions, a lamp, an antique piece of some kind and photos. Any other suggestions?
The bus stopped just outside the University Campus, a fairly new one with Oxford measures built in the 60’s but with even newer and much older buildings as well.
When I had unpacked I went down town, or maybe up town. Oxford has local centers as well and tomorrow I will look in Oxford town centre for adaptor plugs for English plugs and an adaptor for the computer. Strange how these things have always been packed when not needed. I must also take a bunch of photos of myself. All in all they require sex of them, signed, for different purposes. The Oxford experience is the beginning of stardom, I guess. Except for the absentmindedness of the day, I bought a bike to get around, although Oxford students travel free on buses, a bike makes a place feel like home, getting around freely. Furthermore, carrots, cheddar, milk, tea and some other things.
Prenumerera på:
Inlägg (Atom)