Serenading Jeb Bush; Standing to Tony and Cleo

Is there to be no escape from the Bushes? Must they follow us here to delay our dinners and rap at our minstrel meetings?

Yesterday evening Lincoln College had the dubious honor of hosting yet another small group of Americans, these hailing from Florida. Jeb Bush is in town, apparently to see some Royal Airforce something or other, and elected to dine at our college because the chef here is rumored the best at Oxford. (I don't believe he was told that the chef is on vacation; or that this is English food after all. How good can it be?) Nothing too exciting to report, other than the number of white men in suits wandering about, lots of sleek black cars out front, and the fact that the madrigals almost weren't allowed to practice for fear that we'd disturb the lawn party. They did bang a bit on our windows, but otherwise left us alone.

Yes - I have dug out my inner diva and joined madrigals. It took a lot of courage to get over my stage fright, but I'm a decent alto, and I've discovered that singing study breaks are more refreshing than naps.


Back on one of my favorite subjects: food. All our meals are part of the tuition here, and I wish they weren't, because there is a covered market down the street that sells scrumptious-looking sandwiches and salads. Healthy things! Vegetables that haven't been boiled until they taste like water! Salads that don't contain mayonnaise. Fish not covered in a suspicious cheese sauce. I give them credit, I do think they make an effort to be creative, but they seem to only be creative in so far as what kind of cheese or cream sauce would work best, and whether to boil or fry the food until it's tasteless.

Lunch and dinner are always three course meals, and always start with soup or mayonnaise-smeared veggies. Sometimes the food is good, just because something with that much calorie-content MUST have taste somewhere. And the desserts are unbelievable: giant slices of blackforest cake, blueberry cheesecake, lemon tarts, raspberry mousse, baked apple.

Yes - I do go jogging every day in Christchurch Park, but there's a gym membership with my name on it when I get back to Arizona. Yikes. I will remember these meals for weeks to come.

* * *

Just got back from Stratford and the RSC's version of "Antony and Cleopatra." Everything about it was magnificent. We were at the Swan, which has been constructed something in the manner of a 16th century theatre, in a horseshoe shape. We were almost on stage with the actors; people in front could almost see under the Roman togas. Patrick Stewart played Antony such that you forgot he was famous; Cleopatra was not beautiful, but you would have described her as so when she walked across the stage with such presence. I fell in love with her. Which is good, because she's coming tomorrow to give a lecture at Lincoln College and then join us for a reception and dinner - "High Table," an event I'll talk about later.

There was dancing, shouting, singing, chanting. Color was used cleverly to contrast the decadence of Egypt--bright pinks and yellows and greens--with the stoicism of Rome--grays and purples and browns. They used all of the stage, including the walkways off to the side, and chased each other around the back. It was an ensemble performance, where they fed off of each other and the audience. We called them back for a standing ovation.


View of the Avon river and the back of the Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Stratford