laterstudy

Poking the Ashes

2009-10-20T19:35:00.001+01:00

Oh my poor little bloggy – I have deserted you.

And I guess anybody who used to follow my ramblings thinks that after donning a funny hat and gown I am now in regular employment, realising the faith the government has shown in me by diligently repaying my student loan out of the vast monthly earnings expected from a first-degree graduate with many years of real-life experience.

The truth is a little different to that. Suffice to say, when I heard that the eighties were making a comeback I didn’t think they meant the unemployment numbers.

So if you’d like a little journey back through the past 12 months sit back and tune in. I’ll scatter the old stuff with the new, so it’s not like your listening to Aunt Ethel talking about the war.

Actually I think I’m going to start a new blog. Here’s the address:
http://laterstarter.blogspot.com/

Follow me if you want.

2008-07-14T18:33:00.002+01:00

Results day today and I did it...a first

I'm pretty chuffed considering my sole ambition when I joined was to keep up with the younger students.

Will write more...I must remember the no:1 blogging command

'Thou shalt not post whilst under the influence of several glasses of wine'

Tee Hee

Look at the muck in here

2008-05-11T22:34:00.003+01:00

Oh dear

Bit dusty around here isn't it?

Well, I never realised that when I wrote my last post the next frightening thing would be posting to this blog again. And it would be in May.

I guess my absence is a reflection on just how hard the third year is.

So I'll grab my Mr Sheen and tell you what's been going on.

The radio documentary went very well considering my lack of technical confidence. The batteries lasted. People wanted to talk to me. And I looked damned professional with my headphones, (sorry that should be 'cans'), on and brandishing a microphone. For a moment I entertained the fantasy of me presenting my favourite radio programme - Saturday Live. The witty repartee. The interesting guests.

Then I listened to the playback and heard myself speaking.

Farmer's wife? Heather the Slack Jawed Yocal?

All I know is that I can roll my r's better than a bellydancer on doubletime.

I also say 'uh ha' an awful lot, which made for some interesting editing - think the late Kevin Greening's creation, Raymond Sinclair and you'll get the picture

But I did get a good mark. Which is more than I expected for fireworks on the radio.

More soon. I need to wash these nets...

A clear round

2007-10-24T18:02:00.001+01:00

Well, I'd hate to give the impression that all third year mature students were flapjack-scoffing, library-chair breaking, youth-seeking individuals so I'll get back to the course. Or more correctly a module I'm currently studying - Broadcast Journalism. Or more correctly, given that the college doesn't have the facilities of a TV station, radio journalism.

To make it through the hoop at this stage of my degree circuit I have to complete an essay, (OK), tape an interview using a minidisk and edit it so it contains only the interesting bits, (err, Okie, Dokie) and create a 10 minute radio feature on a compelling subject, (Sh*t).

Adding to my anxiety about the various recording/digital technologies involved, (my father wouldn't even allow me to change batteries 'in case you get them the wrong way around'), I've decided to base my effort around an event that happens very soon. 5th November to be correct. My lecturers kind-of-agreed that it was better that I gave it my best shot rather than miss the opportunity of covering such a unique event. So after a five minute crash course I'm interviewing the organisers tomorrow.

Well as Mr Luhrmann says: Do one thing everyday that scares you

Thinking of tomorrow, I'm sure my next scary thing must now be scheduled for February...

Things you shouldn't buy from 'the shop' #1

2007-10-24T15:30:00.000+01:00

According to scientists you consume 122 calories an hour studying, so after a sesh in the library, thoughts will inevitably be turning to matters gastric. Abandoning the fascinating tome on gender and cyberspace, (you know the crux of the argument anyway - 'it's (also) a man's virtual world'), you beat a path to the college shop. You know what you should buy - an apple, a packet of raisins, but somehow you can't stop your eyes from searching the shelves until they make the discovery that will seal your snacking fate:

They've had a delivery of handmade JUMBO flapjacks.

Then begins the process of justification. They're made from oats so they're better than the chocolate bar next to it. You'll break it in two and have the other half tomorrow, (tellingly my bag remains crumb free). You'll buy a Fruit one - it'll be one of 'five a day' then.

Nearly three years on and you wonder why shops can't make clothes in the right size anymore.

Apparently you can burn even more calories by twitching as you study.

(Interesting study that - what exactly is the difference between moderate and active sexual activity, and more importantly are the extra 14 calories really worth the extra effort? ?)

So to retain your pre-student sylph-like figure *cough*, learn from this Laterstudier's mistakes. Either turn your back on the flapjack, or continue to fall for his *all-natural ingredient* charms whilst you jig around the library on the wheely chair looking like you've plugged yourself into the mains - the choice is yours.

What do you mean. 'How about my dignity?' Admit it. You lost all that remained of your dignity the day you thought buying a college Hoody from the same shop was a good idea...(my advice - keep the receipt and say it didn't fit your daughter...)

Really?....

2007-10-14T20:30:00.000+01:00

20 August...well that is appalling. So a quick update

I experienced a general feeling of gloom in the weeks before third year registration. I was sure that after two years of climbing up the degree helter skelter the only way now was down. Reading an article by a gradulate suggesting that a dissertation should be started in the second year further convinced me that not only was the matting on the slide, I could also smell the hotdog waiting for me at the end.

