by the riverside

a bit of good old fashioned domestic violence.

Back then

Suddenly had a flashback to Binsey. We were on a long cycle to nowhere in particular and stopped off at St. Margaret's church to see Caroll's treacle well. It was a sunny day and all the countryside was incredibly beautiful. My memories of Oxford always have that surreal quality - as though nothing could ever be like that summer again.

Together Again

I was trying to unbutton Richard's jacket to show you Mr. Squid,
who lives on his t-shirt - but Mr. Squid is shy and wouldn't let me.

Here is what he actually looks like:

What a dashing fellow he is.

[t-shirt by Crownfarmer via Kitsune Noir]

Back in Oxon

This is me, drinking the coffee Phil made, wearing Dan's jumper, in the GeekHouse kitchen.

This is how I feel about it.

(Tonight: roast chicken at the Summertown house.)

Flashback

This reminds me of

this.

Perhaps in 2011 I'll wear a bigger dress to Keble Ball.

[via Mademoiselle Robot & my Flickr]

Right back into it

I was asked if I could sub for the mighty Kebelles just as I was leaving my house in Toronto. On the bus ride from Gatwick to Oxford I kept up a series of mime-rowing motions that must have seemed strange and disturbing to other passengers. Touching down at St. Clement's, Rich and I walked to the main gates of college and we ran into the boy-Kebelles (I think of them as the Ke-boyz). I also saw Ross, DG and Ricklef in the lodge as I went to pick up a mobile phone and Chrissy B's bodcard. Then it was time for Rich's outing with the boys, while DJ and I got caught up over a cuppa at the new Missing Bean on Turl street.

Shortly thereafter I charged down to Godstow and jumped in at 2 on the mighty Kebelle boat. Strangely enough, though I could not mime the motion of rowing, everything did come back to me instantly - like riding a bike. In fact, it was easier than it had ever been before, and I had a thoroughly enjoyable outing. Dan reckons that it's because my bad habits have 'atrophied' while Ross's hard work of drilling correct procedure into me have stayed on. The mighty Kebelles are in fine fettle:second time on the river and the girls are already rowing all eights. We are mighty indeed. Peppers Burger afterwards too, of course, followed by election cocktails at the MCR. There were cocktails in three lurid colours - all of which tasted very peculiar. I managed to get Rick to give me a yoga mat and as an unexpected consequence, he drunkenly followed me to the gym (in his jeans and gown) to try ashtanga. Two sun salutations finished him though, and I did the rest of my routine undisturbed.

Day two: getting up early to go to the gym with DJ. He said that the sound of my ashtanga breathing is like a very noisy sleeping baby. I'm not sure what the rest of the Keble gym users thought of it, but as usual I'm not one to get overly fussed by such things. After a shower at the comlab, I met up with Toph for lunch at the Nosebag and it was nice to see him and get all caught up on Edinburgh news, as well as a bit of climbing chat. In the afternoon DJ and I went to Bicester Village, ostensibly to shop for him, but I promptly lost control and bought (oh such a wonderful dress) at FCUK.

Instead of hall that night we decided to order curry from Jaipur. This lead to a mix up with the number of rice orders and a comparison of phone manners between JMac (polite and ineffectual) and Lucy (no-nonsense). There was G&D ice cream afterwards (had to try the Qcumber sorbet, of course - I found it refreshing but strange). JMac's interesting encounters in Edinburgh were trotted out for our consideration. Richard, DJ and I agreed that it probably meant trouble, whereas Mandeep seemed much more predisposed to give benefit of the doubt.

Day three was the day of the ball and we awoke to freezing cold weather with lashings of rain. Boo. We stayed in bed real late, until Sarah arrived, and then went together to collect wrist-bands. One of our spare tickets were given to Oli, which I think was an excellent decision, considering that he seriously puts his back into ripping it up on the dance-floor. I did my yoga session in the afternoon, walked to the Missing Bean for a pick-me-up, and then trundled all the way back to Marston on foot. By the time I got home DH and Dip had joined the party. They ordered pizza and Richard made me some spicy tomato pasta in order to prepare ourselves for the inevitable queues for food at the ball. There then followed a frenzy of preparations on all sides, with me glued to my make-up mirror and stabbing myself with an eyeliner while Sarah debated tights versus nude legs. The highlight though, was when I usurped Robbo's position and as the official bow-tie-er for the lads.

