Oh, no, Helen found her camera

I had ten minutes before walking to The Royal Society near Buckingham Palace -- and so, finding my camera which I had unconsciously hit among papers in one of my dawars (I can't spell it just as I can't say it properly) I decided to take numerous pictures of myself. Now as this requires me to hold up the camera backwards where I can not see what is being photographed, as well as in such a way to actually capture my whole person, this proved to be initially somewhat difficult.






That's better. There were many "false starts".

Then I grabbed anything within my reach and took photos of them with me.


Me and Olivier


Me and my King's College I.D. card which I use three times in order to get first into the main lobby of my apartment buildings, then outside into the courtyard, and then the apartment building itself. (I use my key twice as well, once to get into my flat and then into my apartment room). And we have security guards 24/7.


Me and the blanket I am knitting my father.


me and my shoes and bright red socks.



Me and the fourth season of Doctor Who. This was the only thing, other than my laptop, that I carried on board with me from the States.


Me and the Queen (don't we look great together?)



Me and my girlz in the hood -- The Bronte's


I spent the day at The Royal Society which I thought had a collection of eighteenth century women letters since that is the course for which I was going, but it turns out it is a science society, established in the seventeenth century, that includes today a little over a thousand "fellows" that come up with new theories and such like. Newton, Darwin and Einstein were fellows and many other notable beings that I don't know well. The day started with tea that they had prepared for us on a white clothed table. Very fancy place. The building is like a tiny palace. The cafe downstairs is only for fellows. No one else is allowed in. The prices are ridiculously cheap. A whole meal for 2 pound something. It must be well funded, I would suppose. (Probably how much the food really costs). We took a tour and went to the "private" part of the building where, apparently, the president of the society stays when he is not at Trinity College. I enjoyed the day. However, we had to pull things off the shelf after lunch and then give an impromptu presentation on what we found. I was a little dumbfounded since the course isn't remotely scientific. I spoke about Einstein's obituary in the Times, which the librarians got the original for me. There were only like two paragraphs on the guy, with a massive photo of his disheveled desk and an incomplete diagram of something he was trying to solve on a chalk board.

Anyway, it was kind of useless, and I don't think it should have taken all day. But it was nice to actually have something to do all day.

Clare, the prof., came up to me at some point and asked if I was liking the class, despite the fact that it is not my core module (which is 1850 - present; another thing that bemuses me: why am I signed up for an 18c course when I'm 1850 - present?) and I told her I liked it b/c I hadn't studied 18c before. Refreshing to have a prof. that actually cares. She's quite good. Had a lot of insightful things to say throughout the day even though it is not her specialty. Although a bit neurotic. You can tell by the way she speaks and her mannerisms. I'm sure you know what I mean. And all the professors are. Even the students. They all have their quirks and ticks. It is odd to be in an english class that is so english orientated. In which I mean that at Point Park a lot of the other students were theatre majors as well. Very out-going; dramatic -- of course. They brought a free and easy atmosphere to the class and a more, I don't know, avant garde approach to literature. Whereas now I'm stuck with all English majors and they're rather dry. And terribly hardworking in a way that it is easy to tell that they never resisted the mind numbing organized drilling that we all receive from elementary school, up. They are like little machines, ready to do whatever the prof's say's and in the way they have been instructed to do it, without being much aware of their own inclinations.

(I sound like Charlotte Bronte when she writes about her Belgian students).