Surprisingly, Registration was not the usual bun fight. In previous years I've had to wait up to an hour for the privilege of paying my course fees. This year it was with some satisfaction that the staff were waiting for me to arrive. I wondered if it was a reflection of the number of students who drop out by the third year or, more specifically, the number of students with surnames S-Z who just can't hack a degree course.

Hmmm..Interesting dissertation idea...Perhaps.

The first week back was the usual anticlimax, particularly with one module. I wont whinge too much, but suffice to say that if you paid to see a two hour film and the projectionist went home after 30 mins you'd probably complain...wouldn't you?

Well I never

2007-08-20T13:27:00.000+01:00

Morning TV. Apparently responsible, according to my son, for more waistine inches than McDonalds. But I was stood up ironing - so does it count? And I am a student. Besides, if I'd been down the gym I wouldn't have heard a gem this morning.

Discussing Hurricane Dean the presenters asked the weather forecaster what she would do if she was caught in a similar storm.

'Hmmm.' (You could see she was thinking hard.) 'Well, I think I would shelter in a sturdy structure - nothing that could blow down in a strong wind.'

Laughed so hard the children thought I'd eaten vodka-frosted cornflakes for breakfast again...

Summer Assortment

2007-08-08T13:10:00.000+01:00

1. Sign outside Spar: ‘Couple given dog’s muck ASBO.’ I just hope they put it in an envelope before serving it.

2. Campsite Unwritten Rule #1:

You will always realise that your towel is languishing back in the van just as you are about to step into the campsite shower.

3. Two senior lecturers seconded or on research leave next semester = 0.5 lecturer position advertised in local paper. Just another one of those HE things that make you go humm…

4. Campsite Unwritten Rule #2:

Remember: sweatshirts are totally unsuitable as impromptu towels. A brisk rub down with the newest, bright- red addition to your wardrobe will ensure sniggers from the waiting queue, as an Elmo lookie-likie flip-flops past them. It is an embarrassment matched only by the moment someone shouts: ‘Are these yours?’ and points to some intimate item of apparel that has managed to escape your clutches and is now going down for the third time on the floor of the shower cubicle

5. I shall be forever grateful to the Surgery for introducing me to the word: ‘Otorhinolaryngology’ meaning ‘The branch of medicine that deals with the ear, nose and throat.’ Doesn’t it just roll around your mouth like the finest sherbert lemon? A close runner up in my recently expanded medical repertoire: ‘Phlebotomist’, although, on reflection, it does sound like something Johnny English might have said:

The people you meet in cyberspace

2007-07-22T18:23:00.000+01:00

Killer Questions

2007-07-18T10:48:00.000+01:00

Around this time of year, when a fresh crop of graduates are ripe and ready for harvesting, employers start to dust off their list of difficult interview questions. Apparently Google are well known for their off-the-wall enquiries including: 'Why are manhole covers round' and 'What gives you joy' - which all sounds like fun, if a little perspiration-inducing.

However, I think that I can top that by a question I was asked recently:

'Tell us about yourself - what does your husband do?'

I did look around the room to check and no, I'm pretty sure I hadn't entered a time portal to the Victorian age...

Me, Me, (Me)

2007-07-17T11:34:00.000+01:00

So I’m into my 32nd day of a three month ‘holiday work’ filing stuff at a local doctors’ surgery.

I was warned at the interview that it was mind-numbing stuff. And it has certainly lived up to its billing. It's the kind of thing I was doing in my first job 20+ years ago - and at the same hourly rate, I'm sure.

During my shift I file about 40 pieces of paper. Everyday another 50 make their way onto the pile. There is a six month backlog. I’m sure there is a proverb or wise saying by a Greek Philosopher/Deity/Native American/Peter from Family Guy that encapsulates my situation perfectly, but at the moment I can only think of a large Scottish bridge and a pot of paint

I've become one of 'The Girls,' a homogenous group of females that aren't Doctors or Nurses. Pre-degree I would have accepted this title without further thought. During my darker hours, however, the older, (grumpier?) Student Me sometimes reflects that it is in fact a semantic device used to perpetuate a hierarchy and keep us all in our place – but I won’t mention that at tea-break time.

Still, for all the connotations attached to the title 'Doctor,' the bottom line is that they do appear to spend most of their time examining the wrong end of the alimentary canal. Sometimes I feel mightily pleased to be a 'Girl' who only has to contend with the internal workings of a photocopier...

Of course, Student Me is interested to see the marketing that goes on in a surgery, and in common with other workplaces, mugs seem a popular way for manufacturers to advertise their products. This strikes me as odd, as, even at the best of times, I’ve always considered them a pretty feeble method of advertising. I mean - has anyone ever lifted a promotional mug to their lips, seen the product name and felt compelled to place an order? And in a surgery there must be some things you don't want to think about as you eat and drink? But I guess that it is more subliminal than that, with reps clinging to the hope that Doctors will unconsciously absorb their product names as they sip their coffee. They probably don't realise that the mugs are used mainly by ‘the Girls,’ - and most of us are blissfully unaware that we are advertising the latest innovation in haemorrhoid creams as we dunk our chocolate hobnobs.

Of course, I say that I have become one of 'the Girls' but I haven't gone through the final part of the initiation ceremony - the uniform. Apparently after a three month stint you are given this outfit to make your disappearance complete. I tried not to let my disappointment show as I explained to a colleague that I wouldn’t get to wear the fetching homage to polyester and nylon.

