Happy Birthday, Kate

My muse Kate Bush is turning 52 today. Here's Kate performing a rocking version of "Running Up That Hill" with Pink Floyd's David Gilmour at The Secret Policeman's Ball in 1987.

Notes from underfoot

Blogger continues to add goodies as it competes with WordPress, with the addition of new "share icons" that appear at the end of each post. You can now easily email, Twitter or Facebook a blog post if it strikes your fancy. And I hope it does.

While I was in Europa, there was a big kerfuffle at The Paris Review (which has never accepted or denied any of my work and never will) with the incoming editors deciding not to publish any of the work previously accepted by the outgoing editors. While I understand the need for a fresh start, this is just more tacky, po'biz shit. With literary magazines struggling to survive, this move is sure to send subscriptions plummeting. Daniel Nester has done a seven part series on the mess, and if you want read all about it start with his first post at this link.

eBooks are suddenly getting more ink, especially after The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo topped 1 million eBook sales for the Kindle. Read the story at this link. There's also a raging debate (still) on how much an eBook should cost. Some believe books by new authors should be as low as $1.99 or $2.99 (hell to the no!), while publishers think $12.99 is a happy medium. The eBook version of Conquering Venus sells for $5.99 on Amazon, which means I'm seeing pennies in royalties.

I'm a big proponent of Kindle, Nook, iPad or whatever type of eReader you might have. Some publishers want to charge full price for the eBook, which is just stupid, but I do hope some price is decided upon by all the stakeholders so that the writers and publishers both win.

One last Conquering Venus note: I just updated the Venus blog with a post about my visit to Rue Rampon in Paris and posted some more pictures. Check it out here. I can't believe the novel has been out for a year!

Anything to declare?

Why, yes... Charles de Gaulle Airport is the seventh circle of hell and the worst airport in the world. De Gaulle must be spinning in his grave knowing what kind of fuckery happens there in his name. I've been through some shitty airports, but de Gaulle takes the cake. By all appearances, it looks like a big, modern operation, but inside it's actually 1974 and people don't know there asses from their elbows.

Now let me qualify this with the fact that I was flying standby out of Paris. I already knew that I might be bumped from a couple of flights before I finally got one back to the states. The night before, my friend who had arranged the buddy pass for me, had texted and said both flights to Atlanta were already full and I should try to get on the more open Cincinnati flight. The rule of thumb is to get back to the states on any flight available and then sort out getting home. So, he switched me to the 10:40 a.m. flight to Cinci and I arrived at the airport two hours ahead of time. I should have been there four hours ahead, because here's where the backasswards fuckery began.

The check-in counters were like something from a Costa-Gavras film or maybe the evacuation of Saigon. People of every nationality, luggage piled high, screaming children with the lines to every airline snaking and weaving through the terminal. The line for the Delta counter was wrapped around the terminal several times, and there were immigration people carrying laptops trying to go down the line and check everybody. I told one of the staff that I was on the Cincy flight and I would surely miss it if I had to stand in the line, but she told me to stay put.

About a half-hour later, a woman comes through the line shouting for people who are trying to make the Cincinnati flight. We're all herded together around a guy with a laptop, who takes a cursory glance at our passports and puts a little sticker on back. We're then bumped to the head of the line (you should have seen the look on the people's face who had been waiting there for hours), our bags checked and we're told to run to the gate. Yeah, right.

The gate, of course, is on the opposite end of the airport and you have to go through a slow as molasses immigration line and then security. The only thing I can say positively about this is that at least we didn't have to take our shoes off. By the time I got to the gate, I was a panting, sweaty mess and the flight was already boarding. I looked around and saw nearly a dozen other standby hopefuls, and then I started listening in on their chatter.

There were two Jersey Shore-type girls who had been trying to get out of Paris for two days. They'd had opportunities to take separate flights, but didn't want to leave each other. There was another family who had also been trying to get out for two days and a trio of women who worked in baggage services for Delta who were on holiday and had been stranded for a day. I started having visions of going back to the hotel or sleeping in the airport. Only one standby person got on the Cinci flight -- one of the trio of baggage handlers. The rest of us waited around the gate counter and got re-booked on a flight to Pittsburgh. Ten minutes later, and for reasons still unknown, the entire flight to Pittsburgh was cancelled and we were rebooked to Philadelphia.

