College - Week 8...

I‘d completely misjudged the weather this morning, and I arrived at college rather soggier than I‘d wished. As a pedestrian, I'm occasionally unjustly dismissive of student car-parking woes, but today I rather felt that they were wearing the Mr Smug badges, as I dripped along the corridor of F Block. 

Role-playing doesn’t appear to be getting any easier with practice, and we had rather a lot of practice this morning. The gap between fiction and reality is ever narrowing, and I often now find myself asking classmates sympathetic questions about their delicate relationships ….only to be reminded that, in fact, their relationships are doing just fine, and it is their role-play pretend relationships that are actually in tatters.

I cut short my customary jacket and beans in order to race about the corridors and staircases during the lunch break, undertaking minor chores.

I nipped up to the Student Union office to renew my outdated Student Union Card, with the ulterior motive of using a slightly more photogenic image of myself. I really shouldn’t be quite so vain.

I then decided to use the staircase rather than wait for the lift, and clambered up to the hairdressing department to make a long overdue appointment to get my mane seen to. When I arrived, I read the note on the wall stating that the hair and beauty reception is actually located downstairs… so back down I went.

The lady at the counter didn’t appear to fully understand my requirements, and she rang through to the hairdressing department so that I could speak to them in person. Of course, had I actually gone through the salon doors 5 minutes earlier….. instead of coming all the way back downstairs….. I could’ve saved myself an awful lot of time and effort.

My final task, before the afternoon counselling session, was to visit the student finances department for a quick chat. During the morning, a particularly 'helpful' student had informed me that once I go to University I won’t eligible for my state benefits, and I’ll have to go out to work to put food on the table and pay my bills because my student grant won’t be enough to cover it!

Fortunately, the very kind and understanding lady in the student finance department, assured me that there’d be no need to sell my first born, and although there would be an awful lot of paperwork to complete, there was no need for panic.

I consider that I have a reasonable grasp of time management, but the thought of looking after a house, being a responsible parent, studying for a degree AND working at tescos stacking shelves at night would have meant an introduction of the 30 hour day.

A number 64 bus and a tartan umbrella ensured that I didn’t repeat the soggy scenario on Tuesday morning. I.T. was the usual cheerful occasion, as I discovered that we’d be learning all about the internet. As I’m seldom off the internet, my brain enjoyed welcome break before numeracy. I managed to learn a new trick with the control key, and will undoubtedly be repeating this manoeuvre until RSI sets in. 

Due to unavoidable circumstances, we were without a tutor for the first hour of numeracy. In an astonishing display of anarchy, the first fifteen minutes were dedicated to verbal mayhem and merriment. Eventually, high spirits made way for the completion of last weeks homework, and making a start on delightful decimals.

Our tutor finally arrived, and she was reasonably impressed at the somewhat tranquil scene that greeted her appearance. I’m rather relieved that CCTV cameras hadn’t been in operation 45 minutes earlier.

Lunch was, as ever, an uncivilised festival of food shovelling.

A glance at the F Block notice boards confirmed a change of venue for study skills, and a trek to the committee room ensued. I was horrified at this tiny and inadequately equipped room, with not a single computer in sight… but moderately impressed at the water dispenser.

All is not well in our particular study skills group, and the task of creating a feasibility study has stretched us to the very limits of our imagination. After a brief discussion with our tutor to clarify some of the finer aspects of what a project about screen violence should focus on, we made our way to the library to locate a book …..now there's a novelty!

Once there, we attempted to locate one particular volume on the subject of media effects via the library computer system, but after four failed attempts it was decided that we should ask for assistance instead.

Up on the next level, we managed to find the help desk, which turned out to be of no help at all, as the notice thereon suggested that we try the helpdesk downstairs. With time ticking by, and patience wearing thin, we took the somewhat original approach of looking on the shelves ourselves, and more by luck than judgement, managed to find books regarding the media. As we each stood there holding a book in our sweaty little palms, there was a slight pause before we simultaneously asked "What EXACTLY are we looking for?"

Plan B was now a priority, and as we huddled around a computer in the student resource centre, the vague idea of feasibility was briefly discussed and typed up. We were all feeling particularly confused, bored and deflated by the end, and are crossing our fingers, and toes, that our efforts will be adequate enough to scrape through without having to waste any more time on it.

The true horror of the writing skills test was revealed in all its glory at 3.05 precisely. Three mind-numbing A4 pages of equal opportunities bumf had to be read, digested and analysed within the following 60 minutes.

I was tired, and already feeling pretty miserable after the study skills sketch, so when I was faced with this particular chore I was on the verge of tears. The last time I’d sat in a classroom to undertake a timed, handwritten piece of academic work was in 1978, and to my memory, nothing at all on the planning period prepared me for this particular scenario.

For the first ten minutes the words may as well have been written in Greek. I struggled through it, but I’m certain that I’ll score a particularly low mark for this assignment. I was unable to string a logical sentence together for the most part, and my pages are a mass of hastily scribbled notes in no particular order, and a few bullet points. An extra 15 minutes allowance for rewriting would’ve meant that my scrawl could have at least been tidied into legible and rational paragraphs……but no extra time was given.

