Tuesday, December 30, 2008

The Christmas Lurgy

It’s been dubbed “The Christmas Lurgy” – at least by Facebook users anyway, and as lurgies go, it’s a good one! Not quite flu – but more than a cold. So much more. Starting with incessant sneezing, a totally congested head rendering logical thought impossible, it morphs into a constant hacking cough that keeps the sufferer and everyone in the local vicinity awake all night. People keep telling me it’s flu – but I’ve heard so many people say they’ve had a flu jab but still had it. Whatever it is, I’m well into week three now – and it’s certainly taken the shine of Christmas.

Three weeks ago I wouldn’t have thought that possible. An early Christmas present arrived - my course result for AA310 (Film and TV History). Not spectacular in itself, but it was my last course towards my BA (Hons) in Humanities with English Language. I then had a lovely (pre-lurgy) week with a flurry of activity – booking the degree ceremony, receiving lots of congratulations cards and messages, and I did something I promised myself I’d do when I finally achieved my goal – I ordered an OU scarf. I was hoping it would make me look intelligent. Somehow it would have super powers so that when I looked at myself in the mirror I wouldn’t see the rebellious disruptive schoolgirl expelled, more years ago that I care to reveal, after a vodka incident.

The scarf is certainly warm – great for those trips to the chemist for tissues, lemon drinks and cough medicine. It did strike me the other day however, as the medicine shelves were almost empty (although not as empty as Woolworths shelves) – that Boots, Superdrug, Lloyds and all the other chemists must be doing very well out of this. The cynic in me wonders if these viruses are released into the wild on purpose, perhaps by the chemists to keep themselves in business – or by the government to keep our minds off the credit crunch.

Thursday, December 11, 2008

Plans

Things rarely go to plan – that’s when I bother to make plans. I much prefer spontaneity. Sometimes though, plans are a necessity. Christmas is quite possibly my busiest time at work. It’s very tense there at the moment. Everyone is running round like headless chickens. There was a massive argument over some purple soap. The staff room is full of bin-sacks of toys and books and Tombola drums, and you can’t move for tinsel. I’ve spent most of this week making calendars, painting a giant mixing bowl, making an online advent calendar, and creating an old-fashioned sign that says “The Bethlehem Inn”. All typical pre-Christmas primary school stuff, and the stresses that come from organising a Christmas fair and nativity plays at the same time as some virus takes out the angels and shepherds one by one.

Knowing the deadline for my End of Course Assessment came right in the middle of all this, I thought I’d get on top of it and get it sent off early. I finally whittled my photographs down to the required 10 chosen ones (no doubt rejecting any that were any good in the process). I had just started on the written work when my son rang me up to tell me he is joining the army. This was a bit unexpected to say the least, and quite distracting. No sooner had I got over that shock, and my twins had the type of argument you only usually witness on Tricia or Jeremy Kyle, or sometimes at weddings. Suddenly I was living in a war zone – but one where I couldn’t take sides. In the middle of that, my daughter’s puppy decided to remove his harness by chewing through it. I then had to go and buy a new harness.

Eventually though, somehow the End of Course Assessment got written and sent off, and I now find myself in ‘course limbo’ where I am wandering around looking for something to do. I am really going to have to find another course after Christmas. If not, I might have to tackle the ironing.

Tuesday, December 9, 2008

Patience...

If patience is a virtue, clearly then, I am not very virtuous. That’s fine with me – virtuous does sound like it might be a bit boring. Impatience, however, is perhaps a curse. Birthdays, Christmas Day, and of course results day, bring out the worst in me. It all boils down to the fact that I hate surprises. I like to know what presents are before I open them. I am the person who sits by the Christmas tree, constantly rearranging presents, poking and feeling them, and if I had an X-ray machine I would be using it. Quite often I will simply put myself out of my mystery by sneakily opening the present and re-wrapping, happy then to know there will be no shocks on Christmas morning when I might accidentally do the wrong face when I open it. Silly really, because if there is a present I really hate, then the person really won’t know – and maybe they will carry on buying me stuff I don’t like. But I would rather that than people think that I am ungrateful. Usually though, ignoring the cardigan I had a couple of years ago which was so immense my son and daughter-in-law could both fit into it at the same time with room to spare, the presents people buy me are lovely. Especially now my husband has got over his novelty clock obsession.