'Oh I said that,' she replied, 'but I've been here two and a half years.'

‘The Girls’ are the friendliest, nicest group of people I've ever worked with. The tea is plentiful and the chocolate biscuits never-ending. But, try as I might, I couldn't suppress the shudder that went through me. And it wasn't because navy blue doesn’t suit me.

Results so far

2007-07-16T18:37:00.000+01:00

Year 2

Semester A

Media and Cultural Theory 71
The Photograph 73
Written Journalism 70

Semester B

Writing for the Stage 71
Magazine Cutures One 70
Interactive Media 72

Final Mark: 71

Year 1

Semester A
Creative Media Practise 80
Media and The Modern World 72
The Craft of Writing 72

Semester B
Reading the Media 68
The Creative Project 79
Writing for PR Purposes 68

Final Mark: 73

Less mud than Glasto...

2007-07-06T22:56:00.000+01:00

Folk singers - they used to look like this didn't they?

Oh, how times have changed

Seth Lakeman - Parklife 2, July 1 2007

I vaguely remember volunteering ‘us’ to organise the food and stalls for a local live music event in July. But in November 2006 it seemed an age away. And then came assignments, revision, exams, more assignments and then - it was June. Luckily the other half had been busy schmoozing local businesses in the mean time, but as soon as my final assignment was handed in I let him know exactly what he should have been doing in the intervening months. I’m sure he appreciated my input…

In PR they call it event planning; in fact students dream of a Summer work placement coordinating an occasion like Parklife. What they usually end up with are a couple of weeks answering phones, updating client databases or making tea. And perhaps that isn’t such a bad thing when you are at the start of your career. However, when you are a mature student finding useful work experience is often more problematic. You’ve been at the reception desk, done that photocopying and sorted the magazine collection before and what is more you know that you could be paid for your efforts as well. Perhaps getting involved in something voluntary might be the answer?

Though you can forget glamour. Think instead of struggling to right blown-over mobile toilets, 6:30 am starts, picking up the parts of a burger that someone didn’t want to eat, putting up tents in wind and lashing rain, pushing 7 tonne lorries out of the mud, fetching bark chips to spread in front of stalls from a pile that has been visited by every cat in the neighbourhood and trying to swing a sledgehammer when the heaviest thing you usually wield is a pen. It’s enough to make you wish you’d stuck to reorganising the paperclips.

Still, it was a very satisfying day. Even Seth Lakeman, (the man who puts the phw into phwoar), made a surprise appearance. And who knows - networking with local businesses might lead to things in the future – even if the impression I left them with was of a mud splattered, gherkin collecting mad woman smelling of blue loo and cat pee..

Hold the Front Page

2007-07-06T19:03:00.000+01:00

For a couple of weeks I’m holding the fort for the editor of Behind the Spin. So, of course I’m wearing the visor, those strange metal bands around the elbows of my shirt and slamming the table with my fist demanding that I have a story worthy of the front page by midday – Goddamit!

Actually I’m composing some very nice emails to a whole load of people who would like to submit an article for the next issue, but I’ve written before about my vivid imagination.

I’m also reading some back issues of the magazine and an article by Alison Theaker in February 2005's issue caught my eye. Entitled ‘How to keep students interested,’ she advocates Charles Bonwell’s technique of stopping lectures every 8 to12 minutes and allowing students to compare notes. Apparently, because lecturers talk at a rate of 120-240 words per minute and the average student can take down notes at just 20 wpm, we are bound to miss something. Taking a peek at what your neighbour has written can help you fill in the gaps.

Which all seems like perfect sense until I looked back at some of the notes I’d taken in lectures.

Does: ‘Dog food’ underlined ten times, a pattern of randomly coloured cubes, the date: 12 April 1967 surrounded by a fluffy cloud shape and the calculation 102 – 123, (which I think related to the state of my bank account at the time) really going to help anyone remember what Derrida said about logocentricism?

I guess it’ll work for some people. And stopping every now and then to let what you have just heard get past ‘the voices’ organising the other parts of your life is a good idea.

Interestingly the article continues:

‘Bonwell also suggests using a mid-term evaluation. At the end of a seminar about 6 weeks into the semester, ask the students to split into groups and agree on three things that they like about the teaching on the course and three things that they would like to change. The problem with most evaluation is that it is done at the end of the semester, so the students on the course don’t benefit, apart from a nice warm feeling that they may have made things better for the group that follows...it gives an opportunity to raise the issues and state what, if anything, will be changed for the rest of the time you spend together.’

Hang on, I think I feel a pillion passenger climbing onto my hobby horse…

For more on keeping those brain cells awake whilst all around you are asleep look at www.active-learning-site.com

Sweet Memories

2007-07-04T12:26:00.000+01:00

Spangles - the cola ones were the best. No debate

It’s been a busy weekend. A 40^th birthday party and helping out at a local music festival.

The birthday party was based around a disco where the DJ played hits from the 70’s and 80’s – the Sunday Dinner era of music, before songs were mashed-up, remixed and reheated for Monday tea in the Noughties. Most guests were happily wallowing around in nostalgia – think Glastonbury but with slightly cleaner memories of a time when scabs were thick, flares were a health and safety hazard in anything more than a light breeze and you could proudly announce to your friends that you’d had your hair done at a place called Shaggers.