I’m fully aware that it needs to be at level three, and I’m also painfully aware that it’s far from that. As I left the classroom I was hit by a sudden overwhelming feeling of failure and deep disappointment. I was always aware that there’d be days like these during my time at college, but that knowledge can never prepare you for when it actually happens. The onset of self-doubt completely shatters your confidence, and you’re left completely numb by the whole experience.

Thursday I dragged my fragile ego into college, still slightly anaesthetized after Tuesday's nightmare. I’d been dreading the return of my first ever sociology essay, but fortunately my fears were unfounded. The phrase "Level 3" could easily have also been "Congratulations, you have won…………….." and I suddenly felt that a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders. The relief of knowing that I’m not really 'thick' was almost overwhelming, and the very positive comments made on my cover sheet seemed to reawaken my enthusiasm for study.

After class, I made a return visit to the hairdressing salon, only to be told that I had to go back downstairs to the hair and beauty reception, so that they could ring through for a hairdresser to come all the way downstairs to collect me, so that I could go back upstairs into the salon in which I was already standing!

Bemused doesn’t begin to cover it, but I obediently complied, accepting that 'rules are rules'. I now have a treat to look forward to next Wednesday morning, and my despair from earlier on in the week is slowly, but surely, disappearing somewhere behind me.

College - week 7...

What a pleasure it was to discover that the highly stressful role-playing counselling activity was to make way for sociology this morning. I tried, in vain I fear, not to appear overly confident, as I’m the only student present today in class actually taking sociology as a specialist subject.

B Block refectory seemed rather more crowded than usual during the lunch hour, so my two companions and I decided to explore the bistro in the chef's block, by way of a change.

This idea would’ve worked well, had the place actually been open for business. It suddenly dawned on us at that point as to why B Block refectory had seemed so busy earlier.

A trip to the student supplies shop was in order, for a little retail therapy, and after five minutes of gazing in wonderment at shiny holographic paper, and other fascinating arty objects such as multi-coloured pipe cleaners, I purchased a packet of four highlighter pens. I have a feeling that my coursework will probably be rather colourful from now on.

After lunch we contemplated cheerful topics such as mortality and suicide……as you do!

A hasty glance at the dimly lit notice board in F Block revealed a change of location for the Tuesday numeracy classes. Alarm bells rang out loud inside my head, as my eyes scanned unfamiliar words such as "boardroom" and "committee room", with no alphabetical and numerical combinations beside them to indicate where on campus such rooms may be located.

It was only after I’d found a pen and a scrap of paper for scribbling down these alterations, that I read the entire heading. It was, thankfully, referring to the Tuesday afternoon numeracy classes. Phew. Lucky old me. I have numeracy before lunch. 

I.T. is currently my most favourite subject on a Tuesday. Health and safety combined with file management didn’t appear to tax my brain excessively, and I had ample time left after my set tasks to make full use of the I.T. suite printers, churning out masses of paperwork regarding the study skills project that I’m currently working on.

Yet another week of fractions followed mid-morning break, much to my displeasure. The sheer volume and complexity of this week’s homework meant that I didn’t have the luxury of completing my homework during class, and will now have to face completing the task at home. Hmmmmm.

Lunch on Tuesdays is always somewhat of a 'smash 'n' grab' affair.

The study skills group project feasibility fiasco is proving somewhat more daunting than I suspect it ought. We now have a new member in our particular clan, and this has meant some re-negotiation was needed regarding the various roles within the group.

We very quickly discovered that the F6 printer was fully functioning, so we took advantage of the free paper and ink supplies, much to the bemusement of the other two groups…who clearly wished they’d thought of it first.

With one of the other groups researching the same topic, eavesdropping became a priority. This proved to be a fruitless exercise, which only goes to show that the grass is not always greener.

 By 3pm I’m never particularly enthusiastic, and this week proved to be no different to any other. Lengthy explanations of the two accredited assignments that’ll follow during the next fortnight was not something I particularly wished to hear.

The B&H Brigade, who tend to waft past at close range carrying an odour very familiar to that of a pre-smokeless pub after last orders, has regularly assaulted my nasal passages, and today it seemed worse than ever.

The offending addict, however, had attempted to mask her stench with copious amounts of a hideous cheap perfume, and in the process almost knocked me unconscious. I feel that a generous squirt of Febreeze would have served the purpose better than Impulse.

The handing over of my first ever sociology essay was a bittersweet experience. On the one hand, I was glad to finally see the back of it, but on the other, this had become my 'baby', and I had to finally break all maternal bonds with it.

The introduction of our new topic of 'families and households' was very welcome, as I, for one, can relate to the subject a lot easier than the mind-boggling sociological perspectives coursework that we have just completed.

However, I fully accept that no house can ever be built without firstly installing solid foundations, and I live in the hope that things will now begin to slot into place quite nicely.

Regarding the sociological surveys aspect of this terms work; I have a sneaking suspicion that I’ll soon lose all of my friends once I begin to harass them with endless questioning.

College - week 6...

The ironically named 'reading week' is now upon us…. ironic in so far as I have been doing everything but reading.

My UCAS statement has been drafted, re-drafted, re-re-drafted on my trusty pc, until it now bears no resemblance whatsoever to the original.