Highlights of the ball include: Dapper Dan's success with the ladies, watching Oli break out his moves in the silent disco, managing to be the first to snatch two Mission burritos from the food stall, and rocking out 'Like a Virgin' at the Rockeoke. I think I will practise that tune in preparation for the next ball, and change the lyrics to 'I like a virgin.'

Sunday was a write off. Rest day from yoga, dropping in (unannounced) to St. Mary Street to catch up with Inga and Yukie and Ashley and Pete and Maria; tea and cakes in the afternoon (Oli's delicious spread); the first GM I ever attended (Ouldo proposed an addition to the MCR boardgames collection, and another attempt to impeach Ricklef); and of course Sunday hall. It was slightly surreal to be back in Keble again, watching the faces of my friends in lamplight as the choir sang grace. Sunday night film was Annie Hall, which I have to say was a very good recommendation and well-received all 'round.

By this time I had only 2 full days left. I still had so many things I didn't do yet (go walk around the covered market, visit the Bodleian just for old time's sake, have a bbq, go punting etc.) Unfortunately the weather was always freezing cold so out-door activities were generally discouraged. I spent the remaining two days catching up properly with friends (Bence, Oli, Maria, JMac) and getting to know some of the new MCR folk (Photo-knee and Ben). According to Bence, he can get more caught up with MCR gossip by spending one hour with me than by spending a day in the MCR by himself. I was much amused (though not surprised) by this observation. Between all this catching up there was lazying around the MCR watching Back to the Future III with Bob, lunch in hall (Gerard remembers me!), and going to Ross's to wrap up my beautiful new blade in bubble-wrap and cardboard so I can take it home on my flight as sporting equipment.

Richard and I also managed to go on two dinner dates, to Sojo and Branca, both of which gets my recommendation. I generally have very low expectations of Chinese food in Oxford, but was pleasantly surprised at Sojo. We had some fried noodles, duck braised in soy sauce, spicy beef and aubergine and some stem broccoli. Though I wouldn't describe it as exceptional, these dishes can certainly hold their own in Toronto or even in Taipei.

Branca on the other hand is an old favourite. Richard always gives it understated ratings, but I'm very fond of it myself. They use lots of local ingredients (including asparagus from Medley Manor Farm!) and also run a lovely delicatessen just next door called Gluttons. While I lived at 68 Walton street I used to go to Gluttons almost everyday to buy ingredients for lunch - their staff are always lovely and the quality of stuff is top notch (though pricey). About a year ago Rich took me for a date to Branca and I wore my bright red jersey dress with the silk ribbon-tie shoulder straps. It must have been a Sunday because after dinner we went to the MCR and watched Punch Drunk Love. This time we went on Tuesday, my last night in Oxford. It surprises me that after eight months apart, Richard and I sat down to another meal together and it was just like old times. Oh, except this time I wore my new FCUK dress and of course we ate different things (we shared calamari for starters, then Richard had the Italian sausage and polenta for main and profitarole for dessert, and I had smoked haddock risotto and grappa to wrap up).

Now back in Toronto I'm happy to say that my visit to Keble was thoroughly enjoyable. I had been somewhat worried that I might find it to be either less wonderful that I remembered, or that I would be so happy to be back that I would find it impossible to leave. Though there was a bit of the second, the first was never really a concern. In fact, I just kind of got right back into the swing of MCR life (minus the workload, which is nice).

Being at Keble always made me happiest because it's a stimulating environment full of interesting people and good chats. In my absence I have found new friends whom I enjoy hanging out with, but the environment of an Oxford college is irreplaceable. When I'm in that environment I feel excited everyday to be encountering new ideas and thinking new thoughts - being made to feel stupid and challenged all the time actually becomes quite addictive.

But I can also see the benefit of leaving a comfort zone once it becomes a comfort zone. My next challenge is to be able to remain in that energized and motivated frame of mind without the imposition of academic structure (deadlines & feedback = productivity) and the need for a physically present group of intellectual peers. Is this going to be doable? I don't know. Even Bence and JMac complain that they become unmotivated and unproductive when they go home for a vacation, so it's hardly surprising that I've suffered from Keble withdraw since I left Oxford.