Most of the standby folk wandered off to get something to eat or to the other gate, but the two women who worked baggage stayed around to talk to the gate agent, who started looking for options to get out of Paris. They tried looking for connections in Dublin, Amsterdam and even Dubai, but it just wasn't happening. The gate agent said the chances of getting on the Philadelphia flight were zero. They decided to go and buy tickets to get out of Paris, because they had to get home. I decided to go and check on buying a ticket myself, which turned into a huge mistake.

I had to go back to the Delta ticket counter, which meant going back through immigration, security and down to the terminal where the mile-long line was now two miles long. I went over to one of the Sky Miles/Medallion counters that was empty and a very nice lady tried to find me a flight. The cheapest she found was more than $2,000. Moral of the story -- never try to buy a one-way seat an hour before the flight at the airport. The nice ticket lady said my best bet was to pray and hope I got on the Philly flight. That began the odyssey of going back through customs (I have three stamps from France in my passport as I technically left and re-entered the country) and security again. By this time, I was so exhausted, I thought I was going to faint.

I finally got back to the gate where the Philly flight was departing only to learn that it had been moved to  another gate on the opposite end of the terminal. My mouth went dry and I just about lost my shit. I managed to get down to the other gate and they had already boarded the plane and again there was only one seat available for a standby passenger. Again, none of the families and friends wanted to be separated and the baggage ladies must have successfully bought a ticket because they weren't there. That left me and one other guy to argue with each other at the counter. And we did. He said he'd been there since 8 a.m. and I laughed in his face. I told him I had to be back in the states for my job and he could shove it. The exasperated gate agent reached over the counter, took my passport and seat request card out of my hand and gave me a boarding pass.

The plane was already on the tarmac, so they had another agent drive me out there in a van. When I was going up the steps to the plane, I tripped and fell. Figures. I was stuck in coach in the middle seat between an old woman, who was already drunk, and a young woman with a screaming baby girl. The girl screamed for about seven of the nine hours we were on the flight to Philly. The old alcoholic next to me kept dropping stuff, demanding more booze and had to get up three times in two hours to pee.

While I was standing in the aisle waiting for the old sot to return, a woman sitting behind me tapped me on the arm and said she had been on a cruise with the alcoholic and she had been a total nightmare. Another woman sitting across the aisle joined in and regaled me with stories about how their trip had been ruined because of her behavior. The woman returned from the bathroom (she had taken a book and was gone for 20 minutes -- oy vey!) and decided she was going to play solitare. I had my headphones on and was watching The Ghost Writer (total shit with Ewan McGregor phoning it in), The Green Zone (Matt Damon doing Bourne-light in Baghdad) and a United States of Tara marathon (Toni Collette is brilliant).

The baby finally exhausted herself and the old gin rummy passed out, her deck of cards scattering to the floor. When I finally got off the plane, she was still crawling under the seats trying to find her cards, her skirt tucked in the back of her underwear and lipstick smeared up the side of her face.

Philadelphia, thankfully, was a snap. I made my connecting flight to Atlanta (although the hike from international to the domestic gate was a death march) and Delta had somehow kept track of my suitcase during all those flight changes. Delta, actually, was quite professional and helpful, but how they operate out of de Gaulle and keep their sanity is beyond me.

So, it's a week later and I'm still trying to adjust back to US time. I keep waking up at 4 a.m. and I'm ready for bed by 8 or 9 p.m. Oh, to be back in England...

Paris is Burning

I boarded the Eurostar to Paris at London's St. Pancras station. When I was in the city in 2007, St. Pancras was just opening, and I actually saw PM Gordon Brown on his way to dedicate the newly renovated station and Eurostar terminal. The station, opened in 1868, is a mix of the historic and the ultra-modern. The soaring glass ceiling is a marvel and a statue of former UK poet laureate Sir John Betjeman looking up into the light is prominent on the mezzanine with these lines inscribed in the floor:

And in the shadowless unclouded glare
Deep blue above us fades to whiteness where
A misty sea-line meets the wash of air.

