So Tuesday is my big class day, and by big class day I mean I have all of four hours of class, but seeing as the most hours of class I have any other day of the week is two, it feels like a lot. This is why the master plan of London Life did not have me in mind when it was decided that Monday would be the night that all the pubs are half price, and that every student on campus would go out on Monday night. Especially considering that this Tuesday I had to give a presentation in my Jane Austen seminar, and considering that it would be the first piece of academic work that I would present to a British professor, it was probably not a good idea to take advantage of half price drink specials and go out with my flatmates on Monday. And yet peer pressure, and the fact that I didn’t leave the flat at all on Sunday because I was studying, led me to decide that one drink, even on a school night, would not be such a bad idea...

And it wasn’t. I had a blast on Monday night and then made it to my classes on Tuesday feeling fine. The presentation (on Northanger Abbey and the Mysteries of Udolpho, for those that care) went well, and I really enjoyed hanging out with my flatmates outside of the flat. Why does this feel like the first stage of a Hogarth series? The “Study Abroad Student’s Progress,” or some such equally ghastly tale that ends with me becoming an alcoholic and contracting syphilis, and dying in a poor house? Fortunately I’m limited financially from going out every night, so maybe I can protect my virtue a little longer

On Tuesday night, after congratulating myself for having survived my “big” day of classes, I went over to my cousin’s house for dinner. She’s my first cousin once removed on my dad’s side, which may not sound like a close relation, but considering that anyone with an American accent has become family, actual distant family has now been elevated to the status of a fraternal twin. Having a relation in London was a wonderful thing, and going inside an actual home was almost too much. Simply seeing a kitchen sink that wasn’t overflowing with dishes did me a world of good. I found myself walking through the rooms and thinking how wonderful it was that there were separate areas for sleeping, studying and cooking, and that the furniture had actual upholstery.

The dinner was also amazing. It’s been weeks since I’d gone for a day without having something involving peanut butter (and, can I just say that British peanut butter is really weird?  It’s pale, and unsweetened, a bit like just eating spreadable peanuts) so an actual multi-course meal felt like luxury beyond belief. Though I’m not sure my adoration was solely due to the fact that I’d been cooking for myself; the meal was amazing. My cousin informed me that they didn’t eat like that every night, and I could see why. There was a huge joint of lamb, peas, green beans and a mixture of roast potatoes, sweet potatoes and parsnips, all cooked to perfection. The desert consisted of meringues, chocolate cake and fruit salad. By the end of evening I was stuffed. Better than the food, though, was the chance to sit with family and here about a life outside of the University. I love it here, but it’s nice to be reminded of a world outside of pubs and publishing.

The greatest triumph came at the end of the evening, however, when I left and went home on the Tube. Riding the Tube alone at night I felt entirely comfortable for the first time. I remember the first time I felt confident riding the subway alone in New York; it was then I realized that I was going to be okay living alone in a big city. Then my feeling of confidence came from knowing I would be okay living independently of my family for the first time, now I knew that I was going to be okay because I would have family near by. When I came back to my flat I went to the kitchen to prepare a cup of tea before settling down to finish Genet’s The Maids. I ran into my friend, who was watching late night TV, and he asked my why I was smiling.