Missing Leeds

I've been missing my Leeds this week.  I'm missing walking around the beautiful buildings on campus (example above), cups of tea at the student cafe, long conversations with friends at the pub, munching on Cadbury's crunchie rocks, etc., etc., etc.  I even miss the wuthering!  (Kind of.)  I originally had plans to return to Leeds for the graduation ceremony next month, but now that those have fallen through I am feeling that longing to go back more keenly than usual.  For now, I shall look forward to visits in the future and take a walk down memory lane with a few photos. 

Victorian Tea Party

Back in September Ana and I went to the Leeds Art Gallery for an afternoon visit.  It's fairly small, but it's easy to navigate.  I spent a long while drooling over the Pre-Raphaelite section, particularly John William Waterhouse's The Lady of Shallott Looking at Lancelot:

Isn't it gorgeous?!

The gallery features a Victorian-era tea room in lieu of the standard cafe, so after our museum meandering Ana treated me to a little tea party complete with cake.  The Yorkshire cream tea was delicious, and the addition of cake made it that much better.  (Cake makes everything better.)

Ana

A steaming cuppa

 Moi

The gorgeous tea room

I love the Victorians -- did I say that already?

Check out the ceiling

Isn't it incredible? 

 Ana sips her tea

Ginger lime cake

Adding extra milk to my tea

People watching outside the window

And finally...

A tiny bearded man has invaded my teacup!

That was Ana's initial reaction when she saw this photo

It does sort of appear that way, doesn't it?

I had a wonderful time pretending I was a Victorian lady at tea.  If you are in the Leeds area, I would definitely recommend a visit to the Leeds Art Gallery and its delightful tearoom.  The threat of tiny men taking over your teacup is minimal.

You Can Call Me Master Di

It's official!  I passed!  Degree results were released this week, which means that I am now a Master of Victorian Literature.  I was fairly confident when handing in my dissertation that I was submitting a pile of words at least worthy of a pass.  But everybody knows not to count chickens before they hatch, so I decided to wait for the results before posting about this.  My year as a Master's student was exciting, intense, tiring and...happy.  That's the emotion that trumps all others.  

I joked throughout the year that once I had completed the degree, I was going to starting referring myself as Master Di.  I think it has a nice ring to it, as though I were a young Victorian chap.  If someday I decide to subject myself to PhD study I would then be Dr. Di, which I think sounds like the cheesy moniker of a radio talk show therapist.  Isn't that what we all aspire to in life?  To have labels reminiscent of cheesy radio psychologists? 

The picture above was taken moments after submitting my dissertation -- the culmination of the year.  I had just endured the saga of all sagas (details shall follow shortly).  I hadn't slept properly in days, felt sick as a bird and burst into tears on more than one occasion this day.  Yet I maintain postgraduate study is fun.  Yes, fun.  That's love.  If you look closely, I think you can see it on my exhausted, blinking, tear-stained face. 

I (Heart) Leeds

I just felt the need to share a few photos that I snapped around the city.  Northern cities in England often get a bad rap (I call it urban bullying), but Leeds is full of character.  Wouldn't you agree?

Hopefully it won't be long before I'm back on these streets...

Pancake Party

Just a little fyi: American pancakes and English pancakes are not the same thing at all.  English pancakes are similar to crepes.  They're thicker than a crepe and not quite the same consistency, but it's the best comparison I can conjure.  American pancakes, on the other hand, are fluffy and more like the cake from which it takes its name.  One isn't necessarily better than the other, but the two are quite different.  When I told Ana about the scrumptiousness of the American variety, she naturally wanted to try them for herself.  So we planned a little pancake party that serendipitously coincided with Tanya's departure from Leeds. We obtained a great recipe from the Pioneer Woman about whom I've heard so many wonderful things.  Maple syrup was not to be found at either of the major supermarkets, but golden syrup served as an adequate substitute.  After using an online calculator to convert the measurements into metrics and adding a bit (or a lot) more sugar to the batter, we got them just the way we wanted them.  I was pretty impressed with myself, making pancakes from scratch and all.  We always used pancake mixes growing up, and I think I have made it abundantly clear that I am not known for my mad skills in the kitchen.  But I think these pictures illustrate that I can, when so inclined, whip up something fairly edible.

The ingredients (toaster not required)

I measured and mixed while Tanya snacked

Setting the table

Ana and Tanya

Moi

The batter is ready to throw on the griddle (or pan in this case)

Until it reaches that lovely golden brown

The finished product

Bon appetit!

