Finally I’ve gotten my computer to have Internet while on a train. I have happily been reconnected to the interwebs since earlier this afternoon. Whilst Kat, Felicity and I have commandeered a table for our long journey back north to Hogwarts (we even left from Kings’ Cross), our journey has not been at all peaceful. A group of disrespectful, mildly drunk, obnoxious teenage boys got on the train at Doncaster and finally got off, as Felicity predicted, at Waverley. They played loud music and pretty much aroused the ire of the entire coach. When the hooligans were at their worst, I was looking up a word from the Post Script to Umberto Eco’s The Name of the Rose. I looked up at Felicity and Katherine, tossed an imperious glance down the coach and glowered; “I’m trying to read smart words.” A hircocervus is a fantastical beast, half-goat, half-stag, and anamnesis is the recalling of things past; recollection, reminiscence. But I digress.

They did, however, get off at Waverley, and thus we thought the rest of our journey would be in peace. Hah! People and their mobile phones! How can I be so technologically contradictory? Because of DATA I have to have Internet injected intravenously, but I use the Internet to actually stay connected with knowledge. Mobile phone conversations should not be conducted in confined public places. But I digress, again.

We are back among the land that is properly rocky and stubborn, with yellow fields and architecture recalling Presbyterian sobriety. We crossed the Firth of Forth just as the sun glittered over it. We shall be home soon. (Then I shall buy milk, and make a list of things to do tomorrow, and shout silent curses at the seagulls, but I digress—finally.)