November 28-December 3, 1999 – In Which I Work on My Fellowship Paper while the Midlands Flood

We have a new guest—Elsie from Belfast—who is here visiting her grandson at the university. I tell her Elsie is my grandmother’s name. She says it’s a very old-fashioned name that you only see now in the memorials, by which I take it she means the obituaries. She is an interesting lady. She studied in Birmingham in the 1930s—English literature, philosophy, and Latin—at a time when women could attend university but often were not granted a degree.

I work on my paper all this week often well into the evenings. I complete the introduction. Then I work on the central analysis with my observations about how the UK’s Best Value regime could help Maine’s implementation of performance measurement and vice versa. By the end of the week, I am able to give Peter a rough draft and a copy to Barbara who has generously offered to edit it for me. Now, I have to pull it into shape, clean up all the footnotes, and write the conclusion.

On Monday night when I get home, Tony tells me that the Queen is in Birmingham tonight. Apparently, no one knew she was coming. Her diary only said she was attending a performance “north of London.” She is attending a Royal variety gala with Barry Manilow and other pop singers at the Hippodrome in Birmingham. My engraved invitation from Her Majesty must have gotten lost in the mail.

A week later I watch the gala on TV. The Hippodrome is Hollywood-glamourous; spotlights swing back and forth with powerful light beams that reach far into the night sky. Sure enough, the Queen is there. Every performer bows to her before leaving the stage—even the Americans. Leann Rhines, a young, country and western singer, executes a little curtsey, not too overstated, but very nice. Afterwards, the Queen greets all the performers in a reception line.

On Wednesday night, Dean invites me to dinner. After work, we walk to his bus stop and take the bus to their house. The kids are working on their homework. Max is absorbed in making a paper clock. Barbara tells me that he is a perfectionist. Ari has a “maths” problem about soccer for extra credit. “If the score at the end of the game was 6-4, how many points were scored in the second half?” I have no idea. There must be more to it, mustn’t there?

Dean has invited Peter Watt for dinner tonight too. Peter arrives late and everyone is starving waiting for him. He apparently walked from his house. We have salmon, roasted potatoes, and salad with the French wine that Peter brings. Peter is very funny with a dry sense of humor. He has three helpings of everything and two pieces of cake; yet he is stick-thin.

Dean drives me home late, about 10:45 PM. Tony says with a grin that I need a late pass to get in.

On Friday, I have a hair appointment—my first since I have been in the UK. My shaggy hair must be noticeable. One morning last week, Tony says to me, out of the blue, “A lady came to the house to cut Caroline’s hair last night. If you want, I can make an appointment for you.” I agree immediately.

As I head out to the hairdressers, I debate taking a big box I have ready to mail as it is beginning to rain. I take a chance as it is only raining slightly. I am about half way to the post office when the floodgates open. The wind turns my umbrella inside out like the nannies lined up on Cherry Tree Lane in Mary Poppins and it is useless in fending off the rain. I get soaked—my glasses are fogged, my hair is dripping, the box is sodden, and my legs and feet are drenched. I stagger into the post office dripping all over the counter, the floor, and the other patrons. When I step outside again—no rain. Five minutes after I enter the hairdresser’s shop, the sun comes out. I sigh. You gotta love England.

The hairdresser is very nice. She takes one look at my hair and, in her Birmingham accent, says, “It’s a bit thick, in’t it?” This makes me laugh, not because my hair isn’t thick, but I love her turn of phrase. She trims off about an inch taking the last of the highlights. But it feels good not to be hanging down in my face. Later, I show off my new hair style to Caroline and she admires it. Even Jake, Tony and Caroline’s sweet and friendly twenty-something son, says it looks good.

I watch Coronation Street, a milquetoast soap opera. Its opening credits feature a chocolate street made by Cadbury. I have been watching a Ruth Rendall mystery series. A new Jonathan Creek mystery series will be airing on Saturday nights in December. Jonathan Creek is one of my favorite shows. Alan Davies plays a magician who lives in a windmill and solves murders.

I am reading a new book about the first Lady Diana Spencer (1710-1735) by Victoria Massey. The similarities between the two Dianas—distance cousins—are remarkable. The 18th century Lady Diana Spencer of Althrop, sometimes called “Lady Die” or “Lady Dye,” was tall, fair, and slender and earmarked for marriage to the Prince of Wales. She had a brother named Charles and lost her mother at age six. She also died tragically young.

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• In today’s news: Last night and today, the weather is horrible in the Midlands. It knocked out power for 200,000 people. A tree was uprooted by the wind falling across a Birmingham road hitting cars and killing three people. I can’t believe this was going on around me. In Inverness, they got a foot of snow!

• In today’s news: An historic Irish power-sharing agreement took effect today following a close vote on Saturday by the Ulster Union Party accepting the latest negotiated agreement. Nominees were named for various government positions, such as education minister. Some comment on the irony that a Sinn Fein member, a former IRA captain, will be the education minister.