something that is only supposed to happen to other people.

my computer crashed yesterday. computers crashing happens to other people. not me. backing up a hard drive is only for other people who aren't as lucky as me and have to work harder to get the same results as me. after i put my england pictures on my computer about a week ago, nagging voices in my head constantly said, "don't delete the memory card," and "you should probably put those on a flash drive," and "even photobucket would be better than having your computer be the sole place for all of your pictures." i keep thinking that when i wake up, it will just be a bad dream and i will go over and put my pictures on a flash drive and wipe the sweat from my brow. i keep thinking of pictures that i want to go look at or use for some project or this blog and realize that those pictures don't exist. they are no where. they aren't lost, they have just evaporated. and now i am left only with memories of those two months of my life in england, and memories of all of those pictures i painstakingly took even though i would have rather not have lugged my camera everywhere. but i wanted those beautiful pictures that only i wanted, that were stupid or beautiful but i took them. i know i am whining, but they are all gone. after the apple computer man talked to me and i was crying and my mom and lauren felt bad for me, all i could do was lie on the couch for a while, and then after a while i could play my guitar, and then i told my mom i needed to go to a book store. so she bought me a bunch of books in preparation for paris. friends, i'm afraid that when i get sad all i can do is look forward to paris instead of looking back at all of those beautiful pictures that i will never see again in a land that i fell in love with.

one more thing before i head to eastern canada...

I have adopted a new pose for inherently famous places.

I think it could mean


stick it to the man


(in front of the trevi fountain)

or "look at me questioning the authority of powerful people"


like the Pope.
(in front of St. Peter's Basilica)

or the qeen.

As promised:


or just, "that's right, what's the closest thing on my body to this famous place?"

what do you think it means?

miss these people:

I was the only one who knew there were multiple pictures being taken. Actually, Katy Anderson is a statue.

Signs in England

I talked to my mom on the phone while I was in London, and she told me how funny she thought the "mind the gap" signs are on the London Underground. Please read it in a cool announcer-type woman's voice with a British accent.

Here are signs in Britain, Italy and Ireland I thought were funny:

This is a poster that encourages owners to keep their dogs out of pastures they shouldn't be in around Loch Lomond. It's not funny until you read the smaller print:

Hmm.

yes, the grass is very diverting.

look at the sign. not my face. thanks rachel ashby for not suggesting in the slightest that i may want to take another picture.

ha.

just like chickens.

oh...cute.

"sheep worrying" means anything that may make the sheep start running away from you. sheep are serious business here.

the first sentence. it's only funny if you read "conservation" with wrong like I did so it reads "conversation." so typically British! I thought when I took the picture. Then the more I laughed, the more I realized how stupid I was.

If you can't read that sign, it says "bumping stone: used in the initiation of new choristers." Yes, that dent to the right of the sign is used to initiate new choristers by pounding their heads into that solid stone. Okay, not pounding, more like politely shoving. Centuries later, there is a dip.

Don't be shy. Dominate those railings.

I am home. and Stourhead Gardens.

I chased the sun yesterday, all the way back to the northwest. For the 22 hours I was traveling, the sun was up--from Dublin to Portland. Oh yeah, and in Chicago, and Denver too.

I promised pictures a long time ago, so now, pictures you shall have! I am trying to pick out my favorite ones so that you don't all hate me. and I have added pictures to the previous posts because i now have a computer that doesn't start counting down the seconds after a half hour. yay!

This was a long time ago, so don't get confused. We went to Stourhead gardens, which is a beautiful estate where the Victorian owners decided to go all neoclassical in their garden. Results:


For those of you who recognized the gazebo in the last picture, 20 points for you! That is where the famous proposal scene of the newest adaptation of Pride and Prejudice takes place! I waited there for my own Mr. Darcy, but he didn't come. I think the weather was too good. It should have been raining. Mr. Darcy can only propose in the rain I guess. Instead I got a beautiful view from the gazebo:

Fortunately, I was still able to do something sort of romantic in the gardens. There was a stone grotto that we went inside of and there was a little fountain with a stone nymph lying down, and Katy Anderson said in passing that it would be beautiful to give an offering to the nymph. I pulled out the purple flower she had put in my hair, handed her my camera, and slipped into the cold water.

