My goal has been to write at least one sentence a day, and so far I have always written more than just the one, but I keep thinking that maybe one sentence might have said it all; yet, if I let this sentence stand alone, it is not going to help me remember Cambridge very well. When did my diary become a place of endless rambling? I’ve got Inga for that. Not to self: this is the reason you don’t travel alone!
Three days ago I was being poetic, today my brain is vomitting all over the place.
It’s really pretty here (wow, what a precise description!), and I had a Nutella/Marshmallow crêpe, and the guy selling it to me flirted a little bit which, in turn, made me feel pretty. And every person I see on the street might be part of the Brainy Elite. They must have the sort of brains who can keep their shit together.
I should probably talk to Inga now and stop rambling to myself. #SOCIALISE
I never knew I liked cider. Until today.
It’s only cider, but it puts my life upside down. Well, maybe not exactly upside down. Maybe it just shook the ground I built my life on a little bit. Like a tiny, drunk earthquake. What if cider is not the only thing I thought tasted awful but actually turns out tob e rather delicious? Didn’t I have the same epiphany with ginger ale in Matamata two summers ago? What about all the books I promised myself never to read? It scares me that some day in boredom I might pick up a copy of Shades of Grey and like it!
It’s really weird to love something I swore to hate. It makes me want to raise my glass to changes of the heart, to second impressions and to my mind doing its best not to be set on one opinion. Cheers to the earthquakes that make me think.
The best part about today, I think, was the sun. To be looking up and having to close my eyes because all the light is blinding me. To sit at Cardiff Harbour and eating pizza and seeing the sea glitter like a million little crystals stretchin out into the horizon. To catch a glimpse of the Tardis in the distance as if ready for take-off.
Cardfiff felt like going back in time just a bit. The castle and the streets and the language, and it all was bathed in golden sunlight and our giggles. And I wrapped the story up so that time could not hurt it and so that rain would never chase the sun from that day.
(Quote: Steven Moffat)
There was this angel, trying to climb up a ladder all the way to the top of the cathedral. I watched it for a while and I started to wonder why it wouldn‘t use its wings. It had wings, but they hung uselessly from the angel‘s back. Were they broken? Or worse – were they fake?
It was an endearing sight, rather than a pitiful one. Climbing, climbing, one step at the time. Maybe wings work like a parachute. Maybe the angel has to make its way to the top on its own. Maybe it has to know exhaustion and pain before it can unfold the wings and soar. Maybe every good deed is hard work and then flying high on hope.
I wonder if that little angel is still there, still climbing.
(Quote: Jane Austen)
I saw where Shakespeare was born today and I also saw his grave.
The sign in the Christmas Shop told me that it is only 137 more sleeps until Christmas. That makes 126 more sleeps until my birthday. I had a waffle the size of my head. I found Harry Potter in a secondhand bookstore. It was all wonderful.
So many things happen between morning and night, and we could never capture all the sensations and feelings and words and different tastes of chocolate. But there is a lifetime in a day; maybe Shakespeare, too, saw light in a stranger’s eyes and maybe he, too, counted the sleeps to Christmas Day.
A letter to J.R.R. Tolkien as found on his grave in Oxford
Dear Pro. Tolkien & Mrs. Tolkien:
Thanks a lot for the Middle Earth.
Thank you for everything in the magical world.
Thank you for Legolas, thank you for Bilbo Baggins, thank you for Frodo, thank you for the Silmarillion.
Wish God bless both of you.
Happiness and peaceful forever.
(Quote: Lewis Carrol)
We went to Stonehenge today, and I loved it. It‘s a funny feeling, getting excited about stones. But just think, those lifeless junks of rock surpassed the ages of history. All the wars, the storms, the crises, all the malice in the world could not push them from where they are stood.
And just think, all the people that come to visit, so desperate for a little bit of mystery, for the proof of magic. And those unmoving stones just keep standing in a circle, casting shadows and marking the sinking of the sun, they are all the proof some of us need.
Just think, maybe the stones are not special at all, maybe people just made them so. Maybe fairy tales exist for those who believe in them and who are willing to look at things as if they really are magical.
Just think, maybe that is the real power of the stones.
(Quote: J.K. Rowling)
Two things. One, I had the best of days today. Two, Brighton is heavily overrated and I do not wish to go back. The pier was too loud and the pier was too bright, the beach was too crowded and the noise of the traffic was everywhere. The fish ‘n‘ chips made my stomach ache.
Around noon the sun came out.
And we wandered along the promenade and we left behind the people and the noise and we told each other stories that we already knew but liked to hear anyway.
I remember waking up from my own snoring on the train back.
It was such a complete day.
(Qote: A.A. Milne)
Ten years ago someone asked me what my favourite part about Winchester was, and I answered, «the catherdral.»
And I still feel mesmerised by this ancient structure that stands there so proudly. The windows were once destroyed and yet, people gathered the broken pieces and rearranged them, a beautiful chaosof of unfitting colours and shapes. The floor is crooked, and do not trust these walls. All those small imperfections that show just how desperately people want to live. How little effect war and destruction have on our need of beauty and light and divinity.
They say that Winchester is the hometown of Camelot.
I believe it.
(Quote: The Sword in the Stone [Disney])
London has entire streets dedicated to all sorts of bookshops. There’s one dedicated to witchcraft and one sells hand signed first editions of Charles Dickens and one has a café in the midst of paper and ink. The tour guide called it Diagon Alley and I will stick to that (even though it is really called Cecile’s Street).
Oxford Street always makes me a hypocrate. Because I hate that people just shop to shop without needing anything that they buy, but I am one of them and I love commercialism. I bought so much and I needed nothing, and I won’t admit that it felt good.
(Quote: J.K. Rowling)