This trip from London to Paris was in honor of my first visit 15 years ago, the one that inspired Conquering Venus. I wanted to retrace the steps, find some sense memory in the journey as I write the sequel. There was definitely some nostalgia as the train sped across southern England, under the Channel and northern France. Pulling into Gare du Nord, which hadn't changed at all, brought back a flood of recollections. The station is an amazing melting pot of languages, smells and sounds. It's like no other place in the world. If you ever travel to Paris, I suggest alighting at Gare du Nord.

My hotel, New Hotel Gare du Nord, was, literally, across the street from the station. Most of the travel sites listed it as a two star, so I wasn't expecting much. The room was tiny, but clean, which is really all I care about at a hotel. The only shitty thing was the promised free wi-fi wasn't working, so I had to walk down the street to McDonald's. This was the one and only time I ate fast food in Europe. I had a le double cheese, petite frite et grande Coke, and I'm not ashamed to say it was pretty damn tasty.

I had totally forgotten how to get anywhere on the Metro and RER, so I pulled out my little map and reacquainted myself. If you know the number and color of the line you want to take and the terminus station at each end, it's actually quite easy. The Metro and RER run alongside each other, but the RER is a commuter train that runs further into the burbs and makes less frequent stops. Another great thing about staying at Gare du Nord: most of the major Metro and RER lines intersect there.

I bought a carnet – a stack of 10 tickets – and set off for Ile de la Cite, the island in the center of the Seine where Notre-Dame is located. This is one my favorite spots in the city and I knew the late afternoon light would be beautiful for some photographs. I walked around the island, sat for a moment in the plaza at Notre-Dame and then went down to walk along the Seine on the Left Bank.

On Friday, I headed to Republique Square and Rue Rampon, which is where much of the action takes place in Conquering Venus. Rue Rampon was just as a I remembered and it was surreal to be back there. The building with the long balcony full of flowers was still there, unchanged from 15 years ago. I could almost image Irène there waving down to me. The former Bel Air is now a posh boutique hotel called Le General, but the facade is the same. I'm sure I looked like some kind of crazy making notes and taking pictures of everything on Rue Rampon.

From the Republique Metro station, I took the RER down to Place Monge station and walked to the Jardin des Plantes, Paris' botanical garden. A big scene in the Venus sequel takes place here and I had only seen photographs, so actually being there was amazing. The garden is full of historic buildings, shady avenues, a massive greenhouse and rows and rows of flowers and vegetables. There's also beautiful artwork dotted throughout, including the statue of Venus Genetrix. I found a bench on a long, shady avenue of trees and sat and wrote for awhile in my notebook. I didn't want to leave, but I had to get back and freshen up to meet my friend and fellow poet Cecilia Woloch for dinner.

Cecilia suggested we meet in Place des Vosges, a beautiful square full of fountains and playgrounds ringed by townhouses and shops. It was another beautiful evening, and the temperature had cooled down a bit. We sat and talked for a bit and then walked to the Left Bank to stop in Shakespeare & Co. bookshop. It was packed with people and we chatted with the clerk about upcoming events and recently released books. Cecilia bought a new copy of A Moveable Feast and then we walked along Quai de Montebello to Cafe Panis for dinner. We took a table right on the street with a commanding view of Notre-Dame and the Seine. It was great to catch up with Cecilia over wine and omelets.

We walked back across Ile de la Cite through the side garden of Notre-Dame and crossed over Pont Saint-Louis to Ile de Saint-Louis for ice cream at Le Flore en L'Isle. This little place along the Seine was rumored to have some of the best ice cream and sorbet in Paris, and it did not disappoint. I had a scoop of the chocolate noir and it made me want to snap into a diabetic coma. Cecilia and I perched on a wall watching the bateaux sail along the river as the sun began to set. It was a magical, amazing evening.

We walked back to Cecilia's flat (on the top floor of a beautiful building in the Marais district) and the streets and cafes were buzzing on a Friday night. It was a long walk, but I saw so many little corners of Paris I'd never seen before and we wound up back at Republique Square where Cecilia and I said our goodbyes.

This visit to Paris was far too short.