My sociology essay has seen the light of day, with its grand appearance as printout number one. These once-pristine sheets now look as if a psychotic three year old has attacked them with a box of crayons, due to my enthusiastic corrections and readjustments.

I’ve pestered my fellow study skills group members, and tutors, with e-mails regarding screen violence, almost to the point of obsession.

I’ve used copious amounts of blue tack to stick various handouts from my counselling course onto my kitchen cupboard doors, in a desperate attempt to regain some enthusiasm towards the subject before the next session.

I now have a nice shiny new copy of the Essex University Prospectus, which, no doubt, will still be sitting on my table unopened until the day before the deadline for completion of the UCAS application forms. Which, incidentally, has been laboriously photocopied multiple times to ensure that by the time I fill out the original, I shall have at least a vague idea as to what I am actually doing.

The all too familiar displacement activities reared their ugly heads yet again in the form of manic hovering sessions and gardening in the rain.

Friends that only ever receive correspondence from me in the form of Christmas cards, will indeed be surprised to open their morning mail to discover the arrival of my life-story in minute detail.

Shame I was just too busy to get any reading done this week!

College - Week 5...

Monday morning we were treated to another televised, black and white Blockbuster, with scenes vaguely reminiscent of a Monty Python sketch. The leading male role was someone we were expected to learn from, but I can’t seem to be able to relate to an elderly man, with a strange speech impediment and wearing a 'syrup'. I can’t imagine why!

My role-playing seems to have improved ever so slightly, although Dame Judy Dench need not be fretting just yet. I had no need for assistance, as I spent fifteen long minutes nodding like an in-car ornamental dog, and repeating back to my client a slightly altered version of what she‘d just said to me (with a very concerned look upon my face….obviously).

I.T. was another joyous occasion, made even happier by the fact there’s no homework. Yippee….. Time simply flew as I merrily bolded, italicised, changed fonts and so forth.

The snack-dash was followed by Act Two of fractions. Despite a few anxious moments regarding the up-ending of divided fractions, I managed to complete my homework in class, so I was a very happy bunny indeed.

B Block refectory provided my much needed 'jacket and beans' fix, before the currently titled least favourite subject of the week….. a.k.a. study skills.

After the true horrors of the project choices had been revealed, the humiliating task of choosing one's group members began in earnest. Memories of standing alone at the end of the selection process for school sports teams came flooding back to haunt me. I tried to not look too pathetic, whilst at the same time praying someone would pick me.

Fortunately, my fears were unfounded, and I was soon teamed up with three good-humoured companions. Coffees were called for, and as we sat around a rather grubby table, clutching plastic cups of hot liquid refreshments, we seemed to discuss everything but the topics listed in front of us.

‘On-screen violence’ was the subject matter that we eventually plumped for, once our attention to the job in hand had returned, and we vowed to sit and watch as many sadistic movies as time allows… all in the name of research.

Writing skills was the first class that’d touched on the scary subject of the UCAS forms. It’s a necessary evil for anyone who wishes to apply for a University place in September, but a daunting prospect nonetheless at such a relatively early stage in my return to academia.

I duly trotted off to J22 on Thursday morning to collect my forms, and the astonishingly enormous UCAS directory. While I had a few minutes to spare before my sociology class, I hastily arranged for an interview for careers advice and guidance. I’ll unfortunately have to wait until December for my appointment, which taught me a very valuable lesson.

I’d been told ….on numerous occasions…. to get in sharpish, as places get booked very quickly, but I’d kept putting it off. Tutors one, student nil.

My essay plan was thankfully satisfactory, and I’m now in the dubious position of having to pull it all together. I’d virtually written War and Peace, and so some serious culling will be called for.

A group activity involving looking at various situations from a variety of sociological perspectives seemed an intimidating task, but once we’d played musical chairs, and finally settled into the actual discussion process, things appeared to become clearer.

By the end of the session I found it’d been a hugely helpful exercise in expanding my understanding Marxism, functionalism etcetera.

College - Week 4...

College - week 4)

My counselling classes are taking their toll on my slightly fragile confidence, which is bad news indeed, as there are another 8 weeks left to go… plus the very scary assignments to complete over the Christmas break.

I fear I’ve bitten off rather more than I can chew with that particular subject, but I’ll endeavour to inflict my anguish on whoever’s within earshot over the coming week, and attempt to find an appropriate solution. I feel a 'client role' coming on.

On a far more positive note, I.T. I felt, was highly productive for me this week. I certainly produced a high volume of A4 sheets from the overworked and sporadically temperamental classroom printer. What a joy it was, when I was presented with my marked work from last week, and I spotted the word "Excellent". O happy day….

Spell-checker is one of my favourite buttons on the toolbar, so I was rather pleased to discover that I would be playing with it throughout the lesson.

Inspecting the Access Main Course notice board, located in a rather dull and dingy corridor of F Block, I saw no evidence of any previously promised announcement regarding the exact whereabouts of our relocated numeracy class, so during mid-morning break I deliberately latched onto a couple of my unsuspecting chums who would shortly be heading off in that direction.