But this time of year is torture for me. Not only am I crossing the days off till Christmas and my Birthday which is in January, it’s results week. The message has been up on my student home page for weeks now. 12th December. Or rather “by 12th December”. That could mean 11th. What it definitely means is that for the last week I have been checking on the hour every hour in the day time. I haven’t yet resorted to getting up in the middle of the night. Yet.

I know I could wait till Friday and log-on then, but it’s just like the oddly shaped present I’ve had from my mother-in-law that feels like it might be chocolate, but smells a bit like soap. I need to KNOW now. If the result is a nasty shock rather than a lovely surprise, I need to be able to adopt the stoic face that suggests I knew all along I made a pig’s ear of the exam, and anyway, I’d just love the chance to re-sit the exam and spend another couple of months revising. Sadly though, the reality is, I am not THAT good an actress.

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

Support (1)

When I was first contemplating doing a course, I read all the stuff about support at home – and I laughed. I knew then that it would never be forthcoming. The husband would not be interested, but I thought he’d just let me get on with it. What I didn’t expect was the ‘anti-support’ and just how obstructive he would be. The way he waits until I am deeply engrossed in reading or writing something, then he will find something totally trivial and pointless to say. He distracts me so that I have to stop what I am doing – but once he’s distracted me and has my full attention, he shuts up. I wait a while, expecting another inane comment, I start writing – and off he goes again. Last week he felt compelled to tell me he’d bought 100 teabags for £1. Little things like that annoy me, plus his need for constant background noise which conflicts with my need for total silence. He has to have the television on if he is in, even when not watching it – then he will flick through every channel watching 5 minutes of each programme he finds. If he just stuck to one programme and the noise was constant, I would eventually be able to block it out. But not channel hopping. There is no escape either. If I give up and go upstairs, he seems to turn the TV up much louder – so that I don’t miss anything. Eventually I do have to admit defeat. I realise he is perhaps lonely, or feeling neglected, so I go down to try and engage him in conversation. Then, of course, I get the silent treatment. I can’t win.

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Getting ahead...

One of the advantages of working in a school is half-term week. It means – if the time is used wisely – you can get a week ahead of your course work, and allow yourself to feel a little smug. Well, that’s what I do anyway. Of course, when the weather is horrible, then it’s really no loss to sit inside reading twice as much as a normal week. Of course, one of the dis-advantages of working in a school is that you pick up all the horrible snotty colds, and vomiting things that spread like wildfire. This, of course, leaves you unable to do anything for a week. The two kind of cancel each other out. So after a week of smugness I now find myself in “thank goodness I got a week ahead when I could” mode – I won’t go into details! The rubbish weather has been a bit challenging on a photography course. Invariably the blue skies have appeared when I haven’t been able to get out and about with my camera, so I have been having to amuse myself by taking photos indoors. This week I have been taking close up photos of Belgian chocolates. That wasn’t one of the assignments, by the way – it’s one I invented myself. It’s all about making the most of opportunities. In the last couple of weeks of this course, I intend to see just what I can get away with buying on the pretence of “needing” it for a photo shoot. I’ve always fancied an eternity ring…

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

Tutor Marked Assignments

New courses – it doesn’t matter how experienced you are – have one dreadful hurdle. That first TMA. You can expect them to get progressively harder throughout the course, but there is so much at stake with that first one. For a start, it’s a new tutor – you perhaps haven’t met them yet, and you haven’t got to know their likes and dislikes. And most of all, you want to create the impression you are intelligent. I agonise over each TMA01. Trouble is, when I am in agonising mode, the brain turns to mush and I write gibberish. No doubt the rest of the agonising is done by the poor tutor who has to mark it. At least after that first one is out of the way, you can act on the feedback and try to tailor them to the tutor's whims and desires. Perhaps that’s one of the things that attracted me to T189 (Digital photography: creating and sharing better images). No TMAs – and no tutor. True, there was a CMA – a computer marked assignment, but I was much more relaxed about that. I even submitted it two weeks early. That’s how laid back I was. I don’t mind if a computer marks it. I am happy for a computer to think I am thick. I am quite sure most of them do anyway. My various computers and I have come to an understanding over the years – if they do what they are supposed to do (or what I expect them to do) then I won’t hit them with a hammer. Perhaps I should have a similar arrangement with the husband?