To Avalon

Last Tuesday, I said goodbye to Karen and Colin (excellent hosts!) in Oxford and headed to Rochester in Kent to stay overnight with my friends Peter and Krys. Although we keep up on Facebook, I hadn't seen them in three years, so it's always a treat to visit their sweet little house, which they call Avalon.

We decided to drive down to Elham, a tiny village not far from the English Channel to have dinner at the Rose & Crown. Once we turned off the motorway, it was like stepping into a postcard: the narrow roads lined with hedgerows, the green, gently rolling hills, the amazing late afternoon light. Elham and the Rose & Crown are not tourist traps, so it was cool to get a glimpse of rural village life in the UK. Peter and Krys said they had been driving down to eat there for 20 years, and the food did not disappoint. I had a big steak and chips, and it was perfectly cooked.

After dinner, we drove down to Dymchurch to visit Ian at his home on the Channel. We drove along the sea wall and there were still Martello towers and gun placements left over from the Napoleonic Wars and used during World Wars I and II. At Ian's, we walked up a short path to the sea wall and there was the English Channel. It was a bit hazy, but you could see the lighthouse at Dungeness and, very faintly, pinpoints of light from France across the 22-mile stretch.

We all sat around Ian's kitchen table drinking wine, talking about music, people we know and love (and a few we hate) and tasting an assortment of cheeses, including marmite (not as bad as I thought it would be). We laughed, cried, laughed and had a fantastic time. I fell asleep on the drive home, so it seemed I closed my eyes as we were leaving Dymchurch and magically awoke in Rochester.

The next morning, Krys took me out to her wonderful little studio in the back garden for our photo shoot. It had always been Krys' dream to start her own photography business and she's finally taken the plunge. Her work is stunning. She has such an amazing eye for capturing faces and moods, and I was honored to be one of her subjects. The photos of me are the best ever taken, which I put down to being comfortable in the studio, being in England and the photographer knowing just went to click the shutter. Thank you, Krys, for making me look fab.

In the afternoon, I packed up again and Krys and Peter drove me over to Greenwich to see my friend, John. We spent the afternoon having tea, talking about music, writing, the state of poetry and publishing.  His house always smells like incense and his garden is absolutely magical. I always feel a little transported when I'm there -- maybe a little The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe-ish.

That evening, I caught the train and made my way to the Tavistock Hotel in Bloomsbury, where I encountered the first minor nightmare of my trip. The hotel had no record of my reservation and when they called Travelocity to confirm, they were no help either. Despite being told by three different people that the hotel was full, they somehow managed to put me in a room overlooking Tavistock Square. The television didn't work and when I came downstairs to use wi-fi in the lobby, the keycard mechanism on my door malfunctioned and I couldn't get back inside. It took two people using pliers and long thin skeleton keys to finally force the door, but once inside, I couldn't leave the room again until I was checking out. Maybe the lost reservation was a sign.

Since I was basically under house arrest, I did a little writing, watched Ashes to Ashes on my laptop and went to bed early since I was leaving the next morning for Paris.

Station to Station

Backing up to a week ago: After our weekend visit to Cardiff, Karen and Colin went back to teaching and I caught the coach (conveniently located across Gloucester Green from our cottage in Oxford) down to London. The trip takes about two hours, but the buses are big and comfy and even have wi-fi, plus you get to see the English countryside and suburbia along the way.

I somehow managed to get my friends Louise, Ian and Carrie all in one place at the same time on Monday afternoon – the main hall at Victoria Station. Louise arrived early, so we went upstairs for a bite to eat at Garfunkel's, a chain restaurant in England that serves a little bit of everything, and to catch up. I first met Lou five years ago at the launch party for Kate Bush's Aerial album and we've remained close ever since. Ian is another Kate fan I met in 2007 at a gathering of Kate fans and I've known Carrie for nearly 20 years. She lived in Atlanta for a bit, then married a lovely Brit name Roger and they now live in Kent and have two beautiful babies.

