After a mercifully problem-free flight into Heathrow on Saturday morning and one large, strong americano, I was collected from the airport with the other flute students and taken down to the small, rural village of Hastingleigh in Kent.
Though I'd love to tell you all more about the first day, the truth is I was so jet-lagged, I can barely remember what happened between coffees! Vague impressions of the afternoon include: trying to get in the driver's seat of the car and being gently reminded what country I was in (embarrassing for an anglophile), suffering additional time/date/location confusion due to the 80 degree heat, learning the English driver is a truly frightening and unpredictable thing, and whacking to death with a shoe the large spider that scurried out of my closet as soon as I opened it.
Though I'd love to tell you all more about the first day, the truth is I was so jet-lagged, I can barely remember what happened between coffees! Vague impressions of the afternoon include: trying to get in the driver's seat of the car and being gently reminded what country I was in (embarrassing for an anglophile), suffering additional time/date/location confusion due to the 80 degree heat, learning the English driver is a truly frightening and unpredictable thing, and whacking to death with a shoe the large spider that scurried out of my closet as soon as I opened it.
Our house is a converted dairy barn, on the grounds of a working sheep farm. I christened it (as I do every place I live) by having a massive spill within the first 24 hours of moving in. This time Greek yogurt was my spill of choice, which was disappointing as I was looking forward to having it with breakfast the next morning. These are our neighbors:
The view from our front door:
And our commute to class every morning:
Yeah, it'll do.
More later - love to you all!
Kristin
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