Fortunately, they already knew the somewhat complex route to the mystical lands beyond the car park that lead to the room known as' Rembrandt, and I dutifully followed, Pied Piper style, through J Block (or is it K Block?), along a muddy track, and up a slippery hill, until we finally arrived. Thank heavens I hadn’t worn stiletto heels! All very 'Carry on Campus'.

It’s no coincidence that the word 'fractions' bears a striking resemblance to the word 'fractious', however, I believe that I grasped the main gist of it by the end of the lesson. The generous portions of cake references helped to sustain my interest in an otherwise dreary subject, although by 12.30pm I was famished.

Lunch was another rather hurried affair that my delicate digestive system is gradually becoming used to.

On my way out of B Block refectory, I noticed the rather natty new paper signs on the toilet doors, stating "ladies cloakroom" and "gentlemen's cloakroom". I can only assume that they’re there for the benefit of the Open University students, who are apparently sitting exams somewhere nearby.

I find it quite amusing that a host can deem its guests too stupid to work out what the male and female symbols on a toilet door could possibly mean, particularly such academically-orientated ones. I hope that none of the visitors were mislead into thinking that they could actually leave their coats in there!

Plagiarism and referencing were the afternoon delights. I now accept that the words "Big, green sociology book, ….purchased last Wednesday….., Waterstones, Chelmsford High Street… £19.99" is an unsuitable referencing method, which will be frowned upon if used in the bibliography of my sociology essay.

The final hour of the day was dedicated to spelling. Unfortunately we were denied access to the PCs for this exercise, inducing another mild panic attack in someone who never usually hand writes anything more substantial than a shopping list, and out of the 50 commonly misspelled words I only got a feeble 36 correct. Oh, the shame.

Thursday's class was a somewhat preoccupied affair, on account of the imminent arrival of the essay title. Marxism mostly flew over my head and out of an open window, while I fretted over what the joyous heading will be at the top of my first sociological composition.

It arrived in spectacular fashion ….an incredible 55 words of it, in two parts….. along with various handouts that’ll have to be read thoroughly and digested before they’ll assist with the task ahead.

Rather frustratingly, whilst in the process of grasping the concept of interpreting, analysing and evaluating, the unwelcome distraction of a mobile ringing out aloud meant that my train of thought pulled out of station F6 before I had the opportunity to climb on board, taking with it my undoubtedly brilliant flash of inspiration.

A second digital disruption just moments later simply added to my exasperation. I too have a nice shiny Nokia, along with a rather clever off switch. I’m reasonably confident that should the four-minute warning be about to sound, the college would, indeed, inform us.

Having an essay to write now gives me an ideal opportunity for me to indulge my obsessive behaviour. I’m highly likely to live it and breathe it for the next three weeks, nurturing it like an over-protective mother, and yet resenting its very existence. It‘ll provide the perfect excuse for not doing all the things I simply can’t be bothered to face …goodbye Mr Sheen… and I now embrace the fact that I’ve become a 'real' student.

College - Week 3...

College - week 3)

Intro to Counselling began innocuously enough, with an amusingly antique black and white video to snigger at, but things, I fear, went rapidly downhill from there on in.

Role-playing is not, and I doubt ever will be, one of my greatest talents. After assembling in groups of four …or three in one case….. roles were duly agreed upon, and subsequently acted out within the relatively small confines of each gathering.

Of course, I drew the short straw, which instantly plunged me into the leading role of counsellor. With only two weeks of tutoring behind me, I failed dismally to introduce myself correctly, I failed to notice any of the verbal or non-verbal cues my poor 'client' offered up, I failed to remember anything of any relevance at all from the aforementioned ‘Blockbuster’, and was rendered speechless after just two minutes of the intended ten minute 'session'.

Even after an admirable rescue attempt from my tutor, my mind emptied itself in a spectacular malfunction. The two other students in my group, who’d selected the relatively stress-free roles of 'observers', were kind enough to be tactful in their assessments of my dire efforts, but my confidence lay in ruins.

Lunchtime was a welcome release from my embarrassment, and I spent the entire hour wallowing in a shameless display of self-pity. I was, indeed, pathetic, and my long-suffering classmates kindly indulged my juvenile behaviour without condemnation.

The afternoon stint contained long words and mind-bending theories, complete with optical illusion overhead projections, which adequately distracted me from my earlier indignity.

At this week's computing session I felt reassuringly optimistic, and I relished the smug feeling of success at properly justifying my text and setting the correct margins. I do, however, feel that a 9 o'clock start is an overly ambitious target, and it’d be a far more civilised affair if all morning sessions on the Access Main course began at 10 o'clock instead.

Both the tutors and the students would benefit greatly, in my opinion, from an extra hour of humanising activities, such as caffeine ingestion and the opportunity of running a comb through ones tresses.

Negative and positive numbers were the dubious treat in store after the mid morning break, although Mr Smug remained with me as I completed my homework during the lesson.

However, Mr Panic reared his vile and ugly head when I learnt that next week's lesson is to be dragged kicking and screaming out of A28 and into a building far, far away. Something was said about 'The Rembrandt Building' and trekking through the car park, so I anticipate my belated arrival accompanied with frazzled nerves. Bye bye Mr Smug.

