pretty much as you like it (or not)

As any self-respecting English major must do in the course of a year long study in Ehnglande, I made my "pilgrimage" in a milieu of Tufts students to Shakespeare's birthplace: Stratford-Upon-Avon. Pretty straightforward, right? Well, actually, no. Very little is actually known about Shakespeare the playwright, and there are many different schools of thought concerning the bard. Shakespeare the commoner, the man that we know lived in Stratford may not have written the plays at all. Don't mention this to Stratfordians, though. It's a pretty hot point of contention.

Anyway, I'm going to pull an Oscar Wilde and shamelessly plagiarize myself when I say that Stratford was almost nauseatingly bucolic. And that thatched roofs make me happy inside. Our first stop was at Anne Hathaway's cottage (see above) the wife of Shakespeare (maybe, or maybe not). This is where history gets really dodgy. However, I did learn from the token awesomely British tour guide inside the cottage the origin of a phrase concerning something near and dear to my heart: bread.

The story of the upper crust: So, back when people baked bread over an open hearth (note to self: must try this), the bottom of bread would get all ashy and blackened. Gross, right? Well, using their good sense people used to cut bread horizontally instead of vertically, giving the burnt part to lessers, i.e. children and servants, while reserving the nice poofy top part for the head of household. Thus the upper crust. It must have been a great class equalizer when they finally started cutting bread the other way.

Our next visit was to Shakespeare's Birthplace. I still have not recovered from how incredibly absurd that was. Think Disney World meets Romeo and Juliet with a little bit of Leonardo DiCaprio and a lot of dramatic music and voiceovers. I'm still laughing inside. Don't take me wrong-- I loved it. It was not unlike the Tomb experience in Boston, except less self-conscious of its commercialization. Seriously, though. STILL LAUGHING INSIDE.

The unfortunate consequence of so much diverting and amusing sightseeing was a bunch of famished college students in middle of the afternoon. After much strolling and debating, we found an easy lunch place where I stuffed myself on my first English pasty accompanied by the traditional chips (hot french fries from the oven) and beans. They love beans here. I'm still figuring out the beans and french fries combo. At the time, however, my famish state rendered the combo one of the most satisfying things ever to enter my tummy.

We drove home through the lovely Cotswolds (see above) arriving home (I just called Pembroke home! Touching moment.) just in time to go out to dinner at staircase mate Lydia's house in Oxford. She was amazing enough to have all of Staircase 15 over for Saturday dinner (they don't feed us in hall on Sat-we're left totally to our own devices) and to kick-off Margot's twentieth birthday this weekend. It was absolutely wonderful: we ate the best food I've had all week, met her charming parents, and were just made very much at home. I feel that I'm justified in saying that I ended up in the best Staircase possible at Pembroke (even more touching moment).