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Trains are surely the greatest idea ever. England is train heaven. Picture any nice model train set. It looks like England.

England is cozy. The houses, the people, whole mess.

They've managed to come up with something that is bigger than a car, smaller than a van, but not an SUV or a mini-van. I don't know what to call it except taxi.

The plane from Austin to Houston was not crowded, and I was assigned an aisle seat. After Houston, the plane was continuing to Cancun, so I suspect that I was the only person on the plane packing gloves and a leather jacket. Houston to London was similarly uneventful. I again had an aisle seat (thank you Continental), and this time the flight was packed. Originally there was a standing offer for people to spend the night in Houston and fly the next day for $500 in waivers, yada yada yada, but by the time we started boarding, they announced that there were enough seats, and could the volunteers reclaim their tickets. I can only suppose that several people died while trying to board. I sat next to a young man about my age wearing a Milan t-shirt and carrying a Greek passport. He didn't speak English, and had no trouble falling asleep during the flight. I spent the first half hour reading; then watched part of Beauty and the Beast; then ate chicken pasta that tasted about as one would expect a microwave chicken pasta to taste; then pretended to sleep for the next six hours or so. I figured that if I could go to sleep at what my body felt was 5:30 in the evening, all the better. Or, if I didn't go to sleep, I could at least make my body feel bad about it later; it should have slept when it had the chance. The pilot had the "fasten seatbelts" sign on for most of the trip, but the turbulence was disappointing. The outside temperature held steady at -50¼C for most of the journey; Holy Crap, that's cold! If you were out in that, and spit, well, nothing more spectacular would happen than you falling, possibly intersecting your spittle on the way down. But if you weren't falling, and weren't traveling at over a thousand kilometers per hour, your spit would bounce (if there were something for it to bounce on). Landing in Gatwick was unexciting. Having a British passport makes things Ÿber-easy. At least, I think it does. Maybe an American passport is equally easy.... Anyway, baggage retrieval was simple, no luggage was lost, and other than a dark spot on my iBook (probably my fault), everything seems in perfect condition.
The train station is connected to Gatwick, so the light rain didn't bother anything. I had forgotten (though the flight crew reminded us in every time zone) that it was New Years Day, and was a bit startled by the party folk returning by train from London to wherever they roost. One excited young man first performed a whirling hammer throw stunt with a caution cone, then stole his companion's cigarette, and the next time I looked over, his pants were around his knees. Apparently he had either wet himself or not, I didn't catch which. Training is incredibly fun. Lots of cozy British countryside to see, etc, etc. Arriving in Reading, I found a cab easily, tried to underpay (misread the meter), then woke up the landlady of Abadair House, where I am currently. She was out until a quarter of five, though she had to feed the horses belonging to her daughter this morning because her daughter apparently was partying more. Anyway, my goal ten minutes ago was not to fall asleep today. My new goal is to sleep for an hour and a half, then not sleep again today. Stupid time zones.

After moving my disgustingly heavy bags into my room, I decided to discover British culture in its essence. So I turned on the tube, and watched a bit of Weakest Link, then wrote the above, then slept a bit, and then went exploring. Having no idea where I was in Reading, or where anything else was, I adopted the Dirk Gently method of travel and followed someone for four blocks, then followed five people for about ten more. I wound up at the Oracle, a ginormous shopping center, exactly as intended (essence of culture, and all). The Oracle proper was fantastic, if you're into malls. I bought a double espresso at DandyHands (that's not really what it's called; I just forgot) for £1.20; it was so large that the girl working had to transfer it from the espresso cup to a tea cup. I also purchased 10 minutes of internet time for 50p, which was just enough time to email the family. I then wandered around the town centre (i.e. shopping centre) for a couple of hours. Britons are apparently fond of Fords; they have a Ford Scorpion and a Ford Fiesta. I also spotted a Nissan Sunny. Apparently car names must imply the exact opposite of your current situation. Other shops include Pizza Hut, KFC, Chili's, McDonalds, Subway, etc. The theatre is showing all of the movies that American theaters are showing. I don't know why a Brit would want to see a film about the American Civil War, but oh well. Pizza is now delivered all over Reading, as is Chinese food. Douglas Adams would be proud. I failed in my only task today: finding a cheap watch. The cheapest I could find was a £69 Seiko. I need to find a Wal-Mart equivalent. Woolworths looked promising, but didn't carry watches. On the way back home, I purchased a 7" pizza for £5.99, and unwittingly received a second free; apparently there was a sale. Now I have an extra pizza in my room that will probably be consumed tomorrow. Weather was rainy but pleasant. Anita would be cold.