The other advantage of T189 was the cost. I’ve just had an expensive couple of years with three 60 point courses. A ten pointer was a mere drop in the ocean by comparison. At least it would have been had I not been compelled to blow all my back-pay on a DSLR camera. I’ve never spent so much on myself for no reason other than I wanted it – there was no special occasion or event. Well I say no special occasion… last year was a ‘special’ anniversary – but did I get a silver present? Did I, in fact, get any present? I'm guessing you can tell the answer is 'No'. This year was a special birthday – and the husband gave me a tenner to go and buy myself a book. So perhaps I might be forgiven for indulging myself. I think I’ve earned it.

Saturday, October 25, 2008

Exam v. End of Course Assessment

There are, apparently, people who thrive in exam situations. While I am sure these people exist, I have never actually met one, or if I have, they certainly haven’t said: “Ooh, an exam – I can’t wait!” In fact, judging by the faces of all the people who were waiting with me when I took my last exam, no one was looking forward to it. No one could speak. Most had the expression of someone about to face a firing squad. Most were doing last minute revision. I have come to the conclusion that this is probably a good idea. It must be better to have something other than everyone else’s terrified face to focus on in those last few minutes.

I’ve done three exams now – and they all reduced me to a gibbering wreck. I get obsessed about revision. From the minute the last TMA is sent off, it starts. All my waking hours and, if my dreams are anything to go by, much of my sleeping ones too, are filled with frantic (and largely futile) fact-cramming. I really envy those blessed with a photographic memory. In photography terms my memory is like one of those sepia photos of your great-grandma looking faded and scratched.

In my first exam I tried to be too clever and revised selectively. I realised as I read the exam paper through that by doing that I was leaving an awful lot down to luck – and I was particularly unlucky that day with not one question that I felt I could answer properly. I learnt by my mistake, and in my second exam I revised everything comprehensively. I made fact sheets, mind-maps, study cards (I even laminated them and made them into a small book to carry everywhere). I thought this had paid off when I read the exam paper – there were several I felt I could do. I have no idea why, then, I actually got a lower mark than in my first exam. Third time lucky perhaps – I did some selective revision, but did it much more thoroughly. I did find three questions that kept me fully occupied for the three hours, but I know deep down I could have done better. My sieve mind just cannot retain facts. As I enter the exam room all my knowledge goes down the plughole and I am left with a pan of mushy overcooked cauliflower.

So I would much rather do an End of Course Assessment (ECA). I like being able to do them when I am in the mood, at my own pace, producing something I am much happier with – and perhaps more to the point – getting much better marks. To do that I need thinking time and a comfortable chair. Not sitting there feeling too embarrassed to ask to go to the loo. I enjoy the simple things like being able to not only rattle my sweet papers, but to nip round to the shop to get a big bar of chocolate mid-paragraph. Humming to myself. An endless supply of coffee. Not having to suffer the humiliation of having my passport photo examined. And – oh the absolute bliss of not having to use a pen.

Monday, October 13, 2008

In the beginning...

I can be impulsive. I’m not much of a planner. Act – then think, is usually my approach. So sending off (on a whim) for the OU course guide was an impulse. By the time it arrived, and I’d idly flipped through a few pages, it was out of my system, and it went in the bin. Then I made the mistake (or not…?) of telling my boss, thinking she’d laugh, and say, “How foolish of you. What on earth gave YOU the impression you’d be able to do something like that!” Instead she virtually demanded I retrieved it and brought it into work.