Queuing for lunch is not for the terminally impatient, but the jacket potato I finally managed to acquisition was fortunately well worth the wait, despite the fact I had to force it down my throat at almost break-neck speed in order to arrive at Study Skills on time. Thank heavens for Rennie.

Fed and watered, I suddenly remembered the dreaded returning of the homework sketch that was to follow. Luckily, my pessimism was mostly unfounded, and it transpired that I only needed to remember to make a few minor adjustments in the future.

Writing skills immediately became my least favourite subject of the day, as the homework was revealed. Paraphrasing will be nigh on impossible for someone whose natural instinct is to use ten words when just one will suffice. A formidable challenge indeed!

After my near miss with lateness last week, I arrived at college ludicrously early this week. Luckily the refectories are open for the business of breakfast at that hour, so I indulged myself a cup of hot chocolate while I waited for my class to begin.

I’ve discovered that too much Nescafe does nothing to aid my concentration…. quite the opposite in fact… so I have opted for the sweet-toothed alternative as an experiment. This appears to have paid off, as I felt far more able to cope with this weeks note-taking activities with a little less caffeine charging through my body.

After a brief interlude for top-ups and toilets, methodology proved to be quite entertaining. I found that the very idea of discussing the deviant pastime of "cottaging" does rather focus the attention somewhat!

College - Week 2...

College - week 2)

Monday morning saw a far more confident peroxide blonde striding into college than the previous week. I’d made some new friends, just as I’d instructed my own offspring to do all those years ago, and I was only a teeny bit frightened.

I immediately bumped into an old chum who I’d spent my Planning Period with, so I had a lovely surprise to start my day with.

Five hours of counselling followed ……I hasten to add that I was participating in a course, and not undergoing prolonged therapy….. which I’m enjoying immensely.

During my luxuriously long (one hour) lunch break, I skipped merrily off to the student supplies shop to purchase the scientific calculator that I shall apparently need for my numeracy lessons. I was deeply disappointed to discover that it totally lacked any James Bond type features that its title insinuates.

Whilst inside the shop I bumped into two more friends from my January stint …..I see a pattern of bumping emerging here….. and the following five minutes was a whirl of "What days are you in?" and "Have you seen so-and so?" etc.

I’ve never particularly liked Tuesdays….and today was no exception… although I accept it could have been far, far worse that it actually was.

I’d managed to unnecessarily work myself up into a complete tizwas over I.T. first thing.  This was very silly, as I’d already decided that I’d attend lessons in future, rather than work from home, and I was only a week behind everyone else, and knew full well that I’d soon catch up.

I’m sure that I must’ve driven my poor tutor insane with my constant attention seeking, for which I can only apologise profusely, and claim temporary insanity, brought about by deep-rooted insecurities regarding my computing abilities. I’m pleased to be able to announce that I have indeed now caught up, and 'normality' has been restored.

After a quickly snatched Nescafe, it was on to the delights of prime numbers and the like. I had no real need for using my posh new calculator but I couldn’t resist pressing a few buttons to double-check my counting.

Another rushed lunch break preceded a guided tour of the big, scary building commonly referred to as the library. With my inbuilt satellite navigation system switched permanently to the 'off' position, I struggled to grasp the concept of the 'circular' room that spanned two floors. No doubt, over the coming months the layout will become more and more familiar to me…fingers crossed.

A session on the PC's in F6 was fortunately a hassle-free exercise, for me, and by the time it was 3pm and 'writing skills' my mind had wandered far, far away from academia and into the realms of what to cook for tea. Paragraphing proved to be my downfall, as I failed dismally in every exercise.

Thursday saw me parting company with my brain. My timetable dictates that on the three occasions each week that my presence is requested at college early morning, all three are at different times.

Today, as I confidently strode along to my 10 o'clock lesson, it suddenly dawned on me that my Thursday class actually begins at half past nine.

Running, at my age, is not an option, unless it’s a matter of life or death, so the best I could muster was a brisk walk as far as the nearest taxi rank. I could ill afford the £4.50 it cost to get me to my class on time, but it did teach me an important lesson regarding importance of the daily ritual known as 'checking your timetable'.

I’ll choose to use this as my explanation for being totally unable to remember the first hour of sociology. Good job I made notes, as I’ll hopefully be able to catch up once the amnesia wears off.

As a female, I pride myself on the ability to multi-task on a daily basis, however, this skill doesn’t apparently stretch to the talent of being able to look, listen and write simultaneously.

My eye-brain-ear-hand co-ordination is somewhat lacking…non-existent to be precise. I’m more than aware that in order to succeed at higher education I’ll have no choice but to develop this seventh sense.

Making notes, whilst copying from the board while listening to the tutor…..and understanding what is being said…..is, by far, one of the hardest things I’ve had to do so far.

The competition of seeing who can get to B Block refectory the quickest for a gulp of coffee and a rapid munch on whatever snack you can grab from the till area, seems to be hotting up. I see that several of my fellow students have got it down to a fine art and even manage to catch a few puffs on a ciggie before charging back to F6 for Act Two.

Friday saw my brief return to the premises for the first of my academic tutoring sessions. K355 was previously uncharted territory for me, and all in all I thought it a positive experience …for me at any rate. I can’t vouch for my tutor.

