So I got myself a Masters in English Literature…by 1%! The module where I had to write 2 essays I concocted in a day without even reading before submitting got me a higher maker.
I guess all those intelligent students who did dissertations on Sherlock Holmes and Pride and Predjudice will go on to have careers. I morphed into the exhausted aftermath of Vivienne Eliot while trying to write that, yes she was quite ill, but her writing is about her experiences of crap doctors and bodged cures and of course, sitting with flu in the Bodleian Library squinting, I was doomed to get a low great.
So I don’t feel too ‘yay’ about a masters too poor to get a PHD, a joke to intelligensia.
Vivien/ne Eliot goes back to being a much disliked ‘mad’ and of little interest. I go back to being unemployable, braindead from my druggy neighbour and of little interest.
I started writing about my 10 year string if mentally ill neighbours heard but not seen. I was going to call it ‘The Ceiling Women’…
Unable to entirely shake of literature I bought Virginia Woolf’s ‘Kew Garden Book and ‘Bee Journal’ by Sean Borodale at Kew Gardens today. My life dream is to keep bees and grow olives in Italy.
Below are some photos of the gardens including the new bee hive installation. My favourite place is Kew Palace it has such a surreal cartoonish look to it and is open during summer along with the Kitchens.
Gift shop plant called Polly
Allum’s my favourite flowers
Music manuscript in palace
The Hive. It buzzes and vibrates and lights up the more the bees work hard. But I never saw any real hive. You can climb to a glass platform.