With alacrity, I sink.

I remain incredibly moved by timely handclaps.

Two nights ago it was brought on by a synthesized voice asking to put up your hands and clap, while strobes and spinning beams of light pushed us closer together. As I clapped and danced next to other EAP chums I wondered if my heart was beating fast and hard or if the bass was just that strong.

Last night handclaps were asked for (and received, albeit a bit off beat and drunken) by a British cover band while they sped up versions of Video Killed the Radio Star and Yellow, sung in a gruff voice probably fueled by too much Guiness and, of course, cigarettes.

And just a few hours ago it was in complete joyous unison at the Globe Theater, as the characters of The Merry Wives of Windsor took their bow and sang about being merry. Shakespeare was meant to be performed. I contest reading his words in books. But, honestly... Falstaff got what he deserved.

The energy in this group of EAP kids is electric and a little bit off kilter - a group of 20 somethings right on the precipice of a few months away from what they know. We cling to each other in pubs, follow one another down wrong pathways just because it is difficult to be a leader. A lot of laughter, though. A lot.

I did, however, manage to see Kensington gardens at leisure with an excellent group, posing ridiculous for a photo scavenger hunt in front of a robo-t-rex, a Princess Diana memorial fountain, and other various/sundry bits of interest. And I faux psycho-analyzed an entire table of us at the Naked Chef's british retaurant while eating delicious polenta atop mushrooms and ragu.

I want to storytell like the beefeaters at the London Tower. I want to have the comic timing of Messr. Ford in Merry Wives. But most of all I want to settle in tomorrow and see what lies in store at the hallowed halls of UEA.