College - week 1...

The trials and tribulations of a first year access student.

College – week 1)

When my children were small, I distinctly remember marching them confidently up to the school gates and telling them "There's nothing to be frightened of. Now run along and go and make some new friends".

Hindsight’s a wonderful thing, and only now am I painfully aware of just how inadequate my so-called words of comfort must’ve seemed to my tots.

The Planning Period completed, and my induction done, I had no one to hold MY sweaty little palm, and confidently tell me cheery things as I walked through the main entrance for the first time as a 'proper' student.

Well, there I was. All I had to do now was locate the notice board to discover where I needed to be. But where WAS the notice board?

My induction hadn’t included a guided tour, or an ordnance survey map, and it’d been several months since I’d last hopelessly struggled to find my way from A Block to B Block during the Planning Period.

After a minor panic attack, I managed to establish the whereabouts of the elusive notice-board wall, and, as luck would have it, my classroom was conveniently located nearby.

Throughout the day I was faced with minor difficulties ….the shock to the system of the 'teenage rampage' approach to canteen etiquette for one thing…..but I appear to have come out of it relatively unscathed.

“Homework” is a word I consistently nag my children with, but they now have the objectionable pleasure of turning the tables, and the phrase "Mum, have you done your homework yet?" merrily rings out of their mouths with unnerving ease. My replies are generally less than charitable.

My second day was fraught with navigational woes "B" Block means nothing to me when the building has no discernable "B" on it!, but I thankfully managed to follow a couple of familiar faces, and arrived at my destinations more-or-less on time.

My over enthusiasm to inform my I.T. tutor that I have a previously gained computer qualification earned me an Accreditation for Prior Learning pack to take home and complete at my leisure….as long as my leisure ends before October at any rate.

This, with hindsight, was probably not a wise move on my part, due to the displacement activities that I’m becoming all too familiar with. I’ll endeavour to attend my lessons as originally planned to ensure that my work is actually completed ….I shall be less inclined to attack the I.T. suite with Mr Sheen than I am my own home.

Fortunately, I’m not the type of person who harbours deep phobias regarding long multiplication and long division, so my numeracy class went reasonably well, all things considered.

The announcement that we all need to purchase a scientific calculator within the next couple of weeks was another item that ought to be added to the "Things we should've told you about during induction" list ….along with “abandon any quaint notions that you will be spared homework during your first week”.

Thirty minutes is, in my opinion, a ridiculously short period of time for lunch. The fact that I spent the entire afternoon suffering the ill effects of indigestion only served to prove the point. Maybe I’ll opt to bring sandwiches next week, although I have visions of my tutor not being particularly impressed at the picnic module being introduced into the curriculum.

By the third day I’d become over-confident, and in making what was to prove a somewhat futile attempt at a short cut, I became hopelessly lost.

That’ll teach me!

I’ve also discovered that my own teenagers are not the loudest creatures on the planet. The noisiest beings are, in fact, those who stand a few feet away from the windows of F6 puffing on a Benson and Hedges.

Week 8...Yawn...

Week 8) Yawn.
The reasons behind my mid-morning fatigue remain unclear. It’s fair to say, however, that I was utterly exhausted from the onset, and the thought of two long hours of monotonous droning on about the source of the Nile did nothing to entice me out of my coma-like state. I shall therefore name this condition WEA syndrome. A psychosomatic slumber-inducing ailment, which afflicts those devoid of a pension book on a once weekly basis, in my case on Wednesdays.
It was clearly going to be one of those days when I entered the classroom in the middle of know it all in full political debate with his long suffering neighbour.
In a futile bid to avoid the inevitable, I spun round to make good my escape to the less politically inclined ladies lavatory, but I was evidently not quite swift enough.
"And why aren't you protesting in London?" was my rather extraordinary greeting from the old bore.
As class rebel, certain disruptive activities are habitually expected of me, but I don’t consider marching in the capital as one of them.
Momentarily lost for words, it suddenly dawned on me that he was harping on about the US Presidential fiasco, and when I replied with a plain and simple "Because I couldn't care less" the old fool’s jaw hit the deck in absolute astonishment.
With that, I wandered off in the general direction of the coat rack, leaving his bemused companion to cop the flack.
It did rather beg the question that if he felt so passionately about it, why wasn't HE there, rather than sitting on his fat backside annoying the rest of us, but life really is too short to be asking know it all anything.
I can’t recall large parts of today's lecture, and my reasonably valid excuse is that when bombarded with dozens of strange place names, bizarre tribal names, approximate dates of particular conflicts simultaneously, the little power switch situated deep within my overburdened brain automatically switches to the off position. (Assuming that it was in the on position to begin with).
Nescafe at elevenses didn't really help, despite the three heaped spoonfuls of sugar I dumped into my cup, and I was highly suspicious of his motives when know it all offered me some of his firewater. I figured that alcohol would probably not be a very good idea for session two, and I became even more unsettled when, after complaining about the numbness in my legs that the plastic chairs had bestowed upon me, the dodgy old perv offered to give them a rub!
I declined his offer as politely as I could under the circumstances, and sought sanctuary back in the classroom.
Everyone had been complaining about the lecturer during the break. He has a rather disconcerting tendency to skip from 500AD to the 17th century in one breath, and then back to pre-history for no particular reason. This makes note-taking rather a hit and miss affair at best. I’ve actually now opted to wait until the very end of the course and take up his offer of a set of photocopied lecture notes, rather than make any more attempts to spell weird and wonderful place names, spoken by a twit with a bad speech impediment.
A strange and highly irritating beeping sound had been occurring every 15 minutes throughout the morning, and it was only at the very end of our session that the lecturer drew attention to the shiny new watch he was wearing. It transpired that he hadn’t had the time to read the instructions regarding switching the damned thing off before class.
I have a sneaking suspicion he deliberately set it to go off at regular intervals in order to ward off any potential snoring.
I’m now feeling quite unwell, bearing all the familiar signs of an imminent cold.
I'm not entirely certain which particular decrepit crone passed me their old person germs, but it only adds weight to my theory that the WEA is, without a doubt, bad for your health…..and therefore I shall not be returning once I’m back to good health. Life really is too short!