The party’s theme continued right up to the end, (although this time my Dad didn’t come to pick me up in his slippers), when I was issued with a Party Bag that was full of all those sweets that so flavoured my childhood.

Today, my daughter insists that the only chocolate she eats is dark, organic and fair-trade. Not so the 'Spangles Generation,' who knew that the 5p back from the Corona bottle could buy you a bag of sweets that were reduced to just a few waxed paper wrappers by the time you got home. I was transported down my own Sweet Memory Lane lined with Sherbert fountains, Mojos, Fruit Salads, Blackjacks, Toffee Bon-Bons and Pineapple Cubes – and like all reminiscences of the good ol' days it was a bit tacky underfoot. I mean - I enjoyed them, but I did have to ask myself how I didn’t end up doubling for Shane McGowan.

However, it was a mistake to consume all that sugar and E numbers just before going to bed. Eating flying saucers? – I thought I was in one of them…

D Day

2007-06-19T11:31:00.000+01:00

They say that Normandy is one huge open air museum of the D Day landings. It's true but, as I travelled along the bright, quiet roads flanked by fields full of vegetables or spotty cows chewing long grass, I found it difficult to imagine the sights and sounds that must have accompanied the invasion in 1944. I felt the same when I visited the Commonwealth and Canadian cemeteries that were full of birdsong and sunlight as well as heartbreaking rows of white crosses.

Arromanche was different. That day the sky was the colour of gunmetal and the wind threatened to pull the car doors off their hinges. A furious sea crashed over the remnants of the Mulberry harbours built to supply the Allied forces 63 years ago.

We visited Arromanche 360 - a ‘wrap-around’ cinema showing a wordless film contrasting footage of the area during the war with the peace that exists today. It was a humbling experience, even though I did find the T shirt and baseball caps in the shop outside a little disconcerting.

The Memorial Pegasus provided more evidence of just how we have changed in sixty years. The reliance on the written word: soldiers’ pleas to families for more envelopes and stamps. Handwritten letters of condolence from commanding officers. The note to his mother found on a soldier’s body telling her that he would be returning a changed man. He never knew that his brother had been killed just two days before.

The pre-consumer society was brought to life by a soldier's letter in which he wrote that he was worried that the War Office might find out that he already had a pair of shoes. Drug use in the form of half-squeezed tubes of morphine in first aid kits and tins of amphetamines issued to fighter pilots

Pointe de Hoc provided, for me, the most graphic illustration of the terror of war. The barbed wire is still there, as is the twisted steel from the blown apart concrete gun emplacements. Huge grassed over bomb craters. The cliff sides that ‘couldn’t’ be climbed, gradually crumbling into the sea. Even with the sun, it was difficult to stifle a shiver.

But perhaps the greatest change in society was revealed in the comment uttered by a visitor as they made their way back to the car park.

‘I’m amazed they can keep it like that.’ they said. ‘Someone might trip and hurt themselves.’

Viking Viagra

2007-06-18T11:55:00.000+01:00

It was a delicate situation. We both knew the French word for it, but was it entirely appropriate to use it in conversation with a woman we’d only met 30 seconds ago?

‘Our apartment it smells of, err, it smells, umm….’

‘Ne pas bien,’ I interrupted, quickly

We trotted behind her as she walked to the apartment and opened the front door.

‘Merde,’ she muttered.

Quite.

After apologies our accommodation was changed. The new apartment was clean and the sofa cushions weren’t a ‘Souvenir from the Battle of Hastings, ’ so we considered it a 'result.' Happy, we set off for nearby Houlgate.

That day the town was hosting a ‘Normandy Fair.’ This involved natives in traditional Normany costume selling various handcrafted products to tourists in traditional holidaymaker costume of raincoats and soggy sandals. There was also a covered market where, as my daughter excitedly pointed out, they had the ‘cutest’ rabbits for sale.

I was just glad we hadn’t gone to Peru…

Later a Viking ship powered by Ye Olde 4 x 4 and copious amounts of Normandy cider made its way around the town. As the Longship bumped around the corner an 80 year old ‘Norseman,’ fixed me with a bloodshot eye and waved his drinking horn in my direction.

‘I think you're on a promise for a bit of pillaging later,’ said the other half.

Well, it's good to know the old magic still works…

But in the end it wasn’t the Vikings, but the third downpour that made these Brits retreat to the nearest creperie for a healthy lunch.

Well, there must be some vitamin C in Calvados?

Hmmm...Is that you?

2007-06-16T19:38:00.000+01:00

Camembert seems to defy the basic evolutionary premise that something is made to smell disgusting in order to avert us from eating it. If anybody has found a meal to match a baguette smothered in the ripe stuff accompanied by grapes and glass of wine I want to hear about it. But there is no denying it. It stinks. So as I tucked into our first night’s repas I chose to ignore the not-very-nice aroma, placing the blame firmly at the good Monsieur Bert’s door.

Yes, I thought as I looked around our hired surroundings, there was no denying that the apartment was basic. Nevertheless, I consoled myself that with only a week in Normandy I really wouldn’t be spending much time looking at the scuffed paintwork, chipped bathroom tiles or faded picture on the wall.

