I sat behind the most wonderfully refined man on the buss today, he had such style. He was in his seventies, at the very least, wore an ascot, tweed suit, hair slicked back, dark glasses, and had an air (he even sparked me into using italics, for goodness' sake).
"Travels in the Scriptorium", by Paul Auster, was devoured today - the last 50 pages or so, that is - and it was peculiar, but impressive. I won't say much, for fear of spoiling potential readers, but it was intriguing, and a very light read. Particularly relieving between pages of "War and Peace", and trying to finish Murdoch's "The Sea, the Sea". He writes economically, and pointedly. Not a style I am usually ensnared by, except in the case of Hemmingway and the occasional other, but this was very well done.
I got the answer to my complaint on the written English exam, and the 5 still stands. It is not that I had expected a 6 - they very rarely give in to complaints like mine, there was never more than a rather faint hope -, but the, alleged, reasoning was a repetition of what Vigdis has been telling me these past two years: clarity of phrase and content. It went something like this: "Reflected and mature answers to both tasks. Due to imprecise phrasing occasionally, the entirety comes off as somewhat confusing. The grade should (crossed out) therefor be left standing." (Excuse the awkward phrasing, it was bad in the original Norwegian, and my translation is no better.)
If everything goes according to plan, I will return to London for the duration of a weekend in mid-January. London, or, us, rather, will never be the same again. I can't wait!