It was actually a lot deeper than I thought it was,

but the flower was in her hand, and the offering was made.

and everyone ever afterward wondered where that purple flower in her hand came from. Until it rotted away.

Mild apologies for the previous out of control post, everyone.

I am now in London, and it is my last day in England. Which is kind of sad. Especially because London is not like the rest of England that is green and beautiful and there are white cliffs next to the ocean and there are fields and fields of green grass surrounding especially beautiful solitary oak trees. And especially because I am at an internet cafe trying to figure out how to get all of my luggage home. This would not be a problem if I were normal and just flew home like most of the people in my group. No, I decided it was necessary to go to Italy and Ireland, thereby cutting off the amount of luggage I am allowed to bring to 15 kilos. I don't even know how much that weighs, but it is somewhere between 30 and 35 pounds and now I am facing expensive storage charges due to my wonderful ability to replace small pieces of paper in my wallet with wonderful things that are incredibly huger than those pieces of pretty paper with pictures of the queen on them.

But let us move away from these unpleasant thoughts, and on to my favorite place of the entire trip.
Tintagel.

Tintagel is the legendary birthsite of King Arthur. These are castle ruins.
It is on the Southwest coast of England, and it has white cliffs and the ocean goes forever and the water is a teal color and there is a beautiful sunset every night and the stars are perfectly clear at night. These are the ruins where many kings have rebuilt fortresses in order to infuse Arthur's mystical powers. People here are seriously obsessed with King Arthur. Even in the Parliament building in London, there are pictures all over the walls that remind everyone of the chivalric code in ridiculous Victorian costumes.

The cave to the left on the top picture is called Merlin's Cave. I swam in that. In the quite freezing Atlantic Ocean. We fought against the tide and made our way through the cave to the open sea on the other side. A few weeks before, I had gotten a splinter in my foot and I thought it would just go away. A week later, it still hadn't gone away, so I dug around in my foot with my friend's safety pin for about two hours and I still couldn't find it. Everytime I poked my foot I thought I was getting closer because it hurt so badly. I think it just hurts when you aggravate your foot with a safety pin. I assumed I had gotten it, because it wasn't there. I hiked on it for about a week when we got to Tintagel. I had gone swimming in the ocean before this, but my foot was still sore. Then I went swimming in Merlin's Cave. We hiked up on top of the castle to the legendary birth spot of Arthur, and I reached down to my foot and pulled out an inch-long sliver with my bare fingers. Laugh if you will my friends, but Merlin healed me! And as an offering, I gave up my white-pigmented face and back, and became red. Oh, it was a beautiful day.
This is our wonderful Youth Hostel, right next to the cliffs where we stayed and watched the sunset over the ocean, and played guitar when the stars came out under our duvets.

I Love Shakespeare. I am turning into a cliche.

I think I'm doing something wrong because I got a lot of comments on two posts and these next two there are zero comments. Am I getting super boring? If so, sorry. I am sorry I don't have any cutesy pictures to put up and that I am picturally challenged! I don't mean to be. I'm sorry there are just blocks of text. I will try to help that. Really I will try!

We are in Oxford! (Is that helpful?) We just left Stratford this morning,

 and I have seen the newest portrait of Shakespeare! Yes, they discovered a portrait that they really think is Shakespeare. Okay, really quickly: this is the ugliest picture of Shakespeare ever:

This is on textbooks and other things, which makes you think, "Ew, Romeo and Juliet/Macbeth/Othello/The Tempest in High School where I hated my life." But this wood carving is actually a copy of this portrait:

which is actually believed to be now the only portrait that Shakespeare actually sat for and every other is a copy! Isn't this so much more attractive and so much easier to like Shakespeare now? I will answer that for you. Yes. I'm afraid that being in England with these literature people makes me think that Shakespeare is the answer to life.

Anyway, Stratford was really great, even though it kept raining, which really is starting to suck. I really did bring enough clothes even though I'm wearing my raincoat in every picture.

OH YEAH! I went to see the great hall in Oxford in Christ Church College. The Great Hall that inspired the Great Hall at Hogwarts. I will post pictures sometime. But I did sneak a relic from the sight... It is a packet of pepper now in my wallet. Perhaps I will run water over it and sell it to people who need cures for writer's block.

Also, I have really enjoyed some of the Shakespeare gift shop items: an eraser: "out damned spot!" (Lady Macbeth)

That's all.