It's a goal worth striving for though, and I am glad that my feelings towards my friends and Keble seem to be transforming from homesickness into something more positive - a reserve of good memories that I can draw on and be continually inspired by.

Remembering

May Day in Oxford, going to Magdalen to watch the choir sing. Cycling home to find you still in bed and joining you there.

Two Handsome Lads

Meet my two handsome friends: Big T and Big B. Big T likes fluffy bunny slippers, and Big B prefers grey top hats and pink bow ties.

Eight Weeks

I opened up my 2009 organizer to check a friend's birthday and there were so many entries from this time last year that I recall very clearly. So much has changed.

There are: reminders about paying battels; Ralph's lectures on books & scribes; Mary Carruthers's talks ('Hot Tears and Cold Reason'); my joint birthday party with Dan ('do you like to drink copiously?'); of course also February 11th, when you made me porkchops on Walton street (with chocolate cake for dessert). I remember cake for breakfast across the street, and then cycling off to meet the Warden in my gown. In the 'Notes' section of that week my organizer reads:

'shit shit shit - I hope you've done shitloads of work!'
I suppose I must have. I did well in Hilary Term.

The Hilary Term BTD was on the 2nd of March. On that same day I was suppose to have produced an outline for my B-essay. I remember what a wore to the black-tie: a halter-neck dress gathered at the waist, black with white bows printed on the fabric, and a red flower pin in my hair. A certain person who shall remain nameless wore a backless dress and looked so sexy. She took a picture of us kissing in the Keble bar.

Some entries mean nothing to me. Why was I going to New College at 2 pm on the 5th of March?

There's also Sarah's birthday dinner, which I couldn't attend because I was working so much. Hilary Term = hitting the panic button so hard it broke. I've never pulled all-nighters before, and never have since. I still remember handing in my papers at the exam schools, wearing DJ's clothes from head to toe, including his underwear. There was a loose agreement of: I will work all night at the library, he will set up his camp-bed; I will let myself into the lodge at 6 am, and get up at 8 and brush my teeth with the toothbrush I keep in his bathroom, open his socks and underwear drawer, dress myself, borrow his other clothes, and get back to work;...

It's good having a friend who's like a little brother, but better.

There's also Penny Bateman is a Hero Day; lunch with Maria at Jaipur; rugby games (which I was never able to attend); May Day on Magdalen Bridge; swim test at Iffley; Summer Eights; Keble garden party; dissertation due June 15th, 2009.

Oh and of course the Trinity Term BTD, May 14th. I tore my dress dancing, and wondered if I'd ever be so happy again. In fact, I wondered that a lot back then.

... eight weeks - and then Trinity ended. Entries in the organizer drop off sharply from that point (and there's nothing after August 31st).

I remember walking through Keble after submitting my dissertation and suddenly feeling like it's not my place anymore. Sure, I could still get into the MCR, all my friends were around, the pidge in the porter's lodge has my name on it (and my post in it), but something has quietly moved on. Is that also one of the reasons why I made up my mind to leave?

{What is it then, that (everyday) makes me want to go back?}

{Oh, it must be the memories.}

August 31st, 2009. 3:35 pm, BA99, Terminal 5 ...
amazing how this entry brings everything back.

Time never moves backwards, and I don't believe in crossing the same river twice. But is there a way to loop 'round and pick up what was left behind? That, I think, would make me very happy. I suppose I haven't had enough.

All kinds of crazy

Remember that time when I rang to say that I wasn't well and I wasn't coming? And you asked if I wanted you to come over and I said no, it's fine? Then I rang you later and got mad at you for not coming over to look after me? Then you came and I gave you a hard time?

I was visiting my granny last week, and she told me that she hurt herself in the garden the other day. She didn't tell my aunt and uncle because she doesn't like them (even though they're fine - in fact, they're like, really nice). Then she told her neighbour and he took her to the hospital and she got stitches and then she got back home. Then my aunt (who heard through the grapevine in a small village) rang up to ask if she was ok and she said yeah it's not a big deal don't worry about it. So they thought it wasn't a big deal. Then she said that nobody cares about her because no one in her family took her to the hospital and no one in her family came to visit. Even though A. she didn't tell anyone in her family - they found out through other people and B. she told them that it was fine and they shouldn't worry. Now she's telling everyone about this and saying that they don't care about her.