Week 7 - The Monsoons Cometh...

Week 7) The monsoons cometh.
While paddling my canoe into town first thing this morning, it occurred to me that I actually ought to feel privileged to be receiving a practical education in ancient civilisations from an original pre-historic person. I should feel honoured to be spending two whole hours each and every Wednesday bearing witness to such traditions as exclaiming "I wonder what's in the book box this week?" (It’s always the same books), and sharing my life with elders wearing several obviously hand knitted garments, beneath a bulky overcoat, while complaining incessantly about the central heating being on.
Fossil practically disappears under her pile of outer layers, bless her, and you only know it's actually her, and not a discarded pile of clothing left behind after a prior jumble sale, by the occasional glimpse of her spectacles peering out from within.
The class librarian takes her job all too seriously, and is thrown into a state of absolute panic if anyone so much as flicks through at a hardback without signing away their life for it. I'm now beginning to suspect that know it all does this deliberately to ruffle her feathers, simply so he can delight in a particularly patronisingly boom of "Dear Lady, there really is no need to get your knickers in a twist!" inevitably leaving the poor woman slightly flushed and even more flustered than ever.
With a grave expression, befitting of any funeral director, the lecturer informed us today that new wules and wegulations were afoot within the WEA, and the Colchester branch in particular will be adversely affected by these up and coming changes.
He then went onto announce that it is very likely he’ll choose to retire from lecturing, and the follow-on course he was planning to take …..another 20 weeks of much the same would render me sectioned under the mental health act…… may well not come to pass.
A sigh of relief would've seemed a little tactless under the circumstances, but my elation was surprisingly difficult to contain.
The inevitable mass mumblings and protestations followed, mostly initiated by know it all of course, clearly irritated that although he thinks he knows everything, that piece of information had actually eluded him.
Space invader suggested optimistically over coffee that it would be "a jolly good idea" to have an end of term Christmas social!
I lack any amount of festive cheer at the best of times, but I sank into the depths of depression as terrifying images of being force fed repulsive home made mince pies while know it all knocked back the sherry, flashed before me.
Just thinking about the lecturer belting out Wudolph the Wed Nosed Weindeew, whilst wearing plastic flashing antlers, is enough to send dear old Santa back up the chimney pretty sharpish.
I quickly withdrew from the negotiations, and returned to the distinctly non-festive classroom.
I suppose it should have come as no real surprise, as we are situated in an actual church, but nonetheless, I was somewhat astonished when all of a sudden we were treated to a deafening impromptu organ recital from elsewhere in the building. I think the lecturer was a tad put out by this musical interlude. His only option for the next ten minutes was to show a selection of slides that required no narrative whatsoever. Elephants in water, elephants on riverbanks, hippos in water, hippos on riverbanks, zebras in water, zebras on riverbanks, and so forth were indeed pretty much self-explanatory.
With peace eventually restored, we covered the entire history of ancient Egypt in less than fifteen minutes, and raced into 1800 A.D. at breakneck speed. Space invader made a valiant attempt to keep up by scribbling her lecture notes in shorthand, but I fear we lost her somewhere during the slave trade.
Squelching home in my waterlogged trainers, I pondered, beneath my reassuringly big blue brolly, whether I really should've applied a little more effort in selecting my footwear first thing this morning.
After wringing my socks out in the sink when I arrived home, I feel the rather obvious answer has to be yes. Another valuable lesson learnt.

Week 6...It Must Be Wednesday...

Week 6) It must be Wednesday.