Ian suggested we walk over to the posh Grosvenor Hotel adjacent to the station and have a bottle of wine in their lounge, so we did. It was lovely to catch up with them. That's Lou and Ian in the lounge at the Grosvenor above. I caught the 8 p.m. coach back to Oxford and it was an absolutely beautiful night. I don't know if I mentioned it earlier, but in the summer the sun comes up around 5 a.m. and it stays light until nearly 10:30 p.m. There were so many people out in Hyde Park and walking along eating ice cream. I just love London and wish I could live there full-time. Where is that sugardaddy of mine?

On the coach, I sat across from an Indian woman, who got on the bus at Marble Arch and promptly cranked up her iPod. I could hear traditional Indian music leaking from her earbuds. We were sitting in traffic across from Victoria Gate when the woman started to cry. She cried all the way to Oxford. I was making up scenarios in my head, but the music must have brought back powerful memories of home or someone she was missing or had lost. I felt badly for her, but she seemed to not want to be bothered, so I left her alone. I've already written a poem about it.

For the next blog, I'll talk about my visit with Peter and Krys at their home in Kent and our beautiful night on the English Channel.

Cardiff report

So, backing up to last weekend: Karen, Colin and I left Oxford by train early in the morning for our trip to Cardiff. After two connections, a delay in Swindon and a nail-biter as Colin raced back to the train after he realized he'd left his camera onboard, we arrived in sunny Cardiff and were met by poet Ivy Alvarez and her partner Mark Heseltine. Mark whisked our bags away and Ivy took us on a tour of Cardiff Bay, home to the Torchwood headquarters and the Doctor Who Museum.

I didn't bring a hat or sunscreen, so I blistered quite badly on the long walk down to the bay from the train station. We had to stop a couple of times because I felt like I was having heatstroke. Sunscreen and heatstroke are not the first things that come to mind in Wales, but now I know better.

Cardiff Bay is a marvel, mainly because it's only existed for about a decade. The bay was created by building a barrage at the mouth of the rivers Taff and Ely to form a lake. The derelict docklands area was regenerated with high-end apartments, shops, the construction of Roald Dahl Plass and its centerpiece, the Millennium Centre.

I have to admit I was a bit disappointed to find that the Cardiff Food and Wine Festival had taken over Roald Dahl Plass, obscuring the filming locations for Torchwood and Doctor Who. The water tower, the entrance to the Torchwood Hub, was decorated with giant fruit for god's sake! Anyway... we had a bit to  eat, walked through the festival and then headed over to Red Dragon Center to visit the Doctor Who Museum.

Colin was a bit disappointed since the museum mostly deals with the new series, which means more David Tennant and almost none of the other Doctors. However, there were nifty bits like the TARDIS replica, plenty of Cybermen and Daleks, K-9, costumes and more. Somehow, I stopped myself from buying anything in the gift shop, which had every Doctor Who toy available.

In the evening, Ivy and Mark took us to the The Conway (a former "old man's pub," as Ivy called it), which has been transformed into a trendy gastropub. We all had big meals (mine was a steak), but we were all exhausted from walking about, so it was an early evening.

On Sunday, Karen and I gave our reading at the Old Orleans pub. It's located in the transformed Cardiff city centre, which is now one huge pedestrian walkway full of shops, restaurants and the old St. John the Baptist Church. Ivy said the reading was one of the most well-attended in weeks and Karen and I were thrilled to see nearly every chair full. We did separate sets, which was followed by an open mic and then we did a round-robbin with Karen and I taking turns reading poems prompted by a word, phrase or general mood from each other's work. We even sold some books!

Many, many thanks to Ivy, Mark and Mab Jones for being such excellent hosts in Cardiff. Make sure to read Karen's blog about the visit to Cardiff and to see more photos.

Quick Update

I haven't had much time to put anything on the blog the last couple of days, but it's been an amazing start to the week. I'll have a longer recap on Cardiff soon. Today, I'm down in Kent with my dear friends Peter and Krys. I'm about to head out to Krys' studio for a photo shoot. She does amazing work, and I can't wait to see what turns out. Last night, we drove down to the coast to Elham for a delicious dinner at the Rose & Crown and then on to Dymchurch to see our friend Ian at his beautiful home on the English Channel. It was absolutely amazing to be their at dusk standing on the sea wall. Photos to come!