Within a couple of months I was doing an ‘Openings’ course, and so the OU addiction began. Six years later and I am just about allowing myself to think that a degree isn’t out of the question. Although I’ve been working towards a BA (Hons), I haven’t really thought much about it. I’ve been taking it a course at a time. "Just get through them, don’t think too much about the future, or what if…", I've said to myself. Of course I can do this because I’m not doing it for career purposes. I’m 50 now and I can’t imagine me doing anything life changing – it’s been more a voyage of discovery. What I could have achieved had I not given up on education when I failed the eleven plus. Pretty much all my time at school after that was spent plotting and scheming disruptive behaviour – the one thing I really was good at, and I left with 2 ‘O’ levels. I suppose because a degree isn’t the main goal, I can’t really imagine an ‘end’ at the moment. I’ve already found a course to keep me occupied during the wait for results of what should be my last exam. Then what? Am I going to be able to ‘let go’? Or will I keep finding something else? What happens when I run out of 10 pointers? Will I try a 30? How long before I find a 60-pointer to do ‘just for fun’?

Tutorials

The course that’s currently keeping me busy is the first one where I haven’t been able to attend any of the tutorials. The reason being the travelling time would be much longer than the tutorial itself. It would involve a bus journey (and the associated waiting time), a train journey (ditto) and a further bus journey (tedious). If I could guarantee no waiting time or delays I think I’d probably go – but making time allowances for every eventuality usually means arriving ridiculously early, because when you make such allowances, invariably everything runs like clockwork. Then, after two hours of tutorial, the reverse journey home. Not really knowing which side the road to stand on to get back to the City. Waiting for my train. Waiting for my bus. We’re talking about being out for at least 8 hours – all for a 2 hour tutorial. Just think what I could achieve in 8 hours in essay writing terms – at least a paragraph.

At this point I suppose I should confess that I own a car, but due to a 25 year gap between passing my test (in a sleepy country place) and driving again (in today’s traffic madness) – I am just too scared. I’m one of the few people who can make £20 worth of petrol last over a year. So driving to the tutorial isn’t an option. Also, I can’t park. I rarely go backwards. A simple trip to the local supermarket has the same effect on me as going on every white knuckle ride at Alton Towers. I’m not really clear about overtaking, although it’s rarely an issue – the only things I tend to catch up are milk-floats and aging vicars going uphill on bikes – and they can make surprisingly abusive hand signals if you accidentally catch their cassocks with your wing-mirror.

So, in missing these tutorials, I do feel I have missed out. I like ‘people watching’ and tutorials are great places to do this. At every tutorial I’ve been to, there is always a ‘Maggie’ – not someone called Maggie – it’s just the first one I encountered reminded me of Mrs Thatcher. They feel compelled to voice all their opinions on every subject, and they are always right, even when they are wrong. It can be particularly tiresome when they disagree with every point made by the tutor, although this can be when it gets interesting. Everyone else can sit back, watch the show, and see who cracks first. As I work in a school I am aware that – unlike when I was at school – the teachers are not so quick to say that an answer is wrong. “That’s a good answer,” they will say, “but have you thought about ...” or, “Not quite – but it was a very good try.” (Yes – it’s a Primary school.) And I have witnessed a similar approach by tutors. And ‘Maggie’ – the first Maggie that is – seemed Hell bent on disagreeing with pretty much everything the tutor said. After a couple of weeks of pussyfooting around, the tutor realised that her “Oh that’s an interesting thought, Maggie… but have you considered…” approach was totally pointless. Maggie was being particularly stubborn over something the tutor had said, and finally the tutor cracked. As Maggie launched into what looked like being a lengthy explanation on why she was right (yet again), the tutor stopped her in her tracks with a “NO”, and a silent cheer in knowing-look form passed between the rest of the students.

