Waiting for Godot

Last night I saw Waiting for Godot at the Theater Royal here in Bath. I went with some people from my Irish lit class, because we're reading the play later this semester. It was a really good production, with talented actors (it's going back to London after this week) but a lot of the ideas went over my head. Still, I'm glad I saw it.

I joined the gym, and the most challenging thing about that is trying to use the metric system. I don't do kilometers. How far have I gone? How fast am I going? But it's a really nice facility.

I can't decide on a favorite class between creative nonfiction, in which we're writing our memoirs, or In the Courts of Princes. My classes are wonderfully small:

Spanish- one on one with a tutor at Oxford (I have to take the train there and back)

In the Courts of Princes- six people

Creative Nonfiction- nine people

Irish Literature- ten people

It's fantastic. It is going to keep me on my toes. You can't get away with not being prepared, not even for one class. Classes only meet once a week, for two hours. That means lots of work outside of class, but it's not harder than M'dub. Supposedly this should be one of the easiest semesters of college, from what I've heard.

More later,
Les