The thing that struck me the most about being in England is not the accents, or the odd looking cars, or even the tendency for kabob shops to specialize in hamburgers and pizza. It's the road signs. I've become so accustomed to US road signs that I don't even read them anymore. The red one is a stop sign, unless it's part white, then it's yield. The blue shield with a red crown is an interstate, probably I35. Here the colors are different, the lines on the pavement are different. I don't look the wrong way when crossing the road, though I almost didn't look at all because I was trying to comprehend a no parking sign. It was blue, not white with a red P crossed out.

Throughout journeying, I continue to get anticipatory flutters. I'm not nervous persay, just anticipating. Like when you're on a roller coaster that you've ridden before, and you're clattering up the big hill, and you can see the first cars disappearing ahead of you, and you think, "Here we go! This is it!"

Brits apparently like to mock themselves, not personally, but as a culture. I saw a show on 4 about favorite British holidays, and why Brits are so pathetic when they go there. Apparently English are in awe of and admire everyone, French, German, Italian, Greek, Spanish, but would still rather be English.

I've been watching darts. These guys are insane. On guy just needed 125 to win, so he went double bull, single bull, double bull. And they all have nicknames like "The Count" "The Dazzler" "The Viking" and it's embroidered on the back of their silk darts shirt.

Everything closes on Sunday. Well, except church and the mall. But everything I wanted to do was thwarted by Christianity.

Also saw the ugliest car I have ever seen. Picture the top of a minivan glued onto a convertible early 90's Toyota. And the pieces don't even fit right. The minivan part has its own headlights. It's a Fiat of some sort. Also saw many cars made by Vauxhall. Never heard of 'em. Mini's are probably still the cutest cars on the road, both the old and the new.

Monday (5th)
I went by the Accommodation Office first, thinking that perhaps there would be someone there who would solve all of my problems by pointing me at someone with a room to let and telling me what to ask them. Instead the office worker pointed me at the list of properties online and told me to get busy. No helpful advice, no encouragement.
In the meantime, I had been talking to Graham Thomas, also in the accommodation office, only trying to get into the halls. Graham, a husband of eight years and recently a father, was studying investment finance and wanted to get into the halls because his house was in Warwick and his old off-campus house flooded. We talked about the semester he had spent at Purdue, and how he thought I could get the most from studying at Reading. He told me straight away that the halls would be a better, more authentic experience. So I believed him, and, instead of going to the estate agency, followed him to tour his new abode in Windsor Hall. Typical dormitory, except that smoking is allowed indoors. Or perhaps that is typical here. He was satisfied, and I was convinced by his satisfaction that I might want to opt for a room in halls as well. So I went to the Study Abroad office, told them the story, and asked where they could place me. On an off chance I asked about self-catered, and after some telephoning discovered that there was a self-catered room available at the Bulmershe campus, a mile or two away. I took it (self-catered rooms are rare), and that's where I am writing this from on Wednesday.
Graham returned to his studying (he has a week of exams coming, and missed substantial amounts of class due to his wife's pregnancy; good luck Graham!).
So I walked toward Bulmershe, found an interesting footpath, and promptly became comfortably lost in the woods. I emerged in a residential area, checked my map behind the trees (didn't want to be identified as a lost tourist), and proceeded to Bulmershe campus via pavement. It's a very cozy campus dominated by the education faculty. I don't think there is anything here except for the education school. The area is very nice, more residential than Reading near Whiteknights campus, and very pleasant for walking. There's at least one grade school not far from Bulmershe, uniforms and all.

Tuesday (6th)
Today was the last night I would stay at Abadair house, and since I have a place to stay tomorrow there was nothing to do. So naturally I found interesting looking people and followed them. My first target was predictably heading toward town centre, but turned to go into a news shop, so I switched to three older gentlemen who were talking quite animatedly. They continued toward town centre, and had passed the Oracle shopping centre when, with no warning whatsoever, one of them darted right into a casino. The other two continued as if nothing had occurred. So I followed them some more. About four blocks later, again without warning, one of the fellows turns around and comes running back the other way (toward the casino?). The third man continued as though nothing had happened. He eventually stopped at a bus stop, and I silently congratulated him on being the only person to successfully conquer his gambling addiction.