Another year, another course, and the ‘Maggie’ was a man who wore the same stripy jumper to every tutorial. I wittily called him ‘Stripy’ (not to his face, obviously – not only am I not that rude, he never shut up long enough for any other students to speak). When the tutor was speaking, 'Stripy' and 'Morticia', the woman who always sat next to him would sit whispering and canoodling. By the end of the course I decided they must have been having an affair. Perhaps going to tutorials was the only way they could get to see each other. I did wonder though why they didn’t just pretend to do the course and use the money they saved to get a hotel room.

A personal favourite of mine was ‘Minty’. Not the mechanic from Eastenders, but a woman who spent an entire day-school crunching her way through a seemingly endless supply of mints. She reminded me of a Thellwell Shetland pony. I lost count eventually, but by lunchtime she was definitely on the eleventh packet. Although these people did get on my nerves, I do sort of miss them, and I wonder - is it only me that gives the other students nick-names, or does everyone do it? If so – I wonder what they call me.

Wednesday, October 1, 2008

eTMAs

I love some aspects of the eTMA system. I love not having to discover that I’ve misplaced my stash of PT3 forms, or that my large envelope supply has been raided by the kids, or that it’s raining, and the Post Office is due to close in about 3 minutes. And I love not having to face Medusa, the sour-faced dragon. I always seem to end up at her window; I never get the smiley friendly woman. Asking Medusa for a proof of postage always elicits a scathing look, like I’m accusing her of being incapable of getting my envelope into a sack a mere 2 feet away, or suggesting she sets fire to my essays in her tea-break. And when I ask for it to go first-class, she always insists telling me the second class price as well. Perhaps she judges me by my post-TMA bedraggled appearance, and assumes I need every penny I can get. Then she says, in a sarcastic tone of voice, “Are the contents worth anything?”
“No.” I reply, with the doomed feeling that my latest offering is completely worthless. Oh but the joy of walking away from the Post Office with a spring in my step, thinking, “It’s gone! It’s posted! Tra-La-La…” as I skip home. THAT I miss.

Somehow a few simple mouse-clicks never really convinces me that it’s actually gone. I imagine it floating around in cyber-space for all eternity. Perhaps it doesn’t feel ‘gone’ because it’s still there, on my desktop. Looking at me. Taunting me. Saying, “Go on, open me up again, have another read and discover all those typos you missed!”
You know the ones – those that remain invisible until just after the deadline has passed, but then suddenly become the most obvious things in the world. And I always have at least one weird sentence that makes no sense at all because careless cutting and pasting has left the full stop dangling somewhere in the middle.


I’ve also had to change my ‘opening ritual’. Coming home to a returned postal TMA was always exciting. (A letter addressed to me that wasn’t a bill was always a bonus). It was more of an opening ceremony than opening an envelope.
Step one – ignore the envelope and make a cup of coffee, and find a Chunky Kit-Kat (vital). Step 2 - sit down and look at envelope for a while.
Step 3 – open the envelope carefully, ensuring contents are face down. (Don’t want to catch sight of the words “THIS IS UTTER WAFFLE” written across the PT3 form.)
Step 4 – remember I am not at school now, and tutors tend not to make the ‘waffle’ comment.
Step 5 - slowly turn the contents over to reveal the mark. If disappointed, eat the Kit-Kat and drink the coffee before reading the comments and finding out what went wrong. If happy – celebrate with the Kit-Kat.

Now I have had to get used to checking the eTMA system, and because one of my tutors once returned an essay within 24 hours (a record), a couple of days after the deadline has passed I get this compulsion to check. Yes – I know you get an email when it’s been marked, but the trick for me is to catch the returning eTMA before the email hits the in-box. This means checking at least every 5 minutes. The bit I have yet to come to terms with though is having the mark up on the screen. It’s too soon – I need that ‘thought-gathering’ time to prepare myself for any sudden shocks.

By far the best thing about eTMAs is being able to read the tutors’ comments. I once had a tutor whose writing was so “alternative”, he couldn’t actually read it himself. It’s not easy trying to respond to feedback that looks like it’s been written with the feathery end of a quill, on a windy dark night, half way up a mountain, by someone whose just consumed 4 bottles of vodka. (Oh – I’ve just described my own hand writing!)