I heard this and was like Wow, that is so crazy. Then I thought OH MY GOD I'm totally crazy like her. Then I wanted to ring you up and apologise for putting you through all that and giving you a hard time, and thank you for putting up with me. If I remember correctly we had a very good day together the next day, and when I woke up next to you I was happy.

For the Record

Right now I am not happy where I am, and I think a lot about how things were...

Once Richard baked an absolutely perfect loaf of bread at Walton street. It looked exactly like the picture in the recipe book - and it was his first loaf of bread ever too.

Another time we followed the instructions on the Smitten Kitchen blog and made Blueberry Boy-Bait. But due to an absence of blueberries we used frozen raspberries from the Co-Op instead. It turned out (once more) exactly like the pictures on Smitten Kitchen. Nothing pleases me more than when baked goods turn out as pretty as photographs from the recipe book. Then it transpired that I don't like sponge cake, at all, and so I didn't eat any boy-bait. But Yukie, Robbo and Rich loved it.

Some bait was left out on the counter and Bob saw it in the morning when he came into the kitchen while brushing his teeth. He wanted to eat the bait but half of his mouth was full of frothy toothpaste. So he ate the bait with the other half of his mouth whilst brushing.

Those were happy times. I can't wait to be that happy again.

p.s. Robbo drew a picture of his favourite pudding on the miniature blackboard in the hopes that it would be a pretty enough pictures to entice me to make his favourite pudding. It didn't really work. Robbo Pudding (I think it was spotted dick?) looked a bit like Mount Fuji, but mouldy.

Instant Reactions

I saw some decorative fonts on a site and immediately thought 'textura semi-quadrata.'
Almost brought tears to my eyes (not really).

Can't win'em all.

The results of my MSt dissertation came back last Friday. I found the news waiting in my in-box when I was in the MCR, about to look up some London restaurants in preparation for going there with Rich. So it turns out that unlike what I expected, I came in with a low two-one (64, to be precise. In our system distinction is what's known as a first, and requires 70 or above, and a second, or two-one is anything between 60 and 69).

I think I let out some kind of terrible howl like a dying/enraged animal and everyone stopped in the TV room. I heard DJ and Sarah ask me what's wrong and I rushed in, fell onto Oli's arm, and told them (in what was undboutedly a rather choked and dramatic voice) that I didn't get a distinction.

And I had tried so hard. GOD DAMN IT.

This put a little bit of a damper on my London trip but it was still nice to be in the big city, eating good food, hanging out with Richard's friends (and never having to look at the map because everyone else knew where we were going!). We went to the Tate Britain's late opening, had some promotional free drinks, ate lovely Thai food and then had some more drinks at a small chilled out bar which looks like someone's living room, hastily converted (I'm sure the effect is intentional). Then Rich and I headed home.

So, back to that non-distinction.

Am I disappointed? FUCK YEAH. Crushed? No, not really. This is, however, the first time in my life when I've gotten anything less than what I aimed (academically) to achieve. Ok, ok, technically it's the 2nd time it's happened - I applied for Oxford as an undergraduate, botched the interview (but got a trip to New York with my brother out of it), and was rejected - so I guess that's the other time. Funny how both of them have to do with Oxford. I'm starting to think that it's a bit star-crossed for me.

But hey, it would have been just as disappointing, I suppose, if I had come here and not found Oxford challenging at all?

Back in April when I received the offer from Keble I blogged: "... part of me is afraid that I'll get there and realize that everyone is: A. 10 x more erudite and B. 100 x more intelligent" [via The Pseudopod]. Well, it has transpired that my fears are partially justified. I wouldn't say that absolutely everyone is more erudite and more intelligent - but hell, most of them are really intelligent and the majority also better prepared (god damn it x 2).

The most interesting thing to me though, is this: up until now I have always been fairly confident of being the 'smartest kid in the class,' as it were. This is of course not in the absolute sense, and I certainly didn't walk around with an overwhelming sense of superiority. But it was also something that kind of propped up my self confidence. If I wasn't the smartest, I was still certain of being not too far off. The fact that I graduated from Edinburgh University with the class prize (highest average grade in my undergraduate cohort) kind of underlined that - and when I received my offer from Keble I was feeling pretty good about myself.

