Jane Austen Broke My Camera

I knew that bitch was cold.

Ever since sophomore year of high school, when we were assigned to read "Emma" over the summer, and I spent every minute of that book wishing I could rip my eyeballs from their aching, bleeding sockets, I knew Jane Austen would bring me nothing but pain. Slow, pounding, overly dramatic pain. Kind of like the monster in the pit of sand that Jaba the Hut tried to feed Han Solo to in "Return of the Jedi." Except with flowery language. And dresses.

But let's start at the beginning. This Saturday I went on the ND organized "Jane Austen Trip." My motives had nothing to do with Jane Austen, but with the prospect of getting out of London for the day and see the country. And they advertised a cathedral on this trip. As we all know, I'm a sucker for cathedrals.

We bussed up and drove to Winchester, and toured the Winchester Cathedral.



Built by William the Conqueror



about 1000 years ago



now Anglican, but Catholic saints have been restored



original medieval tiles, too



It was great. I love walking where Catholics billions (okay, thousands) of years ago walked. It's almost paralyzing to think I am praying to the same God in the same way that they did a millenia ago. I got about as giddy-geeky as I do when a new "House" comes on.

Then we got to Jane Austen's grave. Or should I say, stone in the floor. Note, when you read the epitaph, there is no mention of her being a writer. Still inapprops in her time.



This is about the time that my camera started to tank. Since Edinburgh, when it got tossed in the bottom of my backpack into the bottom of the bus, it's been persnickety. The lens doesn't really feel like opening or shutting anymore. Hence, closing the camera is like doing a salsa to a song in 5/4 time. I tried to keep up with the steps as long as possible, but eventually I had to leave the dance. But that didn't stop me from attempting to close the camera, igniting a series of unhappy burps from the lens that sounded like "GAKGAKGAKGAKGAKGAK" before it belched and gave up, blinking at me innocently as if to say, I'm sorry, I just can't take this anymore. In my indignant fury I attempted to close the camera a number of times, receiving the same series of burps followed by a degraded wheeze about every 16 seconds. Pretty soon I was slapping the lens on the front while it was gakking, trying to shock it into submission. I did this every time our tour guide moved us on to a different post, trying to wrestle incognito, turning sideways and holding it under my sweatshirt as I bopped it on the face, silently willing it to close and shut up. These attempts, of course, were for naught, because not only did my camera refuse to close, it also echoed, belching throughout the space with a force that would have put Molly Leer's fantastic display of female digestive regurgitation during Regis's Sophomore retreat to shame.

I did manage to get some final shots, though.

Original medieval arch thingies



Original paintings of religious scenes (ORIGINAL!! I LOVE THAT WORD!!)



Original Baptismal Font AND THIS IS THE FIRST RECORDED...RECORD OF A SHIP WITH A RUDDER!! Look closely - there is definitely a rudder on that ship. First time we know of anyone bothering to note them. Yup. A replica is on display in the British Naval Museum. (Next to the display on belly-button wax. Well, my flatmates laughed.)



It should be noted that the last picture my poor camera ever took was the shot of Jane Austen's grave. During its last lucid moments I ran through the cathedral snapping photos of everything I had missed, and the grave stone was the final shot...pity.

Next stop was the house of Jane's brother. This is probably the most picturesque English Countryside Scene one will ever find. I would show you images that may have helped you visualize it, but...JANE AUSTEN'S COLD DEAD BONES FRIGHTENED MY CAMERA TO DEATH. Just imagine the movie Pride and Prejudice. It's pretty much EXACTLY like that. The house itself was gorgeous, perfectly preserved and fully functional. Conferences are held on the estate, and anyone can come and visit for the day.

After the Estate we went to Jane's actual house. I saw the desk where she wrote all of her novels. It was quite small. Now, close you eyes and imagine that. Good. There was also an ORIGINAL Clementi piano from back in the day, and I played it. (!!!!) Lots of copies of all of her novels. Most of this was lost on me, but I saw my friend Katherine, an Austen de-vo-tee, walking reverently around the garden with her hand on her chest, breathing deeply. As far as religious experiences go, to each her own, I suppose.

The past 24 hours have been filled with an overabundance of good food, with steak smothered in bleu cheese and croutons last night, nutella french toast after Mass this morning, and home-made pizza for dinner tonight (each made in conjunction with either Kamen Flat 10 or Minerva Flat 8). No class tomorrow - SLEEP!!! And a philo paper.

Cheers!