Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

…sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines… (Sonnet #18)

June 20th was officially the hottest day of summer. Temperatures reached a record 30C (86F). Of course, this is nothing compared to the scorching weather I was subject to growing up in the American South will temperatures regularly crept easily past the 100 C mark!

My summer thus far has been ruled by the weather and England’s erratic fortunes in the World Cup. The D.E.B. was supporting England of course, but wouldn’t describe himself as a football fan. He “doesn’t mind a bit of footie,” but isn’t obsessed by it, as are so many of his fellow countrymen.

By contrast, I have been bitten quite firmly by “World Cup Fever”, and have gone a bit football mad. I quite literally wept in my beer watching England being pummeled by Germany.

My flirtation with English football began in 2006, during the last World Cup. I was here teaching on a summer short course in Stratford-upon-Avon, and arrived in time to join in the “Come on, England!” mania.

My friend Tracey’s brother, Simon, dared me to “have a flutter” and gamble on the first England match. So, I “screwed my courage to the sticking place” (Macbeth) and sauntered into Ladbroke’s – the infamous, British, high street betting shop.

Apparently, at that time, Ladbroke’s were trying to improve their image and public perception of “the betting shop”, so while I was expecting a rather seedy sort of establishment, it was not actually.

There were of course a quite a few blurry-eyed men wandering listlessly through the premises to be sure, but overall it was not the smoke-filled den of iniquity that I’d imagined.

“How may I ‘elp you, Miss?” The man behind the glass window chirped at me, pleased to see that Ladbroke’s “family-friendly” re-marketing had obviously paid off.

“I’d like to place a bet, please.” I said shyly. “Well, you’re in the right place, then.” The man beamed and smiled at me broadly.

I was offered a number of options to pursue on England’s opening match against Paraguay. The prospect that appealed to me the most was: “Who will score the first English goal?”

Being a novice in all things football, I relied on the only source I had had back in New York: movies. I didn’t know who any of the English footballers were, but I’d just seen Bend it Like Beckham on DVD. It was a fun movie, and he’s cute, so he got my vote.

“David Beckham!” I exclaimed to the man behind the counter. “You’re quite confident.” The man smiled again. “And, why not?” said I. We both nodded as I slipped my £10 note under the glass counter.

No one could have been more shocked than I was when David Beckham actually did scored the first English goal!!

As the ball struck the back of the net, my phone rang. It was Simon, my friend Tracey’s brother: “I do believe you have just won £100. Well done! But, don’t let it go to you’re ‘ead. And promise that you won’t ever bet again!”

He needn’t have worried. I thoroughly enjoyed my “beginner’s luck”, but have since left betting well enough alone. Still, I am proud to inform anyone who will listen that I once won a hundred quid off David Beckham’s boot!

I placed no bets this time around, which was probably a good thing, given England’s World Cup results. But, watching the World Cup has really inspired me to take more interest in the game.

I decided that I should find an English Club side to follow/support. Given my David Beckham connection, supporting Manchester United seemed the obvious choice. But, then everyone supports Man United, and I’d like to be a bit more creative than just following the crowd.

So, I started to approach this in a serious way, by considering the skills and performance of the players on the national side (team), and them looking at their club teams. This approach eventually failed, as Manchester United was again the most represented side.

I then thought about locality. If I chose a team close to where we live, I’d have more of chance of seeing them play live, as opposed to just seeing them on telly/TV. This gave the edge to Aston Villa, as our nearest Premiere League side.

To settle the score, I decided m final criterion would be: which side has the best-looking kit/strip (uniforms). With that, Aston Villa won outright, with their very fetching claret and sky blue home colours!

As an added bonus, Aston Villa is owned by Randolph D. Lerner -- an American entrepreneur from Brooklyn!

Now that that’s settled, it’s nice to know there be more football (and tears?) after the World Cup has finished.

Rain, rain go away

This rainy Wednesday (who’d imagine it’s July?) finds me in desperate need of some sunshine. The rain clouds have gathered over Barford, literally and metaphorically. Dear, dear Eva has just lost the baby she’s been carrying for just 12 weeks. It’s so difficult to know what is best to do in these situations.

News of course travels quickly, and I knew the news long before Eva told me, but it seemed to me the most respectful and loving thing to do was wait until if, and/or when, she was ready to come and talk to me about it herself. And, I’m glad that I did.

I think that may be the one drawback of living in such a tiny community, news travels so quickly, and before you know it the whole world news everything about you. But on the plus side, when tragedy does strike, there are so many anchors of support when you need them.

