Parties and Pi

          My ears are ringing.
          Tonight, we had our Christmas partay (also known as Brittany, Gonzo, and I dressing up and Nick only conceding to wear a tie), during which we listened to Christmas music and ate food.
          We went to Club Sandwich (Goldsmiths' weekly disco). Well, Gonzo and Brittany twisted my arm into going. I didn't stay for long, but it was fun. Hits such as "Summer Lovin'" and "Say My Name" were played. It was pleasantly un-crowded and un-sticky, for the most part.

          Three days. Well. Two real days, and then I'm taking off on Saturday morn, at seven of the ay-emm. Then it's Heathrow and a long flight, and hello Chicago. It's still surreal.
          I feel like I'll be going home for a few weeks, maybe a month, and then I'll be coming back. I know that once I board the plane, I'm going to nonetheless feel comfortable knowing I'll see Brittany in a few hours, that I'll hang out with Nick and Gonzo later that evening.
          But it isn't true.
          I know I've been harping on about it for the past few posts. But I can't help it. Ah! Shake it off. I'm spoiling the moment, I know.

          In other news, I've seen four plays in the last six days. Here's how it goes.
                  Friday: The Seagull.
                  Saturday: King Lear.
                  Monday: Othello.
                  Tuesday: Much Ado About Nothing.
                  And Thursday will be: Stephen Fry's Cinderella.

          The Seagull and King Lear both starred Ian McKellen, and Othello's headliner was Ewan McGregor. They were astounding productions, all. Excellent. Much Ado was much needed after all those tragedies, in which, as Nick put it, "everyone dies and most of them don't deserve it." For all of them, we got up early to stand in line for the day tickets. Mostly we arrived around 6:30am and waited around until 10:00 when the tickets went up. For Othello, we took the 4:57 night bus and arrived at half five. We were second in line. But we got three of the ten seats. Day seats (tickets sold the morning of the performance) are heavily reduced in cost and hugely popular, by the way.
          The moral of the story is: getting up super early for good tickets is worth it, but wear as many layers as possible. We ended up bringing laptops to watch movies during the wait. Most excellent.

          On Sunday, Brittany, Nick, and I went on a tour to Windsor Castle, Stonehenge, and Bath. It was cold and rainy, but still pretty fun. Our tour guide's name was Tony, and he had the best jacket ever - stripes of green, purple, and orange, but from any distance greater than one foot, it looked like a normal, sedate, business-like grey. Simply amazing.
          I'd been to Windsor before, but never inside. I can't get over the sheer opulence of the place. I mean, I know it's the Queen's preferred residence, but really. I mean, who needs twenty complete sets of hand-painted china? What is the point of living somewhere where you actually only live in a fraction (where the top number is one and the bottom number is considerably larger) of it? It was ... pretty, in an ostentatious sort of way. But I can't get over the blatant wastefulness of it. Aren't we past that? The whole, look how rich I am, I can afford to paper my walls with damask silk, nyer nyer nyer.
          I think it's clear that I'm cut out for the working class.
          Stonehenge was ... a semicircular pile or large rocks. No, it was cool, really. It would have been nice to have been able to explore the stones, but we were kept to the footpaths around it - no touching. The rain let up at the point, but it was incredibly windy on that flat field. Stonehenge is impressive, to be sure, but it's an image I was so acquainted with that it really wasn't much more exciting than seeing a picture of it in a textbook. I'll have to come back and beg them to let me stand in the middle of the stones on Midsummer morning, to watch the sun rise over the heelstone.
          In Bath, we saw, surprise surprise, the ruins of a Roman bath. It's spring-fed, and hot. There's still water in them, and you can see the water bubbling up all green and murky from the original spring.

          So. In the two days I have left, I'm going to see a play, shopping for Christmas gifts, and packing. Oh, man. Packing. That'll be fun. And by fun I mean really depressing.
          But, I guess it has an allure. It's sort of like packing a backpack - there's a joy in it. Can I fit everything? It's a science. You know, like putting together a jigsaw puzzle. It's kind of mindless, but in a soothing way.
          I'm gonna need soothing.
          So these days are winding up. I'd say I can't believe it's gone by so quickly, but I can. Twelve weeks. That's nothing. So much has happened, and yet I feel like I've barely scratched the surface of London. Although, Chick Chicken is a delight few experience, I think.
          I know that one of my hopes in coming here, without Coe or the ACM, has been accomplished. I'm more independent than I was. Wandering around London by myself? Pish. No problem. Navigating the Tube on my own? Don't make me laugh. So. Be more independent? Check that one off the list.

          And now: gratuitous Stonehenge pictures.