England is one of those countries where a car and a central location can lead you anywhere.
My last letter produced a barrage of abuse. I do not have a shoe fetish, nor am I going through a mid-life crisis.
I shall say no more.
We are on the cusp of departure and in but three days we will be hopefully scoffing down quantities of bacon and eggs in the Christchurch dining hall (thankfully now restored to its proper appearance after being used in the Harry Potter Movies.) I believe the College is suing for some “stains” left by several incontinent owls on the set.
We have hired a car and I have obtained an International Driver’s License. This document looks exactly like a ration book from the 1940’s and contains possibly the worst photo of me ever taken (and there have been many). It looks like just the sort of thing one would offer at a suspicious check point on the Austrian border in 1945.
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