I'm writing a paper (well, getting ready to write a paper) on how primary schools are genedered, and how this is perceived by the students, and so I have been reading through tons of stuff about kids in school. I was reading a case study sort of thing on gender roles, and the researcher was reading stories to kids. In one story, the princess goes to rescue the prince and gets really dirty and has to wear a paper sack, and in the end she tells him he's a lazy bum and skips off into the sunset by herself. For some reason the girl in the paper sack just reminded me of when my big sissy was little (like I said, not exactly my memory. But I have heard the story enough that I have the perfect image in my head...!). You see, she used to like to play this game called Cinderella. And she would be Cinderella and my mom would be the Wicked Step-Mother. And the Wicked Step-Mother would make Cinderella do all sorts of horrible things, like picking up her toys, and worse! Finally, Cinderella would start to get tired of being Cinderella. "Mom, I don't really want to play Cinderella anymore..." I always wonder if Cinderella ever knew she was getting the short end of the stick, especially because she was the one who chose to be Cinderella...! I just have this perfect vision in my mind of Little Mikah with her chubby pink cheeks (the only part of her that was ever more than skin and bones!), in her blue apron, scrubbing the bathrub and vacuuming with a vacuum that is bigger than she is!!
The last trip I went on was lovely lovely. Stratford-upon-Avon. It is straight out of a fairy tale. Cottages with thatched roofs, quirky little inns, gorgeous gardens, not a single person in a rush. I got to see Anne Hathaway's cottage (in which the thatching cost over 70,000 pounds!!!), Shakespeare's wife, and learned all about her promiscuous ways - she was 3 months pregnant when they were married! We also took a little tour around town to see all the houses and inns of other people that Shakespeare knew, as well as where Shakespeared himself was born, and then later lived after he had struck it rich! It was a lovely little history lesson.Unfortunately, we didn't have much time to explore the rest of the town, because after the tour we were starving, naturally, and so we to eat at the Dirty Duck. The service was horrible. I mean, service here is bad. I've come to accept that. But the Dirty Duck without a doubt holds the record for the worst service in the history of pubs. So. The moral of this story is: if ever you find yourself in Stratford-upon-Avon, never, Never go to the Dirty Duck!
Best of luck!
Eastbourne was where I had my first Cornish pasty. Delish. We even ate them on the pier. It was such a slow, easy city. It had more of a smalltown feel to it than anything. I guess that's because in walking down the High Stree, 90% of the people on the street were over 65.
My favourite part of the trip was Alfriston. It was so tiny, so British. We went to a tiny teahouse where I (yes, I, at 5' 4 3/4"!!!) had to duck in the doorways. We sat in a garden and had tea and scones, and listened to little old ladies in their fancy hats gossiping.
I also want you to know that this trail would never pass an inspection by the BCH trail crew. It was barely 6 inches wide!!! And look at those rocks!
After Stonehenge, we went to Bath and saw the Roman Baths and a bit of the city. I loved the atmosphere. It definitely had a much more European feel than Brighton. A market was going on in the High Street, and stalls filled with random things dotted the road. The buildings oozed history and memories, practically tangible. It was almost dreamlike.
One of the most eventful parts of the day was when we stopped to watch a random street performer. He was juggling, riding a unicylce, making jokes, the usual. Then he started asking for volunteers. He walked around the circle searching out those perfect, poor, defenseless souls to embarass just for a little laugh from the crowd.
Finally, he let me throw the flaming juggling thing at him, and I didn't hit him in the face or set him on fire...! And the day was a success!
Also very important: I had my first real British Breakfast today! Very exciting. And delicious. And Huge! We (I made some new friends today, as well! Mikah, aren't you proud?!) realized while we were eating that the British serve chips with Everything: fish, chili, breakfast, ice cream (ok, the last one is not a proven fact, but based on previous observations, we can reasonably come to that conclusion...). So we were wondering how all these British people stay so skinny with all their beer and chips. I decided that all their shivering in their non-clothes helps them work off the calories. I mean, it's true. On Monday, when we had our snow day, I saw some crazy British boys running around without coats. And girls were sledding in micro-mini skirts! And a night on the town? Suffice it to say that all you can see of a group of girls is a blur of skin and tiny dresses for all their shivering.
The last time I remember it being warm enough to actually go to the pier without a coat, and without being cold was probably mid-October. It was actually my first time going to the pier, or I guess it was near the pier. It was my first time having tea and scones, as well. A perfect afternoon. After tea and scones, we wandered through the lanes and saw all the funny little shops, and then made our way to the beach.
I really love how nature slows down time, makes it less significant, takes away some of its authority. That's the effect that the sea had on the afternoon. Couples dotted the beach, walking, playing, simply sitting and watching the water. The sun was low in the sky, like it really was hanging. The water seemed gentle. For being a rocky, cold sort of beach, it really was a romantic setting that day. 
The next time I went, it was a completely different beach that I saw. It was late, after a night of clubbing. It was raining, and the water was angry and violent. I was fascinated. I couldn't take my eyes off it. The fact that the water could have such a drastic change in personality was so crazy to me, a girl used to a calm little lake in the middle of Wyoming.
At the end of the day, all is well. I have no job. But I Do know how to cook something new! And I have decided that instead of looking for a job, I will try harder to find some volunteer work to get involved in (which may or may not be just as hard, or harder, as finding a job in this crazy city!).
