College...Week 10

I began the week with the official handing in of my UCAS application. This was a momentous occasion indeed for someone still desperately trying to get to grips with the concept of further education, let alone higher education.

Counselling was the usual miserable experience that no amount of Prozac could assist me through. It was my turn to act out the client role, and for 30 arduous minutes I had to play the part of a 55-year-old woman with a desperately depressing life.

After the very welcome mid-morning break, I was much happier just sitting making notes as an observer during the second audio taped session. The afternoon consisted of being informed of exactly how much work will be involved in the three delightful assignments that will follow the course. It’s just as well that I have no plans for Christmas this year, as it looks very likely that I’ll be working on my transcriptions and reading up on empathy.

There comes a point at college, for all women of child-bearing age, when certain items need to be purchased from a dispenser situated within a ladies lavatory. Several of my classmates had previously commented on the lack of such a provision in the F Block toilets, so I took it upon myself to check out a few other bathrooms on campus.

I soon discovered that F Block was far from unique, and not a single such dispenser existed. …..I also noted the lack of condom dispensers, although one might assume there’d be a greater demand, or necessity, for the former rather than the latter.

I made a few enquiries into the matter, and was astonished to discover that they’d been removed after repeated bouts of vandalism. Surely one would have to have some seriously 'faulty wiring' to want to duff up a tampon machine?

During I.T. I managed to print out much-needed additional data for my study skills group project. The tutor then, very kindly, showed those of us taking sociology, how best to create boxes on a questionnaire. This is superb timing, as I’m currently constructing a social survey, which will look far more professional for having boxes added.

Numeracy was another heavy-going week as far as I was concerned. I just about managed to stay with the concept of power numbers for the first 20 minutes, but then an information overload rendered me completely incapable of even locating the square root button on my scientific calculator.

For the life of me, I can’t fathom how power numbers, root numbers, square roots and so forth will help me to live a fuller and more exciting life. Will it help me to save money at Tescos? Will it make me a better mother to my children? Will it help me to work out which bus I need to catch? I have a sneaking suspicion the answers will be that they will, in fact, not.

There was time at the end of the lesson to finish correcting previously marked work, which I obviously took advantage of, and I was delighted to find myself currently up-to-date with all my numeracy worksheets, and even more delighted to receive a shiny sticky red star for my efforts. I simply couldn’t contain my glee at this important achievement and merrily showed my sparkly symbol off to my long-suffering friends. I acknowledge that I’m easily pleased.

My study skills session was extraordinarily fruitful this week, in that I actually managed to get something written down onto a sheet of paper. It’ll probably make no sense at all when I read it back at a later date, but at least I didn’t wander around aimlessly this week. This is positive progress indeed.

Writing skills, for me, has been highly frustrating lately. It’s yet another test of my abilities, when I’m feeling tired after a long day in noisy classrooms.

I feel that I’d proved my abilities in this area during the planning period way back in January, where I obtained three level 3 credits… one of which was for my academic writing skills.

I feel that I’d also proved my abilities in this subject with my level 3 credit for précis. And I feel that I’d also proved my abilities in this area with the level 3 credit that I received for my sociology essay.

I passed my National Certificate in Adult Literacy in July with a score of 39 out of 40 …only a moment of insanity with a spelling question prevented me from obtaining 100%... and I have the paperwork to prove it. 

I’m a woman, a mother, and a lone parent, and within these roles I constantly have to prove my abilities to somebody or other. I therefore find it highly irritating that I am expected to constantly prove myself during writing skills, when I’ve already shown significant evidence of my abilities.

Far from an accurate test of my abilities, these last three weeks have simply tested my patience. This, incidentally, has completely run out. During the planning period we were told, on more than one occasion, that Access students never have to sit exams, unless they’re taking a GCSE subject. I beg to differ!

Thursday I was back into the calm and reassuring realm of sociology. Families and households has become this weeks 'comfort blanket', and previous tantrums made way for highly entertaining and enlightening discussions regarding sperm donors, pregnant men, cloning and the contraceptive pill.