Double Decker

I do occasionally have an unpleasant experience on public transport, but overall I have loved utilizing buses over the past year.  I will definitely regret not having the convenience of England's transport system at my fingertips.  Cars guzzle gas (or petrol in Britspeak) as well as money.  Besides, there's something about sitting at the top of a double decker and watching the life on the streets below you. 

A view from the top is the way to go. 

A Rainy Day on Campus

I love rain.  Strangely enough, it's one of my favourite things about living in England.  As long as you don't get caught in a downpour, it's quite pleasant.  I also love how green the area is as a result.  One day I emerged from the student union to find that it had rained.  For some reason, this made everything on campus seem more beautiful than it already was.  I think my university campus is simply charming.  I hope you think so too.

I am obviously not the best photographer, but these were taken with love.   

MA in Top Modeling

I have a confession to make.  I always get a kick out of America's Next Top Model and have faithfully watched it for years.  There, I said it.  I like to pretend that I have refined tastes, but I am a tv reality junkie.  I think it has something to do with the fact that my brain craves some mindless entertainment after a full day of reading Victorian novels and literary criticism.  The endless instances of Tyra's pure insanity along with the profound intelligence of the models themselves is just the sort of mindlessness I need.

Not too long ago, the conversation at the pub turned to this shining specimen of American brilliance.  The next thing you know, we were conducting our own photo shoot in the style of Top Model.  So much for the pursuit of mental improvement.  I was so amused by our 'fierce' photos I felt inclined to share the joy.  Please note these were taken with the intent of satirizing the show, and I wouldn't wish anyone to think we were taking ourselves seriously.  So without further ado, here are our best shots...

The shot where we try to look sophisticated

by covering the majority of our faces with our hands

'Smizing' (aka, smiling with your eyes)

The group shot

in which contestants pretend to be team players

while hogging the spotlight

Making use of props

There they are.  I will now allow you time to deliberate before deciding whether or not we will survive elimination and make it to next week's photo shoot. 

Flatmate No. 4: Lucius Malfoy (RIP)

Tonight will be the last I spend in this house.  It's been a surprisingly emotional event for me, one to which I didn't expect to react so strongly.  I have yet to get the packing ball rolling, because the thought of leaving (and, by extension, leaving England) is wholly unpleasant.  The thought of taking down all my pre-Raphaelite prints and the various postcards I've accumulated over the year moves me to tears.  Literally.  I woke up this morning thinking that would be a good place to start, began crying and haven't progressed from that point. 

Now would be a good time to remember that not all my experiences as an MA student have been peachy keen.  Also, I have yet to share my thoughts about flatmate no. four.  Two birds; one stone.  Lucius Malfoy, here I come.

Obviously, his name isn't technically Lucius Malfoy.  Nor, unfortunately, does he resemble Jason Isaacs in any way.  Lucius is the moniker we bestowed upon him, because he's the proud owner of a replica of the cane Jason Isaacs carries in the Harry Potter films.  It has a removable wand and everything; you know, just in case a wizard duel arises unexpectedly.  Lucius is also an aspiring novelist.  Upon our first meeting he told me all about the novel he's writing about a cyborg who enforces justice and a distrustful dog who won't stop barking at the cyborg in question, or a dog robot, or something of this sort.  I can't be sure, because it all seemed a bit strange to me at the time.  Only now has it occurred to me to wonder what the title of a novel like this would be?  DogBorg?  The Terrier-nator?  Hmm...

I don't want this blog to become a dumping ground of negativity, but living with Lucius Malfoy was awful.  There's no way to sugarcoat it.   The man had an awful smell about him.  All the time.  As did his girlfriend.  If I used the loo after either of them had been there, I could still catch a whiff of lingering body odour.  It was that pungent.

One memorable evening, I had invited my friends Ana and Liz over for dinner.  Liz had never been to my place before.  When she rang the bell, I realized that I would have to forewarn her about Lucius who was in the kitchen, cooking without a shirt (thereby extending the reaching power of his aroma).  My welcome went something like this:

'Hi, Liz!  Come on in!  Oh, and by the way...my flatmate is cooking in the kitchen.  He doesn't have a shirt on.  And he smells.  Like, really bad.  Sorry.  But make yourself at home!'

Just when I thought I couldn't be more embarrassed on his behalf, he boob grazed her on his way out of the kitchen.  Yeah, he's that awesome.  Needless to say, we were all relieved when he vacated the house after a short tenancy (thus the RIP in this post's title).   

So, while I'm sad to be leaving a place that's been the site of some wonderful times, at least I'm furthering the distance between Lucius and myself.  I mean, I surely won't be able to smell him on the other side of the Atlantic.