When you’re in a funny mood, under no circumstances should you attend a W.E.A. class.
No sooner had I seated myself on my paralysing plastic chair I spied know it all, sporting his latest hideous t-shirt, emblazoned with a rather unconvincing tiger.
For reasons, which remain unclear, this induced in me a mad fit of the giggles. Fortunately this weeks enthralling lecture had not yet got underway, so I made a hasty exit to the ladies to compose myself and vainly attempted a more appropriate demeanour.
A particularly bizarre knock-on effect of my impromptu sniggers was that the lecturer assumed that his abysmal jokes were actually hilarious, and with his ego getting the better of him the deluded old fool turned into Ken Dodd.
Oh how we laughed at man's recently acquired ability to generate fire, which helped to give pwotection fwom pweditows.
I had to pinch myself quite hard to see if I was having some peculiar nightmare. No. It was all horribly real.
You should really avoid caffeine if you are already feeling hyperactive…. was the thought that entered my sadly dysfunctional brain on gulping the last dregs of my unspeakably strong Nescafe.
Know it all subsequently decided to stand directly behind me and proclaim loudly "There are no tigers in Africa!".
Not wishing to look like a particularly reluctant ventriloquists dummy, I shuffled a few feet to the left and stared intently at my nice, shiny spoon.
The pompous old lush continued; "Tigers are from India!".
Not a soul responded, and an awkward silence fell upon the canteen, leaving me with the distinct impression that everyone wished that India was where know it all was at this moment in time, preferably in close proximity to large, hungry, stripey mammals of the feline variety.
I decided to return to the relative sanity of the classroom.
It seemed a very good idea to disassociate myself from my surroundings, which I considered to be the root of the mirth predicament, and I promptly became literarily productive. I completed my entire weeks shopping list, and was busy compiling my Christmas card list. All was going swimmingly until Space Invader suddenly became interested in my unnaturally studious alter ego, and leant over to peer at my lecture notes. My cover blown, all I could do was smile politely and turn to a fresh page, and at least look like I was actually paying attention to comedy act fuelled with Nescafe that was currently entertaining the masses.
With the room hermetically sealed, the heating on full blast, and oxygen supplies running low, it seemed more than coincidence that we had to hear all about sleeping sickness. Space Invader actually asked me to nudge her if she dropped off! It's a crying shame I never actually got the opportunity to give the old crone a hearty shove.
The recent postal strike turned out to be something of a blessing in disguise, as the pre-ordered slides of more maps failed to materialise and we were treated to a re-run of dubious the cave painting slides that were shown last week.
An exceptionally vivid imagination, and possibly hallucinogenic drugs, would've possibly helped to convince me that the non-descript ochre blob on the screen was a Stone Age hippo.
Last orders were done and dusted and we were turned out promptly at noon, by way of a change from running into overtime.
I have no idea if I shall complete all twenty of the classes. I am already growing ever more senile and it must be only a matter of time before I swap my combats for beige polyester slacks. We shall see…..

Week 5...Nostril Nightmare...

Week 5)  Nostril nightmare.

A greatly reduced turnout greeted my soggy appearance in God's Waiting Room today, despite the fact that much objection was made previously regarding taking this Wednesday off.
As I’m the only person directly affected by having to think of alternative activities for my offspring during a significantly damp October morning I was suitably peeved at this mass absenteeism.
Needless to say, Space Invader and Know It All (sporting his latest t-shirt promoting his unrivalled knowledge of the Kariba Dam) were already in attendance.
A trudge through the millenniums accompanied by Neanderthal man was the treat in store for today's intrepid exploration.
Phrases like Homo Erectus (or Homo Ewectus, as the afflicted one put it) failed to raise an eyebrow with my ancient and humourless classmates, but I confess to having to contain a rather juvenile snigger.
It was while I was inspecting Homo Decrepit on centre stage for any obvious signs of evolution that I noticed it……
What, I asked myself, is the correct protocol for informing a senior lecturer that he has a bat in his cave?
This awkward condition, although nowhere near as potentially embarrassing as a flying low incident, provided me with somewhat of a dilemma.
To enlighten him directly would appear a tad familiar. "Excuse me Sir but are you aware that you have a bogey up your nose?" is, I imagine, not something by and large expressed aloud in polite circles.
Sniffing loudly and deliberately only drew attention to myself, and away from the genuine nostril nightmare, especially as I inadvertently inhaled enough old people particles to set off a rather distracting sneezing episode.
Once serenity had been restored to its former glory, and all tutting had ceased, I decided to attempt to ignore the matter in the hope it would go away. However, I found myself inexplicably drawn to this nasal nasty and for the life of me I couldn’t avert my eyes.
Coffee break couldn’t come quickly enough.
The lads duly joined Space Invader and me at the furthest table in the hall, as it has now become apparent that the other females in the tribe have curiously rejected us.
I was somewhat dumbfounded to witness Know It All top up his Nescafe with an extraordinarily generous slug of brandy! Noticing my stunned expression, he commented that he "couldn't possibly drink the awful coffee here without it".
"Try the tea", would've been the overly obvious answer, but I chose to ignore the tedious old lush.
Back in class I was thankful to note the absence of any bats in any caves.
The irony of hearing about the evolution of speech from one who had not sufficiently evolved himself in order to pronounce his R's, was not lost on me.
I could hardly contain myself at the mention of the Cewebwal Cawtex let alone modified lawynx.
The term hunter-gathewew was equally entertaining.
Predictably this week's visual extravaganza consisted largely of maps (in the absence of any actual photographs of pre-historic man) and numerous close-ups of old bones.
I’ve now arrived at the milestone that stands a quarter of the way through this self-imposed punishment, and am left to speculate if, by the end of the course, I will indeed be four times more jaded with the subject matter than I am at present.
Only time will tell…..