Tuesday, 17 September 2013

Signed and Sealed

Well I've only gone and done it - fully signed up for the Creative Writing MA. I even have an official photo ID card where I look just slightly less like a criminal than I do on my passport. The woman in charge of the photography asked me twice if I was 'happy with it?' - not as happy as I would be with a glass of wine; happier than I would be with thrush thank you.
I arrived early, as my mother taught me, which was fortunate because the campus sprawls and the instructions I'd been sent were vague. Having been to the university a couple of times before, I headed for the main reception. Ah but it was closed which actually seemed perfectly reasonable as I stood staring at the empty desk wondering what to do next. I had time for coffee and, I imagined, a few moments to let the day fall away and embrace my new student adventure but the coffee shop was shut too. In fact everything was pretty much shut. The university seemed to be holding its breath in anticipation of the salacious studious life to come.
The benefit of the detour was that I now know where the library is and eventually a kind, helpful woman gave me clear directions which she repeated slowly to allow me to process the various land marked turns I was to take. This in contrast to the man who looked kind but suggested any number of directions I might try if I were him which I clearly am not. I stumbled at the steps of the building I had been assured was the one I needed to be in. Reader, it was the sports centre. Panic!
Let's just be clear, I read and I write but I DO NOT *do* forms if I can possibly avoid it. Being married is useful in this respect because MrT is VERY good at forms but there are occasions where I absolutely have to do them myself and the course application was one such time. Stepping slowly up to the first floor where a track suited man had directed me I couldn't help wonder what on earth I might be signing up for. Does anybody REALLY read all the options on a form? Does ANYBODY really check back over a form to make sure they haven't inadvertently ticked PE instead of CW?
Much to my relief the Professor I'd met on interview was in the room labelled number 1 and pointed me in the general direction of the other three I had to visit. In each room I had to sign my name on various scraps of paper (more unread forms), agree that I understood that if I didn't pay my tuition fees I would be tortured and, they had clearly met people like me before, have my original form checked and authorised repeatedly.
I can't tell you how excited I felt on clearing the forth and final room (hopefully my descriptive writing capacity will improve during the course of study) and I almost skipped out into the corridor to see what we were all doing next. 'Oh ... that's it then ...' I felt a tiny bit robbed if I'm honest, not to mention thirsty - I never did manage to find any means of securing coffee.