Torchwood town

Lovers of Doctor Who and Torchwood will recognize the Millennium Centre at Cardiff Bay. More photos to come! Karen and I gave our reading yesterday at the Old Orleans pub in the city center and it was a great audience. Many thanks to Ivy Alvarez and Mab Jones for hosting us. We also watched Spain win the World Cup at the pub (the Psychic Octopus was right again!). Headed back to Oxford this morning and then it's on to London for me!

If you happen to be in Cardiff today...

How do I start, where do I begin...

It's Friday evening in Oxford and I just got back from a day-trip to London with Karen and Colin. More on that in a second.

Yesterday, we browsed through the Gloucester Green market (pictured left), which was full of antiques, clothing, toys, stamps, coins, record albums, furniture, fixtures, jewelry and nicknacks galore. It was another gorgeous day, and I was on a mission to find a new toiletry bag since my shampoo bottle exploded and ruined the one I bought with me. Searching through a box of purses, I found one for just a £1. A bargain! I resisted the temptation to buy books and a postman's key from London. What the hell would I do with that anyway?

After the market, we strolled over to the beautiful Ashmolean Museum of Art and Archeology (pictured below). The building has recently been renovated, so it's ancient on the outside and ultra-modern on the inside. They have an amazing room full of musical instruments, including a Stradivarius violin made in 1716. There's also an amazing selection of sculpture, china and more than I could possibly list here. It's definitely worth a visit.

We had lunch in the Jericho neighborhood of Oxford – full of trendy boutiques and shops – at a patisserie called Maison Blanch. I had afternoon tea with Earl Grey and a delicious buttered scone.  I was still full from the English breakfast that morning in the Worcester College dining hall. American cooks need to come over here and learn the secret of England's scrambled eggs. They are fluffy and light and taste incredible.

I gave my lecture on social media in the afternoon to a full house of students not only from Karen's class, but from Colin's as well. I talked about using Facebook, Twitter, blogs, etc. They students had insightful questions and comments.

Last night, some old friends of Colin – Andrew and Janet – dropped by the cottage for a visit and we wound up over at the Worcester pub. We started talking about Kate Bush, and Janet said she had seen Kate's one and only concert tour in 1979. Sigh. She is incredibly lucky and I'm jealous as hell.

This morning we took the coach to London to see the Sally Mann exhibit at The Photographer's Gallery. It was a retrospective featuring the controversial images of her children (Karen called her the Sharon Olds of photography), the haunting images of Civil War battlefields and, most disturbing of all, the images of decomposing bodies at the Tennessee Forensic Anthropology Center. Mann used the wet-plate collodion photographic process, which involves coating a large glass negative with chemicals and exposing it while still wet, often in the back of her truck after a shoot. The one image that will haunt me is of the close up of a decomposing face turning into dust and becoming part of the ground beneath it.

We headed across London to Charing Cross Road and stopped in Foyles to browse all the books. I picked up the 25th anniversary edition of Jeanette Winterson's Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit, which is gorgeous. We window-shopped at the other bookstores along Charing Cross and Cecil Court, before having lunch in the Crypt cafe of St. Martin-in-the-Fields church. The 18th century crypt is beautifully preserved and you literally dine on top of the ancient burial vaults of old Londoners. That's me in the Crypt at left.

The temperature was in the high 80s in London today, so that's a serious heatwave in a country that doesn't have much air conditioning. "London's Burning" was one of today's headlines and a health warning has been issued. Hundreds of people were in Trafalgar Square, dipping their toes in the famous fountains to stay cool. We stopped by the Fourth Plinth (where Karen famously stood last summer as part of Antony Gormley's One & Other project) to see the temporary art piece installed there – a giant ship in bottle to commemorate the Battle of Trafalgar during the Napoleonic Wars. Karen returned to the scene today, pictured at left.

After strolling through the Victoria Embankment Gardens along the Thames, we went to the Courtauld Gallery, which was filled with paintings and statues by Degas, Renoir, Van Gogh, Lautrec and countless more. I was a bit exhausted after our hike across London, but it was another amazing exhibition of work. Before we came back to Oxford we had a rare opportunity to go inside the disused Strand/Aldwych Underground Station. There was an exhibition of models and improvements coming to the Tube, but the real treat was seeing this historic station, which was used as a public air-raid shelter and to hide the artifacts from the British Museum during the London Blitz. The station is now used mostly by film and television crews to recreate the Underground in a controlled setting (you've seen it in V for Vendetta and Atonement most recently) A spectacular day in London! There's a ton of photos on my Facebook page, so check 'em out.