When the smell continued despite the fact that I’d double wrapped the remains of the indomitable cheese and placed it in an airtight container on the balcony, the search for other suspects began in earnest.

Well, the crossing had been calm, but perhaps someone’s digestive system was still going up and down?

The search included an impromptu game of ‘Match the Fart’ initiated by my son, (as always), who ended up the sole contributor to said game. And, with my judges hat on, I can categorically say that, in this event, he didn’t come anywhere near.

Everything was revealed when I opened the door to the Master Bedroom – a room just big enough to accommodate Barbie and Kens' double bed.

Anybody who has studied science will tell you that a gas is a gas because the atoms lack the cohesion to form anything else. Anyone who has ever smelled raw sewage will confirm that this particular gas can hit you full in the face.

(Raw sewage? Why do we call it raw sewage? Has anyone ever experienced the cooked version…?)

Anyway. I digress.

Of course, this discovery was made, as all discoveries of this kind are, just as the apartment caretaking staff were themselves heading for the delightful Pays de Rêve.

So, a restless night spent on the sofa ensued, during which I tried to forget about the suspicious stains I’d spotted on its rather worn cover earlier in the evening.

And as I tossed and turned, I suddenly remembered The Amityville Horror and the smell of excrement that apparently accompanied every unearthly incident. Don’t be so silly I told myself. But then I thought I saw the doors to the balcony shake. Phantasmagorical apparition? Or the Camembert? I shall never know.

Knickers to Normandy

2007-06-15T11:34:00.000+01:00

Half term. Yes, you pay more to go away at half term, but it is better than the two alternatives; re-mortgaging the house for a week in August or being tossed into the fire-y pits of bad parenthood by taking your offspring on holiday during term time.

That is why I found myself this Whitsun attempting to slide, with all the grace of a hippo with hives, into the three centimetre gap between me and the neighbouring car on the packed ferry deck. When I booked the holiday I didn’t appreciate I would actually need the stuff those other channel-crossies in swimsuits use.

Of course all modes of transport seem to have their traditions associated with them. For example train travel involves the first person to their seat placing the newspaper, all the supplements from said newspaper, Notebook, sandwiches, mineral water, iPod, Blackberry and executive briefcase on the table and sighing loudly as later arrivals attempt to claim a two inch space for their coffee cup.

Air travel requires that you buy something from the Duty Free that changes from an elixir that can transform you into the glamorous, sexual predator featured on the advertising into something that reminds your partner that they haven’t checked the outside drain for a while.

And ferry travel means beating a hasty path to the top deck, where the men-folk hang over the edge trying to work out how a piece of rope the relative thickness of a cotton thread can hold a mega-tonne ferry to a quayside. Women, on the whole, are content to gaze at the lifeboats and dream of Leonardo, knowing that the real mystery is how, when they have spent the last seven days continuously washing and ironing they have packed themselves only one pair of pants.

But, of course, even the shortest jaunts can start to drag, so a visit to the ‘retail areas’ is a must. And during those boredom-filled sojourns it is amazing how certain items for sale can suddenly appear to be must-have buys: something green and viscous in a strangly-shaped bottle. Sides of salmon. The Daily Mail. Fudge you know is produced in only one factory in the world but is transformed into a ‘traditional product’ by the addition of a 4p postcard and the words ‘Greetings from.’

Soon you’re at the other side. And there is a warm welcome awaiting you in the form of two machine-gun toting French army personnel wearing stares that could shatter the glass on your freshly-purchased bottle of Sirop de Melon. And as you look around the queue at the women contemplating the forthcoming five-hour journey in the company of children who haven stopped arguing since Portsmouth, and husbands who are giving 'that bloke' who cut him up looks reminiscent of Denis Weaver in ‘Duel,’ you wonder just how many are tempted to make a run for it...

Don't remove the gherkin

2007-06-07T10:42:00.000+01:00

OK, so most of the final days of semester B are a bit of a blur. Plenty of all-nighters and the 2:30am exhaustion that leaves you convinced that the early morning air has turned to see-though treacle.

Looking back at it now, the dying moments of Semester B produced some of the most upsetting moments of the course so far. And they all revolved around the thorny issue of:

‘honest feedback.’

Hmmm. Does anybody really mean it when they say they want ‘honest feedback?’

I’m beginning to think not. When the class was asked to comment, ‘honestly’, about a newly created module, this laterstudier did as she was directed. Well - I thought I’d been kind. You know. The old criticism sandwich idea. But from the lecturer’s response I’m not so sure it went down as intended.

Perhaps I should’ve taken out the gherkin?

Take another room, the same week. Add one anonymous student complaint, (not mine), to the head of department about the harshness of criticism given by a lecturer to create, well, a double ‘honest feedback’ situation of mega howl-round proportions. Introduce said lecturer, (upset), to the room to create some really awkward moments. Continue to boil students in tense atmosphere until they are well and truly stewed and the module is completely ruined.

I dunno. I guess it isn’t a good idea to ask stressed-out students for feedback just as they are frantically working on final assignments. I mean - who really wants to spend that precious half an hour at the end of twelve weeks shooting the breeze with lecturers for the benefit of the next lot of students? And just how accurate is that feedback going to be when the person tasked with marking your assignment is sitting in front of you?

