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…..

Week 4.....Time Flies...

Week 4) Time flies.


No it doesn't!
Pterodactyls fly (or more accurately flew)….. time comes to a grinding halt at 10am on Wednesdays.
I inadvertently bumped into space invader as she arrived this morning, and immediately the old bat chose to engage me in conversation about the weather (wet!). "Jolly good for the garden" she chirped.
Bearing in mind my complete inability to photosynthesise, her over-enthusiasm was somewhat lost on the cold and soggy peroxide blonde that stood before her.
Know it all was attired in yet another absurd t-shirt bearing worldly advertisements of far flung continents, and boring everyone to death with his talk of badgers (by way of a change from his past voyages of discovery).
My eager anticipation of dinosaur talk was marred by further plate tectonics, but we did finally hear about “Bolide” …..allegedly a giant meteor that brought about the demise of the dinosaurs. It made a welcome change from `earth rock` at any rate.
For reasons best known only to himself, the lecturer likened the more belligerent beasts that roamed the planet, to Norman Bishops! This surreal comparison threw me considerably, and my mind rapidly wandered off into BBC comedy shows in the genre of Monty Python.
It was at this inopportune point, that I could no longer ignore the lecturer's minor speech impediment (manners generally forbid me to mock the afflicted) and phrases like "Gweat Bawwiew Weef" and "Afwican Wain Fowest" left me in mortal danger of hysterics.
In a futile attempt to suppress a giggle I chose to cough. Not a particularly wise move as it turned out, as before long the entire class were alarmingly spluttering out of control in some sort of psychologically-induced mass bronchial fit, and the only realistic solution was to head for the canteen for a premature Nescafe.
With a somewhat guilty conscience, I opted to share a table with a quiet and unassuming gentleman in a rather desperate attempt to avoid attracting any more gratuitous attention to myself. Unfortunately, for my solitary companion, space invader, know it all AND the lecturer all followed me like a bizarre and geriatric version of the Pied Piper. Before the poor unfortunate soul had the opportunity to beat a hasty retreat, the canteen rang with the booming "When I was in Africa..." and our gang had unenviably become the class bores.
Suitably revived, and back in class, we raced through the Triassic period with somewhat alarming speed, and out through the Cretaceous period, all in a matter of minutes!
Darwin would indeed be turning in his grave.
Much to my immense irritation, our very own fossil spent Act Two noisily hunting through her gigantic handbag for boiled sweets, wrapped in the noisiest cellophane I have ever heard, in an effort to curtail the remnants of the cough I’d inflicted upon her earlier. This resulted in me missing so many important dates and facts I eventually gave up on the biro and notepad idea altogether.
There is something mildly comforting in the space beneath a big blue brolly, and while I trudged home, cautiously avoiding the ponds that were once mere potholes, I couldn't help but ponder upon the fact that somewhere on this largely uncharted planet dinosaurs probably do still survive.
It's a wonder that know it all hasn't seen them.

Week 3...Brian...

Anyone who has in his, or her, possession such a vast quantity of slides demonstrating the continental drift is clearly in denial of some underlying personal anguish. (Purist Freudians may even be so bold as to suggest a leaning towards something profoundly maternal and faintly sexual). Obsessions with Pangea and the subsequent creation of Laurasia and Gondwanaland surely can’t be healthy, even for hardcore geologists.
I conclude, therefore, that my tutor requires urgent therapy before he drives us all to distraction.
And what, in Gods name, were the WEA thinking of issuing the trembling old fart with a laser pen?
Pointy sticks are dangerous enough in the hands of over enthusiastic pensioners, let alone retina-destroying weapons of dubious legality.
Know it all was decked out in his finest t-shirt of Malaysia, should anyone be left in any doubt at all as to his well-travelled past and therefore infinite worldly expertise.
Bored utterly rigid by the endless stream of references to tectonic plates, or perhaps merely hypnotised by the flickering red light than flitted across the Atlantic Ocean ad nausium (as opposed to the rigidity of PCP or Plastic Chair Paralysis), I managed to somehow survive the first half and reward myself with a much-earned 40p Nescafe.
Unfortunately the blue rinse brigade in the canteen had neglected to furnish the hall with any tables and chairs, much to the disapproval of my distinctly peeved classmates.
Not remotely fazed by the lack of such home comforts I chose to park my weary behind on some steps at the far end of the room. Unfortunately my space invader had taken it upon herself to follow my lead, and unsettled me further more by endeavouring to strike up a conversation.
Her opening line of "I'm almost 80 you know" admittedly threw me a little.
I still remain uncertain as to whether she assumed her advancing years would automatically endear me to her. It didn't.
Clutching at straws for an appropriate retort all I could come up with was "I'm 41". Not exactly riveting stuff I confess. Clearly my lack of conversational prowess failed dismally to impress space invader, as she chose to ignore my reply and directly wandered off I the general direction of the nearby lavatories.
Back in class, and with the ominous prospect of even more slides of maps, I was pleasantly surprised to find myself in the company of a new best friend in the shape of a bug. It appeared on my notepad from an unknown direction, brown in colour, and no bigger than an ant, but it was love at first sight. Hindered by the lack of a microscope I was a tad gender-confused, but chose to call `him` Brian.
Brian and I played for what seemed hours. I drew him a wobbly blue path and encouraged him along it very gently using the non-inky end of my biro. He appeared to enjoy this very much, and encouraged by his positive reactions I added some little blue houses and a blue tree. We laughed, we cried (she's losing it....!) in fact so distracted was I, that it wasn't until I heard the words "single celled organisms" that I realised that we had finally reached recent history (well, 3,500 million years ago anyhow). Hurrah.
My joy was, however, short-lived when the word "glacier" put paid to my delight, and yet again talk instantaneously returned to Supercontinents.
By the time I had remembered my chum and his enchanting new two-dimensional world, he’d vanished. I was devastated. Brian and I were no more.
It was with a heavy heart that I left Castle Methodist Church today, but I shall return, if only on the questionable promise from my tutor that we shall without a doubt have dinosaurs next week (presumably something all my fellow WEA colleagues have first hand experience of). I can now innocently spend the rest of my week fantasizing about enormous mammals devouring octogenarians.