Sunday, September 21, 2008

New Course Materials

Like Sirens, they call me.
“Look at me… look at me…”
“No – I must be strong.” I look away. “Get thee behind me, New Course Materials!”
I ignore them, but they sit there, muttering and sulking.
“You can sulk all you like,” I tell them, “I don’t have the time. I’m revising. I’ve got an exam soon. When that’s out of the way, then YES – I will come out to play.”
“Oh, but something might be missing – then what would you do? You’d be stuck then… and you’d get behind… and you don’t like that, do you?”
“Oh, OK then – since you are not going to give me any peace – I’m simply going to check you out, make sure everything is there that should be… YES… All present and correct. Now where was I? Ah yes, looking at British TV genres.” (AA310 Film & TV History)
*small cough* “Er... excuse me….”
“YES?” I snap.
“OK – so you’ve checked we’re all here, but we might not work… it’s not like we are a book, we are CD ROMs and DVDs – we might be corrupt.”
“OK, I’ll install the software – will that stop the nagging?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ll promise to stop distracting me?”
“Oh yes!”
“Right… OK then – but you are going on Computer Number 2, the one I use for photo and video editing – I’m not falling into the trap of switching Computer Number 1 on – the one that links me to the outside world, with Scrabble games and Facebook and the Wonderful Wondrous Web and online shopping and emails that offer me Ugg-boots and chocolate and gadgets and all manner of extensive surgery – improving the parts of me I don’t actually possess, for that would be foolish.”
“Yeah, whatever!”

Computer Number 2 purrs into life, all snazzy blue lights, instant – well compared to the 10 minutes Number 1 needs to load all it’s bits and pieces, with it’s annoying habit of telling me there’s no firewall installed because it hasn’t got round to loading it yet. Computer Number 1 is a doddery old man. In Doctor Who terms it's William Hartnell. Number 2 is more David Tennant.

“Oy! New course materials!”
“Yes?” (Innocent and wounded.)
“You said if I loaded the software, you’d stop distracting me!”
“I have.”
“Then why am I thinking about David Tennant?”
“Nothing to do with me gov. Thought you were revising!”
“Yes – I am trying to.”
“Wot you revising?”
“Science Fiction, Star Trek, Doctor Who…”
“There you go then – not my fault.”
“Sorry.”
“I should think so too. I was sitting here, minding my own business, didn’t even draw your attention to the DVD.”
“The DVD?”
“Yes – the tutorials.”
“Oh, I see, well I don’t need to do those yet.”
“Might be scratched.”
“What?”
“It might be scratched.”
“I heard… I’m installing it now!”
“Good, then you can go back to your revision.”
“Yeeeeeeessss…. Ooooooh… tutorials… better check them through…..”

(Three hours later.)

“Hello!!”
“Shhhhhhhhh!”
“HELLO-O?”
“I am trying to concentrate!”
“But it’s lunchtime.”
“Oh, it’s YOU stomach. Here have these crisps.”
“But I want REAL food.”
“Can’t, too busy. Have them and shut up. You LIKE crisps.”
“But I had crisps for breakfast.”
“And…?”
“All the salt is making me thirsty.”
“But if I have to go downstairs to get a drink I’ll get distracted… and I need to do well in the exam… I’m rubbish at exams… I need to……”
“Revise?”
“Aghhhhhhhhh! Oh evil, evil New Course Materials. You KNOW I am weak and easily distracted.
“Yes,” (sounding smug now), “You should have got back to work!”
“Oh don’t worry, I will. I am going to put the other computer on now, to type up my notes.”

(Ten minutes later)

“I will be strong…
Just need to check for emails… Oh mainly junk, *delete*, *delete*, *delete*… I’ll check my Scrabble games, rude to keep people waiting… I’ll just update my Facebook status. Right – load Microsoft Word, ready to type up notes…
Focus…
Focus…
Focus…
Dr Who and Star Trek… is… um… Come on brain… You KNOW this….
Don’t wander… don’t wander…”
“Space, the final frontier.”
“Go away.”
“Captain’s Log…”
“Stop it.”
“Captain’s Log… Captain’s Blog…”
“BLOG? Oh I know – I could write a blog about revision.