I received a phone call this morning from a fellow member of Barford W.I., requesting my support as an anchor for another American woman/couple who has/have just moved to the village temporarily.

We are tentatively meeting for coffee at the Machado Gallery on Friday morning. I think my advice to her, apart from joining the Barford W.I., will be along the following lines:

Give up on the weather.

Talk less, listen more.

Make an effort, put yourself out there, get involved.

and,

Stop comparing, enjoy the uniqueness of English culture/British life.

I shall also advise her that falling in love with this place is very, very easy.

On Monday, I literally ran to look at an adorable cottage that had just been put on the market here in Barford. I arranged a viewing with the estate agent at 1:30 PM. Another set of viewers had had a look at 1:00 P.M.

I liked the look of the place, and the D.E.B. and I had planned to have a look together tonight. However, the agent phoned me this morning to say that the first couple put in an offer Monday afternoon at 4:00 P.M., and has been accepted by the property owners.

So, our hopes on the Barford house front have been dashed yet again. Oh, well. The quest continues. The one hopeful thing is that maybe such a speedy sell as this will ignite other would-be sellers in Barford to put their properties on the market, and offer them at a reasonable rate -- as opposed to the typically outrageous Barfordian prices. This place I looked out on Keytes Lane went for a song.

Right. No good sitting here brooding over dreams deferred. As the Royal Mail motto says: Carry on!

A rainy day requires something warm, and is the perfect time for a little culinary adventure! So I’m off to the kitchen to make a Blackberry Crumble.  No cheating, I’m making the crumble topping from stretch – no pre-packaged mixes, here, thank you – and I’m going to have a go at making some real English custard.

Tonight, I will be joining the D.E.B. for dinner with his colleagues from the European office in Belgium. Technically, this will be my first official duty as the “Mrs. D.E.B, Corporate Spouse”. I’m thrilled, and have of course bought a new outfit to wear! (Thank you, Oxfam Shop online).

I really want to make a good showing. The D.E.B. has countless horror stories of his very silly (my words) ex-wife, Thomasina, routinely embarrassing him on a grand scale. “Just relax, and be yourself,” I can imagine my grandmother saying to me right now.

And you know, I think I may just take that advice. Here’s hoping a little charm and Blackberry Crumble will do the trick.

 

 

 

Wet day in November

Thursday, 13 November 2008

Wet, November days have always been a sort of gage for me.  Whenever I’ve been faced with a major, life decision, I always stop and ask myself: “How will you feel about this on a wet day in November?” So here I am on a cold, wet day in November reflecting upon the choices I have made. Okay, not exactly reflecting, as much as sulking.

I spent the morning sulking in bed, after making the firm decision—wet day or no—to stay in bed and sleep my life away. But, I suddenly sprung to my feet at 9:00 AM, lest I risked the danger of becoming with the British call a “lay about.” Although, I think I have good cause to lay about today.  

I didn’t get “the call.” During my interview on Tuesday, I was informed that: “the successful candidate will receive a phone call within the next 24 hours, the rest of the candidates will receive a letter informing them of their status, in about 7-10 days.”  May I just say, it seems to me to be a bit of a waste time, energy and paper to send out letters to all of us losers, since we will (obviously) have a very clear indication of “our status” when we our phones remain silent.

And silent my phone remained. Except for the calls I received from the D.E.B., and the Lost and Found Office at the Stratford-upon-Avon Bus Depot. In the flurry of my interview day, I left my cute, pink, Motorola flip-phone on the X18 Stagecoach from Barford to Stratford. Apparently, there are no Good Samaritans left in all of South Warwickshire, and my phone has not be handed in. Just one of my many joys of Big Pearls & Cashmere Tuesday...

I spent all of Wednesday (yesterday) waiting. And waiting. I wanted the call to come, and I didn’t want the call to come. As the afternoon waned it became a matter of strident pride: “How dare they not call! How dare they not pick me?!”

The D.E.B. has done his best to keep my spirits up. Tuesday night, he took me up to The Granville my favourite restaurant these days, “for a meal” to congratulate me on my interview. Yesterday, when it became clear that “the call” had not, and would not come, he left work early, and phoned me from the car to find out if I needed him to collect “a bucket of chicken” from KFC on his way home. (He knows me.)

