My close friends and family know that it has always been my dream to be a housewife. I love to cook and clean, sew and iron, and I can’t wait until the first of my ten children is born. What a wonderful life it will be!
Moving to London has been great so far, but sometimes I feel like I’m going to go crazy playing homemaker while I’m working on finding a job. The movers came a few weeks ago and my boyfriend and I have spent a lot of time moving our belongings in and creating a space we enjoy living in. We finished the last of the big furniture assembly work last night, and our flat is finally looking like a home and less like an abandoned warehouse.
On Thursday I made my way to Paddington Station and took the train to Windsor. My mother told me that we went there when I was five, so I arrived in town curious to find out whether my childhood memories would come flooding back. They didn’t. It was just as well, though, because I love to explore new places.
The Tuesday before the beginning of Lent is a big deal in many cultures. Brazil has parties and parades for Carnival, Louisiana has beads and Bourbon Street for Mardi Gras, and Britain has…well…pancake races for Shrove Tuesday.
When I first learned about the peculiar tradition of Shrove Tuesday pancake races I was a bit disappointed. I was hoping for something more ostensibly festive, or at least less of a hassle on the part of the participants. Why couldn’t people just spend the day drinking and dancing instead of slaving over a skillet and running a relay race carrying a giant crepe? Leave it to the English to take an otherwise celebratory holiday and turn it into something less fun. Typical!
Today I set out on a day trip from London to Cambridge. I’ve been to Oxford three times in my life, but have largely–albeit unintentionally–ignored its rival to the northeast. I traveled this morning from King’s Cross Station to rectify the imbalance.