Then I came to Oxford and lo - where the hell did all these smart people come from!?!? (insert shock and dismay). I went from not really ever having to ask questions (except questions which touch on ideas not already covered) to really, really wanting to hit the panic button all the time (hello, Ralph). From feeling really on top of my work (whilst feeling like I was working hard - but not too hard), to feeling like I couldn't possibly work hard enough even if I entombed myself with books in the Bodleian.

But on the plus side, I found myself surrounded by really really cool people! (ok, that's a mild exaggeration. Some of them are dull as sticks, though undoubtedly intelligent. But I'm really lucky to have found lots who are both intelligent and interesting). Being in such a intellectually stimulating environment for me is like taking the best conversations from fifty or sixty parties, stringing them together, then re-setting the lot in the Keble MCR or somewhere else in Oxford.

The first couple of times I got this feeling I thought that it couldn't possibly last - then we had this dinner in hall, for St. Mark's Day (also college founding celebration), where Rich and I sat across from Ouldo, a mathematician. Throughout the meal he gave us a pretty invigorating (both in terms of content and manner of delivery) lecture on the beauty of mathematics. It was entropy for starters and mathematics as a system of representation for main course. We followed it up by talking about pornography (both in terms of what we individually prefer, but also our ethical quandaries) over dessert. Looking back, our conversation pretty much proves (to me, at least) that being in this place means that there is always stimulating conversation to be had - whatever the subject. The fact that people are generally quite willing to talk about their research and not at all bothered by having to pitch it to a layman means that I have info-tainment in its best form (personally tailored rather than mass produced by the Discovery channel) all the time.

So I'm pretty grateful for that.

On a more personal level though there is something good about being surrounded by people who I am (secretly) certain are more intelligent than me. All of a sudden I discovered that I don't have to be defensive any more (because I've already lost). I've always been stupidly competitive and often need to (surreptitiously) feel like I am better than people around me in one way or another in order to buoy up my self confidence. Well, here I am - not the prettiest (not that I ever thought I was), not the coolest (didn't ever think I was that either), and definitely not the smartest (two-one! I tell you!).

And miraculously, I'm still me. My friends are still talking to me (I do occasionally fear that they think the less of me because I didn't get a distinction, but I sincerely hope that it's only my inner fears talking). In fact, never in my life have I ever been part of such a loving and close cluster of friends (I used to think that I'm more a satellite - circling around different social clusters). I've also never been happier.

Speaking to others about my recent academic failure has helped me put things into perspective (that's usually the case with me, I'm a talker). The other day Chava and I were walking down the road just by Acland Lodged and I told her that I didn't manage a distinction. She said (very matter-of-factedly): 'But you'll still go on to live a worthwhile and productive life' - I had to agree (and hope fervently that she's right!).

So I'm going to leave Oxford feeling deeply humbled rather than on top of the world, but that's really not such a bad thing. I've found that what makes me me to me is not necessarily a product of being brainy or being the best. Like I have tried to convince myself (with varying degrees of success), it's not a competition - and thank fuck for that, because if it were a competition, there's just no damn way that I'd be able to win'em all.

Back to that distinction (insert string of expletives here) - I tried. Maybe if I had done something different, such as not writing about something I've previously written about (having 'done' flytings in undergrad I found it hard to keep things fresh for myself), not joining the Kebelles (Keble MCR women's fun crew and subsequently, by accident, Keble Women's 2nd crew), or not socializing as much (hello, Trinity MCR Exchange, MCR black-tie, President's Port, and drinks for so many other reasons on so many other occasions) - well, maybe then I would have done better.

But that's really rather beside the point.

Now I have July and August to spend in Britain. Most of that time will be spent down south in Oxford, with my new found family, many of them friends who are going their separate ways after what has seemed like such a short time together, followed by a week back up in Edinburgh catching up with old pals, tying up a few loose ends, and then a one-way ticket back to Toronto on the 31st (insert mild panic).

As ever, the only way to go is forward.

Bye bye, MSt

I've just emailed my dissertation and all peripheral documents to be printed off by Dan at the computer lab (saves me 100+ pages of cost in printing). These 9 months have gone by so fast. It's been a terrific slog, and I hope that I get an overall distinction so I can come back to Oxford if I want. But if I don't get a distinction - well, I tried my best.

