16 May 2012
Could I just begin by saying I’m a little disappointed that I had to make it through my entire first day in England without a single spot of tea? I’m not a very picky traveler, but of all places, I assumed I’d be able to find a cup here. I had to settle for some very strong coffee with dinner at five to keep my eyes open until nighttime. I was determined to stay up late enough that I’d get a respectable eight hours of sleep my first night in Liverpool. Above all, I wanted to avoid that awful sort of groggy hangover you get when you’ve had too much sleep. Somehow I managed to stay up until eleven thirty, which meant that in Indiana time, I’d essentially been awake from seven Sunday morning until six thirty Monday evening. You know, now that I type it out, it doesn’t sound nearly that bad. But throw in a two-hour flight, a seven-hour flight, and a good cry or three, and you’ll believe me when I say that it was a long day and by supper I really just wanted a cup of tea.
I’m happy to inform my justly concerned readers, however, that I’ve found tea at some point both yesterday and today, and that my mood has been significantly improved for it, and that our university liaison has taken to calling me “Teapot” (of which I heartily approve). You may rest easy. In fact, I’m drinking a cup right now.
There’s so much more I’d like to write about, like about going downtown and missing a bus, and getting lost, and walking forever, and Sam and Joe, and the Abbey Pub and Fish and Chips. But all of that will have to wait, because not even I like to read blog posts that are eight pages long, and my English flat-mates are ready to go to the Fiveways Pub with their newfangled Americans. Cheers!