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I went to Liverpool a few weeks ago, just before my first two exams. A. took me to Wales for a day trip, and we both got significantly sunburnt from walking around the tiny town and along the beach. It was worth it to come back to my exams and have a pseudo-tan. I guess revision breaks are like the March break back home. When you meet up with everyone again, they've all changed their look somewhat. That used to be my favourite time of year.

Now where was I going with that? Oh, right. Well, A. was leaving the city for the summer, getting rid of all her stuff so she didn't have to drive it home with her, and so she let me have a few of her old novels. I picked out One Hundred Years Of Solitude (because I liked the name), and Trainspotting. I had completely forgotten that Trainspotting takes place in Edinburgh. How creepily delightful! All the dodgy pubs they go to, all the neighbourhoods they live in, all the streets they walk down, I know where they are. It's weird trying to associate the things in the novel with these places, though, because I never would think of anyone doing what they do in this city. I started reading it on the train back from seeing A., and it only struck me about ten minutes from Waverly station that I was reading it on a train on my way to Edinburgh. I thought that was funny, but then I got self-conscious about it, so I put the book away and pretended I'd been reading Chaucer the whole time. Me? Reading derisive literature? No! Impossible!

The first time I tried reading Trainspotting was back in highschool, probably Level Four. I couldn't get past the first few pages because, despite having seen the movie, I still didn't know how the accent worked. I couldn't understand anything, so I abandoned it. Not one of my most shining moments. But my motto back then was, if I can't do it after minimal effort, then it's too advanced for me. Now I'm not sure why I can read it. Am I more determined? Do I really get the accent now? Not that anyone I know has a central Edinburgh accent (one of the least sexy accents ever). I don't know. But I can read it, so at least I'm getting that out of my year in exile, this ability to read cult literature. That's a pretty decent skill to have developped. Next step: imitating the vernacular! Never going to happen, dear friends.

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