Looking forward to going home and packing up my things, and a celebratory dinner tonight.

I'm so grateful for all the help that people have given me. Dr. Sally Mapstone for her unending support and words of encouragement (plus her minute attention to mistakes on my bibliography and her suggestions for ever more reading). Ralph for his ingenious advice which leaves me so baffled that I decide to stop whinging and just get on with it (???) - and for answering my miscellaneous questions about absolutely everything (from paeleographical questions to queries about architectural features at Keble). Maria for being my fairy godmother and producing hugs and cups of tea at all the right times, reading and proofing my outlines/drafts, and sending me home to rest when she knows that's what I really need. Sergi for doing the same - but also for his patience and understanding because of all people he knows my strengths and weaknesses best (and is probably heartily sick and tired of my split infinitives). DJ for always abusing the com-lab's resources and printing off my papers and for scrounging for envelopes for me at the very last minute. Alison for her time and energy spent on giving my papers a last once-over and advice that makes me think if only I had another 3 days my paper would be perfect...

and of course all the friends I've made on the course and my MCR family... and the anonymous but familiar faces I always see in the Upper Reading Room and the Keble Library, who make me feel like I'm not a loser for spending ALL my time in such places...

It's been good.

A short novella?

Champagne & Canapes
~
Asparagus tips with hollandaise sauce
~
Seared scallops with a ginger anise sauce
~
Carpaccio of fillet steak encrusted with peppercorns, coriander seed,
and rosemary
Potatoes dauphinoise
~
Dark chocolate fondant with vanilla ice cream
~
Gourmet cheese selection, with water biscuits and oatcakes
-----------------
No, not a short novella - the menu at Walton street's black tie dinner tomorrow night. If I'm going to be stressed, I'm going to be stressed out in style.

Wher's the fun?

The last time I wrote about The Flyting of Dunbar and Kennedy I remember having a lot of fun. Maybe it's bound to be less fun the second time around - I keep asking where the fun has gone.

Right now it's just past 11 am and I am sitting at U216 in the Upper Reading Room again. The sun is shining. I want to be lying on the lawn in Pusey Quad, with my straw hat over my eyes, napping gently.

It's not that I don't enjoy what I do - I do - or I wouldn't do what I do. But I'm just absolutely exhausted; not the kind of exhaustion that recedes after a good night's sleep. This one will take a week to wash over.

Thinking about moving is stressing me out. Not that I don't want to move. I am looking forward to moving on. It's just that there will be no turn-around time. Not for another 2 days, at least. Hand in on the 15th, then go home, and pack. Get rid of things I'm not shipping on the 16th, arrange for the shipping company to pick up my things. Ship out on the 17th, pick up my suitcase and a rucksack, put my hat on, and walk away.

I need to focus on the walking away part. One step at a time.

Been meaning to tell you

[see my Flickr]

So I've been meaning to tell you... that I shaved half of my head.

Things have been quite busy recently - so much so that I haven't blogged. But one of the reasons why I haven't blogged is because I recently joined Twitter, which has proved surprisingly (or unsurprisingly, for anyone who follows my gmail status) addictive.

Recently the (pa)Rentals came to visit - at a time when I had literally no time to spare, which was a shame. But we still got a few things in - they came to watch me row, and we went for high tea together at the Grand Cafe. They also brought me a new camera, hence the proliferation of photographs. As much as I love Toph's DSLR, it's a little to precious for me to take around every day. Now you can frequently find me crouched by Keble's flowerbeds keenly snapping.

Flowers are good like that, tireless models. People are much, much trickier. I don't think I've graduated to photographing people yet. Whenever I look at the Sartorialist or any other street style photographers I wonder how they approach their subjects. My guess is that each one has their own little schtick they drag out. I'd quite like to know what it is. Also, portrait photographers (or street style photographers) must have a knack of making their subjects seem relaxed. I once read somewhere (maybe from the Sartorialist) that it's the gift of anticipation. In a way I can see that - people's expressions are so fleeting. I wish my eyes were cameras, then I'd always get very good pictures.

