Ticket to Ryde

Here I am. I have been baking and icing a cake for Benedict and some wandering historians, who are currently wandering through the Historical House. One came wandering upstairs to use the loo, and he reminded me very much of the bearded British academics who used to come wandering into my childhood home. La plus ca change, la plus c'est la meme chose.

Yesterday I busied myself with staring at maps and railway and ferry schedules, for I am soon going on a journey to the South of England. First I shall fly to Southampton, and then I shall take a train to Portsmouth Harbour. From there I shall take a boat to Ryde on the Isle of Wight, where I shall meet my friends Aelianus and Notburga in our B&B. We are gathering to celebrate our great pal Berenike as she takes her First Vows as a Benedictine nun. And of course we will visit her and another great pal, Boeciana-as-was, who is now Sister Mary Something, OSB.

After the wild shindig that is the Cloistered Convent Parlour Visit, I shall rush off to get the return boat to Portsmouth Harbour and take the train to GLORIOUS LONDON. (I hoped to go to Maidstone, but I was defeated by the compilers of train schedules, who quite obviously do not want anyone ever to travel there from anywhere but London.)

I am so terribly excited about going to London I feel less guilty that B.A. has to stay at home. I feel terrible that B.A, who works 9 to 5 (or, really, 10 to 7), cannot go South with me. But on the other hand, LONDON! Eeeeeeee!

Have I mentioned that I really adore London? B.A. does not. He thinks it is too big, which is what all Canadians not from Toronto say about Toronto. At any rate, I do not think London is too big, especially as I do not plan to traipse around the whole thing, but just the parts I like best, especially South Kensington.

More on this anon. Now I must rush off to the Historical Stable-block Contemporary Art Exhibit.