Perhaps the answer is to encourage students to approach lecturers with ideas and concerns as the module progresses? It’s the end of my second year and I’ve known only one person ask a roomful of students if they felt that the preceding three hours were useful.

And I should mention that this semester I’ve also been on the receiving end. I thought that my shoulders were broad, but when someone - who should have made more sandwiches than Subway - called one of my images a ‘shitty little photograph’ I definitely felt something ‘slide.’

And I always thought I liked gherkins...

Are you a mature student?

2007-05-05T00:08:00.000+01:00

1. Do you attempt to take library books out using a Boots Loyalty Card?

2. Have you bought the green pack of crisps because you wanted cheese and onion flavour?

3. Is the only lock-in you experience these days when the librarian forgets to check the silent study area before going home?

4. Do you think that you might have been at school with some of the researchers you now have to quote in essays?

5. When you last did the type of jobs the agency are now sending you for the Summer were you wearing a) a jacket with shoulder pads b) 2 cans of hairspray c) neon-bright shoes

6. Does your idea of 'going wild' when the next installment of your loan comes through include: paying for the dog to be wormed, buying the bin bags that aren't made out of rice paper and flinging a pack of 'Bestest-ever-look-at-me-aren't-i-the-one' digestives in with the weekly shop?

7. Does the 4 month Summer 'travelling, discovering and learning' break translate into travelling to the local dump to get rid of two-semester's worth of 'drafts', discovering that in large enough amounts, dust can be fashioned into wearable garments and learning that Hillary could've scaled your ironing mountain. If he'd been brave enough.

8. Whilst appreciating the youthful exuberance of your fellow coursemates singing Natasha Bedingfield's 'I want to have your babies' is your enjoyment rather tempered by memories of colic, projectile vomiting, temper tantrams, 'that' incident when you were potty training and the fact that you have just fallen over your son's size 9 trainers - again?

9. Are you constantly amazed at your fellow students' ability to be late for lectures when you have to pass their accommodation block to get to the class?

10. Does your waistband tighten whilst looking at the breakfasts other students pack back?

Answer yes to any one of these and you might just be a laterstudier...

Remember, remember

2007-05-02T23:12:00.000+01:00

Oh boy.

Life is fun at the moment.

Two assignments due in on 18th. One on the 25th.

Oldest child sitting mock mock exams, (no that isn't a stutter, this is what they do at school now - and they say they don't coach them to pass..)

Application forms for Summer work, helping to organise community music event, planning a family holiday and thinking about dissertation.

Is it any wonder something has to give?

And like the novelty blue draft excluder in the shape of a daschund, that present from a dear relative you haven't got the heart to get rid of, (the gift that is, not the relative), what 'has to give' usually sits behind the door waiting to trip you up when you least expect it.

This evening for example. Phone call to Mum

(Hang on a minute whilst I shine my Brownie Point)

I thought I'd remembered everything.

Then she said
'I got the birthday present'
Me: (thinking frantically) Birthday present? Birthday present? It's someone's birthday soon?
Me:
'Ahh yes. Good. Good'
Mum: Yes. I got what I said I would
Me: Whose birthday is it?
Me:
'Well done. Great. Super'
Mum: 'Thanks for the idea'
Me: What idea?
Me: 'Glad I could help'
Mum: 'Yes, I managed to get him the right size'
Me: 'Him' 'Right size' - must be socks. Dad's birthday?
Me: 'Great. Errr. What colour did you get?'
Mum: 'Well - the multicoloured ones. Orange, green and blue. Like you said'
Me: Dad has changed his preference for footwear
Mum: 'Yes. I think they'll look great out in the garden. And the glow will help if you need to go out at night'

To which I had to own up and admit to a rather peeved parent that I hadn't a clue what she was on about.

Garden lights. For my nearest and dearest's forthcoming birthday.

Apparently I suggested them.

Excuse me whilst I go and sit behind the door and swap stories with the daschund...

Ronald and the Folk Devils

2007-04-30T11:42:00.000+01:00

America. Land of contradictions. Only the other day I was spouting on about the size 0/00 dress size favoured by some US celebrities, and then last night Steve Daly, 30 stone, 46 year old American comedian was on the box warning us about the US obesity epidemic expected the reach our shores within 4 years.

Although featuring the usual suspects of McDonalds and Burger King, (yawn), the documentary also featured more home-grown delights, including doner kebabs. The comedian’s message was targeted at the young. He fitted four classmates into his trousers to illustrate the realities of an 80 inch waistband, and shared chips, cheese and gravy with teenagers after lessons whilst trying to convince them that snacks like that in his youth made him into the man-mountain he is today.

The disparity between English and American Portion sizes was also under a rather large microscope. Anyone who has ever been to America returns with their own fantastic stories of eating out there, so here is mine. When my son asked for a double ice cream in the Animal Kingdom he was told that it was, in fact, a five scoop version. He settled for the smaller single version – with two portions of ice cream.

And isn’t this the point? That it doesn’t have to come from the Golden Arches or the Land of the Flame-Grilled Whopper to pile on the pounds. Perhaps the concentration on these Folk Devils is distracting us from the real point: that too much of anything will make you fat? Ronald was chased from my town and yet we have not become the lightest/fittest community in the UK. The burger van outside the Town Hall continues to do a brisk trade. And even farmers-market, organically grown, hand-picked, local sausages are still full of the saturated stuff and shouldn't be eaten at every meal.

