Well, I put on my new dress and patent leather shoes, picked up my lunch box, and headed off to classes, ready for an exotic new adventure. But....the first girl I met was from West Palm Beach (the Florida one, not its obscure sister city in the Isle of Wight). She has a fiancee, something that was stressed multiple times.
First class was in the elegantly designed art and architecture building. Each of the instructors introduced him/herself, and I was happy to find that they were all working journalists; one, for the BBC (Swoon!) The assembled students, both international-wise and untranslatable fashion trend-wise looked like the Benetton ads of old.
Well, that's the good stuff. That, and the gorgeous warm and sunny weather. The bad: an obligatory, and core, course is......shorthand. Shorthand classes take up a good percentage of the total classroom time. I plan to beg off on this, since I do everything remotely, and can therefore record anything. (The rationale for the high dose of shorthand is that many Brit institutions, notably the courts, do not permit recording.)
And now: it's time for another happy dose of British chicken. It tastes mostly like poultry from other lands ("it tastes like chicken!"), but has a certain tony upper-crust sort of quality. Are you jealous yet?