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Mortar boards (offensive weapons)

Lurking about in a forum recently, I came across a heated “discussion” about mortar boards. No one seemed prepared to sit on the fence on this issue. Half the contributors were outraged that OU don’t ‘do’ mortar boards at their graduation ceremonies. The others were relieved. I belong to the latter group, mainly because I look like a prat in a hat. I’m too short, I’ve got the wrong bone structure, plus I’ve got the sort of hair that instantly moulds to the shape of a hat. Weddings were a nightmare until fascinators - those delightfully frivolous feathery affairs – became ‘the thing’.

Yet despite recognising that they do look quite imposing on photographs, I have a very good reason for being anti-mortar board. My daughter graduated last year from a Uni that does ‘do’ mortarboards, and yes – she looked great, and it was a proud moment. But, being a short girl, she was on the front row of the group photo. After what seemed like an hour of the photographer and his megaphone-wielding assistant arranging the students, it was 1 – 2 – 3 hats in the air… click! And the photo was done.

Some of the students however didn’t so much toss their headgear into the air as launch it into orbit, and as the daughter
was mid-throw looking up, one crash-landed on the bridge of her nose, making a sickening cracking noise, leaving her looking dazed, with an evil swollen purple bruise developing that lasted for two weeks, and leaving me wondering what would be an appropriately sensitive time-lapse before I sent the video-clip in to ‘You’ve Been framed’ to claim my £250.

I’ve heard people ridicule the banning of these ‘up in the air’ shots – but if anyone you know is in such a photo, tell them to keep theirs firmly on their head for protection and whatever they do, don’t look up!

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Revision - or re. vision

It’s time – I am now convinced – that I have to admit defeat and start wearing reading glasses. There’s no excuse really, I have two pairs. Personally I think they make me look like a prat, but one day I am going to look a bigger prat for not wearing them. It’s not that I am too vain to wear them, it’s more to do with being too idle to put them on and forgetting to put them in my bag. I tend to manage without them when I am out.

I’ve been revising like there is no tomorrow – well sort of. Clearly IF there was no tomorrow I wouldn’t be revising at all, I’d be eating as much chocolate as physically possible. I’ve even made a revision timetable. Basically I’ve gone through my calendar and written the word REVISE on every day. But after an entire weekend of reading and typing notes, my eyes have been red, puffy and sore.

OU can take over your life, especially at revision time when pre-exam desperation sets in. Occasionally though, it has to take a back-seat when life’s necessities take over – like yesterday. I knew I wouldn’t be able to do as much revision as I wanted, so I took a book with me to read on the train – and a highlighter pen. On the ‘out’ journey I had a disapproving woman sitting opposite me ‘tutting’ every single time I highlighted a key phrase or random word. It reached the stage where I was considering writing a rude comment across the top of the page and highlighting it. In the end, though, I didn’t. She looked like she had been a teacher in a previous life, so instead I chose to sit there, smirk and look out of the window – that is the general effect teachers have had on me over the years.

On the return journey the most irritating man in the world sat opposite me, he was up and down off his seat, kept walking up to one end of the carriage, and into the next one, and back again. I’ve always been easily distracted, and concentrating was impossible. The lid stayed firmly on my highlighter pen. I couldn’t be bothered to get the reading glasses out of the bottom of my bag, underneath my usual collection of essential items, purse, cagoule, pens, USB memory thingies, camera, spare batteries, MP3 player, and so on.

I just sat and read a few pages on British Cinema – a bit blurred because I couldn’t hold the book far enough away without invading someone else’s space. The moment I realised reading glasses have now become a necessity was when I read the words, “…as well as Glenda Jackson and Gemma Jones in supporting pants.” It was a couple more sentences before it filtered through my clogged-up revision-addled brain, and I said, (out loud), “Pants?” (it actually said ‘parts’). I completely lost it at that point and gladly packed the book away as we pulled into the station. I then walked off into the night, smirking.