College - Week 9...

This Monday saw the beginning of the audio taping of our counselling role-play sessions. I was hugely thankful that I’d opted to be the last person going through the anxiety of playing counsellor, and I’m rather hoping that the sessions that I’m currently observing will help me to function when I take centre stage.

By way of a change from the usual jacket and beans, my vegetarian banquet today was rice with a selection of vegetables. This went down rather well, but my subsequently bloated stomach made me wish I‘d chosen slightly slacker jeans.

Bereavement was never going to be an easy topic to cover, and the afternoon session drained me both emotionally and physically. Watching your friends burst into tears, while you’ve already got a lump in your throat the size of an apple, is hugely unsettling.

A stressful day of counselling followed by all four core studies in one day. What a joy….

I.T. required just a basic knowledge of e-mail, which meant that most of this particular lesson was dedicated to much-needed compassionate conversations with my co-counsellors. The opportunity to play is always a welcome distraction, and silly messages went flying electronically back and forth throughout the lesson.

Numeracy was thrust upon us at a surprisingly frantic pace, and it was all I could do to keep up. Percentages is something that I personally would rather have taken a little more time over during class, mostly due to the fact that I’m now burdened with an entire worksheet to complete at home without the luxury of having the methodology fresh in my mind, or a tutor on hand for those awful 'stuck' bits.

The theory behind this brain-busting class, was to enable us to end our numeracy classes two weeks ahead of schedule, but the idea of spending two consecutive Tuesdays, in late December, twiddling my thumbs from the end of I.T. at 11am until the beginning of study skills at 1pm, is not, in my opinion, something that I shall necessarily look forward to.

I was still feeling distinctly below par during lunch, probably being weighed down by the misery of the impending study skills group project, followed by part two of the hideous writing skills assignment.

Another afternoon was wasted, mooching around the library, staring blankly at the spines of books for some sign of inspiration. It didn’t appear, so I cut my losses and comforted myself with a coffee and some shortbread biscuits instead. This didn’t particularly assist me with my research into screen violence, but at least I did feel slightly better afterwards.

On campus there’s a distinct lack of anywhere nice for mature students to escape to in order to wallow in self-pity, away from hormonally challenged teenagers. Today, I felt that I could really have benefited from a quiet place to hide, where I could be amongst fellow core-studies-sufferers.

It seems very unfair that rent-a-yob has somewhere hip and funky to gather, and yet we more civilised creatures are condemned to wandering the cold, dark corridors of the college.

Wednesday at 9.15am I arrived for my previously well-documented hair appointment. I felt it only fair to warn my tentative trainee that my hair is substantially thicker than it first appears.

The first of the brightly coloured foils made an appearance at 10.20am, and by 12.20pm there seemed to be a light at the end of the tunnel. By this point, my head looked as if I was wearing the contents of a tin of Quality Street, and I was praying that the fire alarm wouldn’t sound.

Two cups of tea later, and my foils were out, hair washed and my student was merrily slicing off an inch or two of split ends. Hunger pangs had started to appear by now, and my rear end had been quite numb for several hours, but vanity is never without a price.

By 3pm the blow-drying was finally complete…but there was a slight problem. Of course there was!  One small, but painfully obvious, section of my locks had turned a nasty shade of orange, for reasons unknown, and there was no alternative than to have another single foil put in place with a strong dose of colour smothering it.

The next 30 minutes seemed to last a lifetime as I waited for the new colour to take a hold. My poor student looked worse for wear, having been on her feet since I arrived with not so much as a sip of water inside her.

The correction thankfully worked, and I walked out of the door at 3.45pm precisely. Hopefully, the next appointment will only require my roots coloured, which will allegedly take just a fraction of the time.

Thursday saw a repeat of the brolly and bus sketch. Families and households was welcome light relief from screen violence and bereavements, and even our new assignment of compiling a questionnaire didn’t appear to intimidate me. 

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.