Wednesday (7th)
Moved today. Luggage barely fit into the taxi (this one was a Ford sedan). Other than the weight of my luggage, I had no problems moving in to my new room. My window looks out on the wood, through which I have found a shortcut to campus that doesn't involve lengthly periods of lostness. It's fairly standard dorm room setup. My hall is next to the much newer, more expensive halls with en suite bathrooms. Basically it's just like being in Prather. It's older, rooms are bigger than normal, it's not close to my classes, it's next to the fancy new rooms, it's near a big sports centre.... Although I don't have an RA that I know about, the rooms are semi-cleaned once a week, and you can smoke in your room. The fire detectors are supposedly very sensitive; they caution en suite residents to close the shower door and be sure to turn on the steam vent. But they still let you smoke in your room; just open the window. Weird. Tolerance of smoking ranks in the to ten strange differences between here and America.
The Commons Room bar at (actually in a building near) my hall is the coolest bar I have ever been to. It's not smokey, drinks are about the same price as they are in Austin (£2.30 for a Guinness), and there's all kinds of fun ways to look stupid. They have pool (not snooker, just 8-ball...), a ping-pong table, video games, a projector for tv (football, etc), a chest high Jenga set, a giant connect four set, coffee shop style seating upstairs, lights and a dance floor with a dj stand, and it's cool. I still haven't met anyone to go with me though. I talked to these Greek (I think) guys who live on my floor, who enlightened me about some kitchen protocol (apparently I had opened their drawer in search of a can opener). Their all around 30+ and doing masters' in meteorology.
Walked around a lot. Found the Woodley town centre, where there is a Waitrose (food store).

Thursday (8th)
Walked around some more. I walk a lot. I tried a new path in the woods and came out at the Earley train station (one stop before Reading). So I walked back to Reading, ate some kebab, followed some people, standard fare. I went by the Study Abroad office to make sure I hadn't missed any deadlines, meetings, etc., and was presented with names and telephone numbers of other international students in Reading. As though I, Johnson Carroll, am going to call people I don't know. It should be obvious: I'm terrifically shy.

Friday (9th)
I turns out that I am terrifically shy. I was leaving the hall, headed for parts unkown, when I saw a girl with loads of luggage, blond hair, blue eyes, can only have been Gunn, the Norwegian girl brought up by the study abroad office denizens yesterday. But before I realized who she was, what she was doing, and that I should help her with the luggage, I was already off-campus walking toward Woodley. There was nothing to do then but curse my cowardly nature and keep walking.
Personal goals of the day include making the internet work in my room and, well, that's all really.
The internet works, after many failed attempts. First, the modem wouldn't dial the number correctly. I don't know why. It would dial, and the dial tone would continue throughout. But dialing the ISP number on the phone brought about the usual modem connection noises (quite painful on the handset). So I walked into town, looked in every computer/electronics/telephone shop for an RJ-11 telephone splitter, which would allow me to dial on the phone, then let the modem take over. But no, the British have their own telephone connector, and nobody carries anything to do with the American standard (which, incidentally, is the standard of modems everywhere, so someone should have had something). Finally I found a small device that splits a British socket into a British socket and an American socket. Damn thing is a little piece of plastic with no more than a few centimeters of copper wire, but it cost eight bloody pounds. It's ridiculous. I also bought a pocket knife at The Nature Store (read Discovery Channel store) because 1) they were on sale, 2) I was missing mine, and 3) if the splitter didn't work, I needed something to strip wires; the internet would work, or I'd show it the meaning of pain. Fortunately, the splitter did the job perfectly. I just plugged it all in, and the modem could suddenly dial properly.
So I checked my email, did some internet work, and wondered how I would be able to keep track of the amount of time I had spent online. I only have 100 hours a month, and keeping track of 100 hours by hand is difficult. So I thought that it was a simple enough task, no doubt some up-and-coming programmer has thrown together a net-usage monitor. But the only programs I could find were disabled shareware (i.e. the program would only do the job for, say, five days unless you paid the authors money). Well, that's also ridiculous.
So my thoughts turned to my own training in the computer arts; I've done a bit of programming in quite a few languages. I should be able to whip together something like this in a few hours. Wrong. Instead I spent the next six hours pouring through documentation and not finding the things I was looking for. Oh well.

Saturday (10th)
Slept late again. At this rate, I'll never make it to the meeting Monday morning.