University of Wolves
A degree of pain and pleasure in the Black Country.
University – A Proper One! New doors opening my mind – French philosophers, modules in theory and language of writing, writing in cyberspace, 1960s subcultures, writing the novel…
Another highbrow day doing Harvard referencing and arguing over why I should have to trek all the way to Walsall to hand in four sheets of paper.
I’m a Charlie’s Angel – always on assignment. Currently it’s Writing the Novel. Happily the tutor loves my opening chapter, which is incentive enough to continue and lay K___ to rest (and dance on his grave).
Being in the Midlands is like being beached whale – I’m stuck here but it’s not my natural habitat.
Had a two-hour lecture on masturbation (not a telling off, an actual lecture). Went on a date with a Spanish doctor; he held my hand, turned it over and said, “Juicy veins.”
Is it better to know your future or not? If I knew it would all work out, I’d be a feck of a lot more easy-going. If I could write it, I’d say: novel finished by Xmas, published by next year, never have to work again by the year after.
Another 12-hour work day but I did most of it in the garden so fuck you world.
It’s the eleventieth day straight I’ve worked on assignments so tonight I went to M____’s for drinks, dancing and a change of scene. I find myself staring at Melanie’s accidentally exposed, bobbing nipple. She’s so French. She and chef are dancing. Chef is entranced. Chef’s girlfriend storms out. Returns 20 minutes later in a huff. Note to self: make sure loved one spots your dramatic exit.
Started my last piece of new work today – an online Socratic dialogue on pedagogies for the teaching and tutoring writing module. Stayed home with a fishfinger pitta and chick flick.
Uni is making me fat and old. I used to be an ectomorph with 20-20 vision, I’m now an endomorph with eye strain. An endo. I wish it was the endo.
Handed The Fucker* in.
* AKA The Bastard.
– 78 pages of dissertation plus another 23 in the appendix
Finished Fucker No2 – the novel. RSI. Exhaustion. Never again.
Why not add some much-needed extra thrills to your dissertation deadline day by getting on a non-stopping train to Stafford and watching Wolverhampton whizz by? Handed F.No2 in at 16.21, just nine minutes to go. Sweaty.
Got life back!
I’m free. Everyone else isn’t. Finland won Eurovision.
We wanted to include a variety of forms here, and we particularly enjoyed this witty diary piece about student life at the Black County’s only university (which genuinely is one of the few where it’s possible to experience a “two-hour lecture on masturbation”). The institution is vast, located over several campuses separated by large distances, which sometimes gives rise to some of the frustrations identified here, like having to “trek all the way to Walsall to hand in four sheets of paper.” The University recruits mostly from the Black Country, and while students from beyond the area generally flourish, the regional feel can give rise to the kind of “beached whale” out of its “natural habitat” experience informing some of the humour in this piece. The author wants to remain anonymous.