Scary stuff

I am now, officially, in my first week of university. Luckilly we get Mondays off so I slept until 10am and felt much better about the day as a result.

Had an email from the dance society inviting me to join up tomorrow (can I find the fiver they will require, is an interesting question) and although they didn't say where this joining up is going to happen, I think I may just take them up on their offer. Although I may be one of the oldest and most out of shape there, I shall stun them all with my dance of the seven veils. I only have five veils so far and this may mean that people get to see a little bit more of me than they were expecting but hey, in for a penny, in for a pound (what does that saying really mean?)!

I have also been working on my homework for my Marketing class over the last couple of days and it's given me an opportunity to look at and think about lots of different books, which is fine by me because I love books (although saying this when you are a publishing student is actually a bit of a cliche, so I'm told). The dispiriting thing is though that the main bestsellers in this country seem to be celebrity biographies and cookery books with just a smattering of fiction on the side. Why dont they just be done with it and make Jamie Oliver king and Nigella Lawson queen and then everybody will be happy.

Freshers Week (Time to dish out the lollies and condoms)

Phew - I am exhausted. I have just survived my first two days of Uni and I am glad I get a break tomorrow. Between the lecturers trying to bombard you with information and the desperate attempts by people trying to decide who they might want to be friends with for the next year, I'm just not sure I can take anymore. And dont even get me started on the competition between students, about how much work experience people have been doing.

On the plus side, I did get a free sample of Smash and what culinary experience can be more important to a student (particularly one who doesn't like Pot Noodle) than freeze dried potato.

I must depart now as I have set aside the next three hours to try and work out the mystery that is our timetable. People in the class who think of themselves as being organised when they write an essay on the morning it is due to be handed in, have actually been going out and buying diaries. Smell the fear.

Red Tape

Well the time is nearly here. In two weeks time I will no longer be unemployed (oh the shame) but will be a fully fledged, card carrying student. Hurrah! As long as, that is, I can get past the mountain (yes a mountain, only an edifice that large will suffice) of red tape. A form about this and a form about that and of course the dreaded form asking for the bloody money (all donations generously received. You may even get a thank you note). Why, for instance, is it imperative the university knows whether or not my parents had a university education? Do they want to know exactly how working class I am? Just a little bit, or a fully fledged red under the bed. And why do they require four passport photographs of me? Are they thinking of sending me on some of Jason Bourne type expedition where I will be required to hold multiple passports (and drive around maddly in an old mini)? Hopefully this will be the case, as quite honestly, I am just not well travelled enough. Plus, I wouldn't mind dallying in a little bit of espionage on the side. It would break up the day wouldn't it? After all, there is only so much BBC World News and CNN that a girl can watch between sightseeing trips.

Anyway, the actual enrolment will be very interesting as I will finally be able to see what sort of people I will be spending the next year with and as long as I am better dressed than them all (and they're not techno-geeks), I am sure we will all get on admirably.