Tomorrow, we're off to Cardiff!

The Octopus Knows All

Yesterday was a quiet, but productive day in Oxford. After breakfast, the sky was gloomy and there was a chill in the air, so I came back to the cottage and finished writing a new chapter for the Conquering Venus sequel. The character of Frederick Dubois – lover of Jean-Louis and being hunted by Irene – now has a significant backstory. I actually skipped ahead to write this chapter because ideas for Frederick have been bubbling in my brain for weeks, so it was time to get his story on paper.

Karen and I strolled over the Gloucester Green market, which is set up under tents and long tables in the middle of the square. There was everything from clothing to candy and fresh cheese to cell phone covers. I was good and didn’t buy anything.

In the afternoon, I sat in on Karen’s class and added my two cents of critique on podcasts the students created about their time so far in Oxford and other places they have visited as part of the summer abroad program. Karen has 40 students in her class, the largest being taught at Worcester this summer.

We met up with Colin and went to eat dinner at a pizza/pasta restaurant called Fire & Stone. I thought it was excellent. The menu was huge, with pizza recipes from different parts of the world and heaping bowls of spaghetti. We sat near the big windows looking out on to George Street, which was bustling with folks and plenty of people draped in the Spainish flag for the World Cup game.

Colin and I went over to the Worcester pub to watch the German vs. Spain match and, as Paul the Psychic Octopus predicted, Spain beat Germany 1-0. We’ll be in Cardiff on Sunday for the finale, and we plan to find a pub to watch it in after Karen and I read poetry with Ivy Alvarez and Mab Jones.

This afternoon I teach the social media class, which I think will be fun. The students are talkative and engaged. Karen and I are also walking over to the Ashmolean Museum and stopping by the antique market. An update tomorrow.

A thoroughly English day

Jet lag caught up with me today. I woke up feeling tired and a bit queasy. Went over to the Worcester College dining hall ready to tuck in to a full English breakfast (bacon, eggs, beans, etc.) and only managed to eat a bowl of Rice Krispies. It takes a day or so for my body to adjust to eating at what it considers odd hours.

Last night, Karen and Colin took me on a tour of the Worcester College campus (pictured above). It is absolutely stunning. The meticulously cut quad, the flowers in bloom around the ancient buildings, the pond with its gentle waterfall and ducks and geese who have no interest in you unless you have breadcrumbs – all picture postcard perfect.

After dinner in the dining hall, we walked around the city center. We strolled down Cornmarket Street, lined with shops, Starbucks and assorted fast food restaurants, and then down to Radcliffe Square where the beautiful University Church of St. Mary’s (pictured below), the famous Radcliffe Camera building and the Bridge of Sighs is located. We also walked by Rhodes Hall (where the scholars are), by Christ Church, the Bridge of Sighs and wound up at The Turf, a pub tucked away down a narrow alley where Bill Clinton infamously did not inhale. It was a lovely night to sit out on the patio and have a pint.

Today, after resting a bit, I wandered back over to Cornmarket Street to the HMV and bought Kylie Minogue’s new album Aphrodite (it really is brilliant) and the third series of Ashes to Ashes on DVD. Those will probably be my only purchases this trip since I’m on a tight budget. Still, I can’t go home empty-handed from a trip to the UK. It would just feel wrong. I also picked up a Time Out London and was dismayed at all the things going on that I want to see and do. Joanna Lumley is in the West End in a play called La Bete, a big Sally Mann photography exhibit is at The Photographer's Gallery and Claire Denis' new movie, White Material, starring the fabulous Isabelle Huppert has opened to rapturous reviews. I need another week!

I also managed to knock out half a chapter in the Conquering Venus sequel this afternoon while listening to Kylie and the birds twitter away in the garden.