The bucket of chicken was not needed yesterday– though I think I may need it tonight. To avoid sitting, quite literally, by the phone, I busied myself by doing laundry, hoovering and cooking.  I was fine, I told myself, in the midst of my cleaning frenzy. But the minute the D.E.B. walked in, I fell to pieces. Little, tiny, broken pieces, that he gathered up, gently, and put back together.

It was a night of comfort and treats. I'd made a huge vat of Sicilian sausage pasta, enough to feed the entire village, that went down beautifully with the Chartreuse de Bonpas the D.E.B. had brought home for us. After dinner, there were “pressies” a gift set of Champney’s spa collection, my new favo(u)rite bath and beauty products. (Their ‘rose’ stuff is to die for.) And a night out on the town to see the new James Bond film! And at proper cinema! The D.E.B. booked my favourite seats (dead centre, close, but not too close, to the front), ordered luscious, Brazilian red wine in the cinema bar, and insured that I had chocolate, and the largest bucket of popcorn available. (It’s all about the popcorn.) And the movie was fabulous! Daniel Craig is growing on me, and is slowly winning me over as a convincing Bond. 

In all, a wonderfully restorative evening, topped off by the D.E.B. whispering the words: “I think you might need to be ravished,” as he led me up the stairs. The only thing better than a bucket of chicken for a sad girl on wet November day.

Autumn rain

1st of October. Autumn pitching down on my nearly-dried laundry. The day started so sunnily. What happened? And so, too, I feel my confidence waver and wane. 

I am scheduled to give a lecture at The Shakespeare Institute in 3 weeks time. This is not just any lecture for me. This is a "Thursday Seminar" at The Shakespeare Institute. "Thursday Seminars" were a huge part of my life not so long ago, when I was graduate student there. I can't believe I received my Ph.D. 10 years ago this year. Has it really been 10 years? And here I am, back again. Here is the thing, you know those old sayings, like the one Janis Joplin is said to have coined: "You can never go home." And, another in the same vein: "Never return to the scene of the crime."  That's how I feel about giving this lecture. I'm not ready. I don't feel "old" enough or "grown up" enough to do it.

I still feel like that hopeful student I once was, longing for acceptance and approval. Wanting to prove my worth, my smarts. When I was a student, Thursday Seminars were a pleasure and a pain. If we were lucky, our director, Stanley Wells,  had roped some Shakespeare hot-shot to come and talk to us. I will never forget how on one occasion he'd invited Harriet Hawkins to speak. Harriet Hawkins was--and probably still is--this sassy, American scholar-diva. She was tall, blonde, and gutsy, with what I think was a broad Texan accent.  The title of her lecture was "Classics & Trash." Awesome. So American. The kind of woman that makes an Englishmen swoon.

I admired her. And wish I could find that kind of courage now. I mean, I've had it before, I used to teach at NYU, for goodness sake! If that doesn't take balls, I don't know what does! But this is different. Like presenting a lecture before your family--and I have a highly critical family.

I want most of all to make a good showing. To confirm my status and place as a Shakespeare scholar and performance historian. I am torn between talking about my experience seeing an amazing production of Othello in Alaska last April, or pulling together some thoughts that I've had about the final moments of Hamlet, inspired by two recent productions I have seen both here in Stratford (with David Tennant and Patrick Stewart) and at Shakespeare in the Park in  NYC. Either would be fine, but I want to be better than fine. I want to be excellent. 

So, instead of knuckling down and pinning down exactly what I am going to talk about, I am focussing my energy on worrying about what to wear (Oh, how I miss J. Crew); unpacking the countless boxes that have just arrived from New York; and watching the rain... 

First impressions - Tuesday, 26 August 2008

Tuesday, 26 Aug 2008

Barford, Warwickshire

My first full day in Barford.

Beautiful rural village in the heart of Warwickshire - my beloved "Shakespeare Country."

Serpentine country lanes slinking through lush, emerald green fields. Roadsides lined with delicate, white morning-glories, red poppies, and nearly black boysenberries.

Lucy and I walked a mile about the village this morning, and wandered up to "Middle Watchbury Farm." There, the City Princess Puppy had her first experience of barnyard animals. She delighted in all the new smells: freshly-tilled earth, hay, sheep, and pigs. She was completely fascinated by the pigs in their pen. And she gleefully chased chickens across the barn yard.

The weather -- what I call "English perfect" - warm, overcast, grey with a breeze, and sudden bursts of sunlight. Perfect running weather, perfect weather for writing, perfect weather for a moody girl like me.

I am living the life I imagined, as Thoreau once said, and I think I have come home...