Anyway I fear that, honourable though his intentions are, Daly’s mission is doomed to fail. Because, like the pictures used to persuade my generation not to smoke, images of 30 stone men in a swimming pool won’t stop children from eating crisps or chocolate. Just like the people I know who sat through lessons featuring images of slime- filled, blackened lungs

simply itching for a fag behind the bike shed, I’m sure that the children who watched Daly put away 12 school dinners didn’t think twice about the Snickers they had on the way home from school. Because being 46 when you are 13 is unthinkable – literally a life-time away. And if we smoke/stuff our faces now there’s plenty of time to give up, isn’t there?

So perhaps we ought to just embrace the approaching health crisis as a way to solve the energy shortfall. Did you know that 1000 calories is enough to heat one kilogram of water to one degree Celsius? Just imagine if we could take all of the energy created in all of the gyms we are going to need and plug it back into the National Grid. A couple of stone and you’ve got a pot of tea.

Problem sorted. Next week, world poverty…

Grubbing Around

2007-04-17T14:06:00.000+01:00

First it was Morgan Spurlock asking Maccy Ds to Supersize Me. Last night it was some restaurant critic wondering why the Edwardian diet of meat, meat and more meat was causing his BMI and cholesterol to soar. In contrast, the efforts of Louise Redknapp to reduce herself to size 0 from her usual ‘curvy’(!) size 8 were the subject of a TV documentary. But that seems distinctly ‘last year’ when size 00 is now THE label dwarfing the waistband of designer jeans. In fact a TV programme on Sunday called ‘Superskinny Me: The Race to Double Zero’ will feature two female journalists attempting to do just that

Whilst not demeaning their efforts to expose the health risks associated with this trend, I really wish they hadn’t bothered, because I’m sure that it’ll be more of the usual fare. Images of size 00 jeans. Shots of astonished journalists pulling at the waists of size 00 jeans. Pictures of size 00 celebrities sporting the only rack of ribs they’ll ever get near. Treadmills. Sweat. Carrot sticks. Glasses of water. Midnight camcorder diaries. Tears. Close-ups of a bespectacled Harley Street doctor announcing the full extent of the self-mutilation. And, of course, to the ‘heroic’ journalists 5 minutes of fame via interviews with Fern, Philip, Richard and Judy.

Frankly, like smoking, I think we’ve all got the message by now. Anyone who thinks that a diet of burgers or toenails is a good idea must have a Venusian passport. School dinners are different now. Even McDonalds have changed.

But still we continue to be obsessed with weight - putting it on and taking it off. We follow the diets of the poo-examining, tofu-obsessed Gillian McKeith, Dr ‘you’ll look so slim on the heart attack ward’ Atkins and the mastication free Slim Fast all with little chance of success.

And in the week when Oxfam announced an £5m appeal to help the world’s greatest humanitarian crisis in Darfur, where people have just 3 litres of water per day on which to live, (the minimum ration should be 15 litres) I find the focus on what we eat obscene.

And no - I don’t think these programmes are in any way 'useful' for those suffering from eating disorders. The last thing that people struggling with food need are people telling them how difficult under/overeating is - as if anorexia and bulimia were a simple lifestyle choice.

But still. Perhaps there may be a gap in the documentary market. ‘Normal-Size Me.’ Captivating shots of someone eating a couple of Weetabix for breakfast. Gruelling shots of people walking briskly to the shops to buy some veggies for the weekend. Perhaps the occasional ‘shocking’ image of someone eating just one chocolate biscuit. Because when it comes to food the one thing we all need to follow is the Commonsense Diet.

Isn’t it?

Farming life

2007-04-03T15:38:00.000+01:00

I’ve just got back from the local cattle market. I've lived here over eleven years and although I've heard the auctioneer’s unintelligible spiel floating up from the town, I hadn’t ventured there until this morning.

Despite being born and raised in the Westcountry, my experience of livestock is limited to the animals I see in the fields nearby and the ‘agricultural shows’ that are part and parcel of life here. I now realise how sanitised these are when compared to farming life 'in the raw.' There wasn’t a man in pristine white overalls wiping the ‘manure’ from the back end of a cow before parading it around a show ring. There was fear, spittle, gallons of the green stuff and a bull that had an uncanny resemblance to a hippopotamus. Surprisingly, the farmer had only to tap this huge beast on his coal-black rump gently and he obligingly walked into the trailer - 'though I guess if you had to be a farm animal, being an intact bull is one of the better ones to be...

Although feeling a bit like Kate Moss at an ‘all you can eat’ buffet, I took lots of photographs and tried to soak up some of the atmosphere, (the discoloured soles of my trainers are testament to that). I didn't realise that there were so many different colours and textures of cows, from blue-grey smooth to black dreadlocked. Some of the animals had tufts of curly hair on their heads that gave them the look of high court judges. And I never appreciated how well the smell of dung would mix with the aroma of cooking eminating from the local cafe.

According to our Magazine Cultures' lecturer good articles have an appeal to the senses - descriptions of sights, sounds, smell, touch and taste.

Hmmm. Taste?

Manure and Bacon bap anyone?

