Contrary to some people’s popular opinion, the Oxford comma is not taught in English schools. Not at ours, anyway. The debate rages on, just like the rain that pelted down one Saturday afternoon as we explored London on our own.
This post is probably the most difficult to write because it discusses how teaching in the UK for the past three and a half months has been the opposite of a picnic. Although by the time this post is published, I’ll have survived the first term. And I really do mean survived.
Any first food review from the UK should be about a fish and chip shop.
Sure, London life has been exciting and all, what with those museums and things to see. But regular life outside of attractions and tours is just as full of new experiences.
… or rather, what I like to think of as a true British experience.
There’s a reason why I keep alluding to our unpreparedness for school and then refusing to talk about it. We’ll talk about school in a bit. But not now. Now we’re going to talk about the time we had company exploring the city with us. The best company.
I meant it when we had no idea what would happen in that first week. In that time as school started, Jack discovered that Coke came in 3L bottles. Three. Litres. What.
We woke up late on the day of our orientation and ran up the hill in a mad rush. So much for those first impressions. Then our recruiter was impressed with the rate we walked (he thought we’d be ages longer) and praised us for our London pace. “Wingfoot, I name you.” said he. Oh…
In the three days we had after the wedding banquet, life went bonkers, and it’s stayed mad for quite some time.