Tonight's graduate discussion evening went well. I think my talk was well-received. Some interesting questions came up afterwards - and everyone appears to have enjoyed my example of 'flyting' from Waiting for Godot (fast-forward to 1:57). It's the first time I've done a proper presentation with powerpoint and projector and all that, so I'm glad it all came off nicely. High table dinner beforehand and Ralph told me that he won't be able to make it. To be honest I was quite glad - if no medievalists are present I could say whatever I want. I thought of emailing him to ask him NOT to come - but then he would have made a point of coming. So turns out my reverse psychology (of not saying anything to him) worked out quite well.

So recently Sally and I had a meeting and she reminded me that I really can't afford a day off. I don't remember if I mentioned to her that I'd joined a rowing team. We (the Kebelles) are the Keble fun-crew. But some people tell me that if you have erg (indoor training) sessions, you are no longer fun. So I guess we're the kill-joy crew. So, we qualified for the Summer Eights - and guess what - we won blades!

In Oxford we do what's called bumps racing. To win blades (an honour granted by the college), you have to bump 4 times in 4 days (that is, the definition according to Keble) - which we did. So, we get to buy ceremonial blades with our names on them, including when the race was and who we bumped etc - and we get to chalk up our names in one of the stairwells at college. I'll definitely have some pictures of that when it happens.

But for now, a picture of my new sandals will have to do. Weather has been so beautiful.

[see my Flickr]

Oh and also, I accidentally exfoliated myself with the gravel at college. I'm recovering from...

[see my Flickr]

But it's ok, because life here is really quite good. Here's a picture of what Oxford (especially Keble) is all about in the summer time.

[see my Flickr]

Occasionally I find myself in strange places.

[see my Flickr]

But usually I recover myself quite quickly again. Except the time when I went to Port Meadow to take pictures of buttercups - thinking that we were going to row at Godstow. Then it turned out that we were rowing at the Isis, so I had to haul ass down the river. Then I didn't know I had to park at Head of the River so I was on the wrong side and I had to double back. But the photos turned out really good...

[see my Flickr]

and it made me realize that even something s simple as buttercups can be really, really beautiful.

Now I have to go to bed because tomorrow I'd like to get up at 7 am and eat breakfast in hall. Then work all day on my dissertation in the library. The fun never stops, you know.

Abstract for graduate discussion evening at Keble

'Sheer high-spirited fun': The Flyting of Dunbar and Kennedy

In this talk I will give a general introduction to the Scottish tradition of 'flyting': invectives in verse as practised by some of Scotland’s most well known poets – and consider whether they constitute 'sins of the tongue.'

The main focus of my paper will be on The Flying of Dunbar and Kennedy – one of the earliest printed texts in Scotland (and the first f-word to roll off a press), featuring choice episodes of scatological humour, and a selection of my favourite Older Scots terms of abuse ('wanffukit funling' is only the beginning). No previously knowledge of Older Scots necessary (many epithets don't require translation anyway).

------------------------------------

I'm actually slightly nervous about this talk because it is being chaired by Dr. Marc Brodie, the Senior Tutor - and the invitation is open to the Senior Common Room (read 'important people who know a lot of stuff'). Hopefully will get a good showing of MCR friends to give some moral support!

p.s. on the day of the presentation I changed my title to 'How to curse in Older Scots and get away with it: The Flyting of Dunbar and Kennedy.'

Pick me up

Sometimes when I know I am going to settle down to a couple of hours of work I need to see something that picks me up. It could be a funny comic, a beautiful dress, or a good video - anything that makes me feel inspired about what the rest of the world is doing while I read about medieval literature.

Today I failed to find anything so I went back to my favourites list on Youtube. Here's to share with you.

The Sowtar Inveyand aganis the telyeor Sayis

Quhen I come by yone telyeoris stall
I saw an Lowiss creipand vp his wall
snop q the telyeor snap q the scheiris
Cokkis bownis q the lowiss I haif lost myne Eiris

Ane vder

Betuix twa foxis / a crawing cok
Betuix twa freiris / A maid in hir smok
Betuix twa cattis / A Mowiss
Betuix twa telyeoris / A Lowiss
scahw me gud ser not as a stranger
quhilk of thais four is grittest in denger

Anser

ffoxis ar fell At crawing cokkis
ffreiris ar ferss At maidis in thair smokkis
Cattis ar cawtelus in taking of Myiss
Telyeoris ar tyrranis in kelling of Lyiss.