Tonight, we went over to the Worcester College pub to watch a nail-biter World Cup match between Holland and Uruguay, with Holland finally winning 3-2. Then we stayed for pub quiz night and played against groups of students from Georgia Tech. Of course, we cleaned their clocks and brought home a fine bottle of Worcester's own claret. It was a boisterous, thoroughly English evening.

Out in the garden there's half of a heaven...

I’m sitting in the dining room of a 15th century cottage in Oxford, England on a glorious summer day. The sky is deep blue and full of whispy clouds; the temperature is perfect. The doors are open to the back garden and I can hear birds singing (they all sound amazingly like the birds from Kate Bush's Aerial album, but they would wouldn't they?), wind rustling through the trees and distant voices over the garden wall. A cool, gentle breeze brings all these sounds to me. I could sit here forever.

The cottage is made of stone and sits just across Worcester Street from Worcester College at Oxford University. I’m guest lecturing on social media in Karen Head’s class on Thursday to a group of 40 students. I was a little apprehensive about this whole trip – being away for so long, not really having the time or money – but sitting here, I remember why England is my second home.

The flight over was the easiest I’ve had in 15 years of coming to the UK. I got to sit in Delta’s equivalent of first class, which means endless leg room, champagne as soon as you take your seat, a gourmet meal (the crab cakes were amazing!) and big comfy seats that fold down into beds. It meant I arrived at Gatwick feeling not nearly as horrible as I usually do because I got a little sleep. Customs, money exchange, baggage pick up and catching the Oxford Coach was a snap.

The two hour ride to Oxford on the M25 was fairly quick, although we did hit a few Monday morning tailbacks, but the countryside as we came into Oxfordshire was beautiful and we drove straight through the city center and I was awed by all the beautiful buildings. Sitting in the tailback, I was trying to imagine someone coming to England for the first time and sitting on the motorway surrounded by all the strange cars. Yes, there are Fords and Nissan Pathfinders, but there’s also the odd looking (to American eyes) Vauxhalls, Peugeots and VWs. It's almost some Fringe-like parallel universe. The most popular car in the UK is the Ford Focus, according to reports. That’s the car I just bought. I really should be living here.

So, it’s off for dinner in the dining hall at Worcester tonight and then walking around the city with Karen and Colin. It doesn't get dark until nearly 10:30 p.m. in the summer here, which I love. More photos and updates soon, and be sure to follow me on Facebook because the photos are going up there first. The pictures here are the entrance to the cottage the view over the back wall.

Oh, England, my lionheart...

This has been one of the most hectic weeks in recent memory as I prepare to leave tomorrow for England. For some reason, I seem to be having some OCD panic over what to pack and not to pack. It's like I've never been out of the country before. I keep reminding myself that there will be laundry facilities at Oxford and shops to buy toothpaste and deodorant if I run out. I'm also relieved that one of my friends will be apartment sitting while I'm away, making sure Chez Collin is secure.

I'll spend the first week at Worcester College at Oxford University guest lecturing to the Georgia Tech study abroad students on social media and literature. I'm staying with BFF's Karen and Colin in an old stone cottage just across from the campus. Although I've been to the UK a dozen times in the last 15 years, I've never visited Oxford, so I'll be playing tourist, too.

After Oxford, I'll be heading to Cardiff for a poetry reading with Karen, Ivy Alvarez and Mab Jones at The Promised Land, a pub in the city center. We're staying at The Big Sleep, a boutique hotel owned by John Malkovich. It would be a trip if he was there. The day we read is also the final match of the World Cup, so we'll be holed up in a pub watching with the masses.

I'll be visiting friends in London the second week, going down to Rochester to stay a night with BFF's Krys and Peter and then it's on to Paris, where I plan to finish (or at least get very close to finishing) the first draft of the Conquering Venus sequel. I haven't had much time to write in the run-up to my departure, so I'm a bit behind schedule. Still, being in Paris while writing about Paris should give the book an extra bit of dimension. The picture above is Saint Martin Canal, a short walk from my hotel and I'm hoping the weather is good so I can sit along the canal in this beautiful park and write. If it's raining, I'll head over to Pompidou Center for free wi-fi, great views of the city and excellent people watching.

Camera is already packed so expect lots of photos here and at Facebook. More soon!