Week 2 - Africa Revisited...

I’d decided to arrive on time, rather than early today, to avoid any unnecessary fraternising with the enemy.
I quickly learnt that musical chairs has been outlawed, to the point of becoming illegal (punishment unknown, but likely to be death by lethal injection of Sanatagen).
It appears that you must choose very carefully where you sit in lesson one, as once your cheeks touch the seat you are immediately tied by some bizarre legally binding contract to sit nowhere else for the duration of the course.
My space-invading friend annoyed me by using an empty chair the other side of her to unload all her old-person's junk! I was left balancing my bag / pen / notepad etc on the end of my knees. The fact that last week she objected to me using a chair for such purposes did not go un-noticed.
Another morning was spent on the Continental Drift, and this week's selection of exhilarating slides consisted of maps…..like we didn't see enough last week!..... digital images of water, and our first real slide of a photograph of Africa....................a large chunk of rock! (Deep joy).
Break-time thankfully passed off without any major incidents, as I had the foresight to bring along 40p in loose change for my Nescafe.
I'd chosen to make myself invisible, by saying very little and trying to blend in to the background to avoid confrontation, and yet I ended up joined at my table by all the "lads". (Clearly attracted to the army combats I was wearing as camouflage). 15 minutes of War stories later, it was time to head back to my special seat in the lecture room.
It was made apparent, that last week someone borrowed a book from the book box without signing away their life for it (shock horror) which now deems this publication "missing" (with the distinct implication it’s been STOLEN!). As the youngest person in the building (and therefore a hooligan) I’m obviously under suspicion, despite the fact I never went anywhere near the front of the room where the box was located. Nobody said anything directly, but I got several side-ways looks when it was being mentioned. I hope the damned thing turns up soon.
After another 20 minutes of Plate Tectonics , I suddenly thought I was having some sort of stroke (obviously brought on by an unnaturally high output of old people pheromones in the air) but luckily for me it was simply pins and needles all down my left side, brought on by my legally obligated plastic chair digging into the back of my leg.
I must've drifted off somewhere between Igneous Rock and the Rift Valleys, because before I knew it part two had ended.
I wasn’t exactly thrilled to learn there will be no time off for good behaviour next week (half-term break) as no-body else has children of school age (or grand-children of school age for that matter), therefore it’ll be a straight run through til December. Happy days!

Africa course..week 1.

Week 1) My new adventure.

I attended my first ever WEA lecture today, and I can honestly say I’ve never been so bored in my entire life!
All I’ve learnt, is the fact I have no interest whatsoever in plate tectonics (the ground deep below us).
I had no idea a course on African History & Culture would take me back 600 million years….. and there's no sign yet of any culture…..yet!
How one man can spend two hours on the subject of "Africa has moved a bit" is mind-numbing. (As were the slides of the maps).
I’m the only one in the class who isn’t collecting a state pension, and the only one who’s never attended a WEA course before, so it really is a case of being a square peg in a round hole.
I’m now clutching at straws hoping that it improves next week.
Things weren't helped by the fact that one old crone took exception to me using up far more space than my allotted chair's width (despite the fact there was plenty of space to be had) and made me shift all my clutter so she could squeeze up next to me.
I do rather tend to like my OWN space (some might say I'm messy, but I know exactly where everything is) and I like to spread out all my worldly possessions to the limits of my arms reach whenever possible.
Another faux pas was the fact I had nothing smaller than a £1 coin for my 40p Nescafe at break time, so the old bat pouring drinks had to ‘tut’ loudly while digging about in a small pot for the 60p change.
Our lecturer only has personal knowledge of Zimbabwe & Mozambique (and geology of course!) and punctuates every sentence with "ummmm".
He’s easily distracted, and frequently goes off at a complete tangent.
During the first hour he only showed one slide (a map of Africa) as he apparently "forgot" that he had slides with him.
It was only in the final 15 minutes that we actually got to see more slides of maps.
By far the most interesting part of the lecture was the 5 minute discussion at the beginning entitled "Shall we leave the heater on and shall we open the windows?!"
Several old dears were yawning towards the end.
The room had that special `old people` smell, rather like charity shops (a mixture of lavender water and pee).
There’s a class know-it-all, who often interrupts and corrects the lecturer, and wears mini-binoculars whilst sitting in the front row in order to get a better view of the screen ……located just 10 feet away.
There’s an ancient lady, so advanced in years she could barely make it to the canteen, and she arrived just in time for her to turn around and head back to the classroom for `act two`.
There’s plenty of `in jokes` about the Second World War, which obviously go right over my head.
I found myself studying my boots when we were asked for a volunteer librarian to guard the book box…… footwear-fascination also took hold of me when a class secretary was asked for in order to take the weekly register.
I was waiting for someone to ask for a milk monitor!
At the end of the session, a newsletter was handed out which declared that a minimum of 20 students per class were needed in order to make courses financially viable................and a head-count today showed there are 18 in my class, so I'm not entirely sure if the whole course will be cancelled.
Dying of boredom will probably bring the class size down even further.
Oh well, things can only get better (surely?!).