Wassup

2007-03-30T13:43:00.000+01:00

Ok, so what the hell have I been up to during my two weeks away? Well, as I started this blog in order to chart my path through HE I'll try to remember:

1. The Guinea Pig is ok - thanks for asking. Sprained foot apparently. He is now not allowed out in the morning until he has done his warm-ups - you know the thing - lunges, grapevines etc

2. I have been one out of three people to turn up for a lecture.

3. Watched some great Harold Pinter (Celebration) and Alan Bennett (Chip in the Sugar and A Woman of Letters) plays.

4. I have been the only one to turn up for a lecture. As it was a student-lead presentation it started out as a little toe-curling. Still, how much would you usually pay for a three hour, one-to-one tutorial with an ex-advertising executive-turned-graphic designer whose photographs have been published and exhibited widely?

5. At the aforementioned student lead presentation I was told that what I thought were 'arty' photos of shoes looked like the aftermath of a crime scene. Good job I'm not a sensitive soul isn't it..

6. I have been reintroduced to Flash. I'd forgotten how much I hated and enjoyed it in almost equal parts.

7. I've had to choose my modules for next year. The last year. Dissertation year. Oh how my stomach turns as I write those words...

Yumbo Chocolate Prize

2007-03-29T19:09:00.000+01:00

So I'm cruising around the blogosphere, trying to resist the urge to Myspace again when I spot this chance to win a gorgeous Hotel Chocolate Easter Hamper on Julia Buckley's blog.

If you haven't tried anything from Hotel Chocolat I urge you never to do so. Once you've tasted their Nibbly Milk Slabs or Deeply Dark Dippers there is no going back. Besides, if too many people buy their stuff they might run out...

Have a go if you must but I have to warn you. Resistance is futile...

PS Comp ends 2 April

My name is Heather and I am....

2007-03-29T18:01:00.000+01:00

Ok, so it's been a long time.
So long in fact that when I went to logon to the computer at uni I realised I'd forgotten my password.

Anyhow...

I've blown the cobwebs from those particular braincells and I'm back in Blogland - and I have something to say.

Yes, (stands up and prepares to confess all), I'm now the owner of a Myspace account and I'm Facebooking all over the place.

It started innocently enough. Research for an assignment into 'on line social networks.' But now I'm doing ten logins a day. I'm following complete strangers home to their profiles (the shame). I've had all sorts of requests from people I don't know. I've even, (sniff), tried

But at least I'm not a hopeless case - no, thankfully I'm not in Second Life. I'm not ready to make a pact with the trident carrying one yet.

Children and Animals

2007-03-14T21:40:00.000Z

My offspring and guinea pigs. Two parts of my life that keep me 'busy'.

Evidence: two guinea pigs let out into their run to enjoy the sunny weather this morning. Cue one highly delighted gp running around squeaking 'Oh what a wonderful morning' in a way that Howard Keel could only dream of, the other hobbling around the grass doing his best 'Tiny Tim' impression.

'Looks like there is something wrong with his leg' said other half, with all the wisdom of someone who has watched Animal Hospital twice.

We took a look at the offending limb in the same way a person buying a second hand car lifts the bonnet; we had no idea what we were looking for, but felt we owed it to the children to look as if we did.

He then said the words no mature student ever wants to hear

'We'd better take him to the vets...'

Oh well, there goes my loan.

Later we told our story to the man who shares a lift with us. It provoked an 'animals we owned in our childhood' type reminisance - the pets that went on 'holiday' only to come back bigger, less friendly or a completely different colour. They tended to be hamsters.

'We used to keep our hamster on the windowsill', said our passenger. 'It was in the days before central heating and I remember my Mum used to rub Vick into their fur and dose them up with disprin...'

By the time I'd stopped laughing we'd got to college. Fastest 20 minutes of my life.

Are you still here then?

2007-03-12T22:29:00.000Z

Monday.

I have this said to me a lot on Monday.

No, I don't have any lectures or seminars on Monday, but still I come into uni and work a 9 to 5 day, researching, reading books in the library, staring out of the window gathering my thoughts - creating a space in the day to let my mind wander and be creative.

Why do I do it? Because at home I'd be distracted. Instead of finishing the chapter, walking down to the refectory and buying a cup of coffee, I would be finishing that cup of coffee BEFORE starting that chapter. Then I'd have another cup of coffee and then find clothes to wash and then a complicated recipe I would just have to make for tea.

I guess in the way looking after the home wasn't (and still isn't considered) work, being at uni legitimises study for me.

And anyway, why should it be so unbelievable that I would work what is after all a normal day for the majority of the population?

Is it because I is a student?

Howl around

2007-03-09T16:27:00.000Z

Feedback. As welcome, to quote Billy Connelly, as a fart in a spacesuit when you’re at a concert. Essential when you are trying to write creatively.

So why is it so difficult to give and take?

In my experience not enough time is spent helping students to negotiate the tricky subject that is ‘creative criticism.’

I believe that good writers do put a bit of themselves into everything they produce. If they’re careful it will be an earlobe or strand of hair - something that won’t hurt too much when the results come in.

The problem is: we know what we should do, and then end up offering up work containing our most tender parts. The story based on a real life event. The trauma that you’ve tried to come to terms with through a short story - only the names of the people concerned have been changed.

The result? A room full of upset writers who believe that the criticism is personal and not aimed at the story. But we all need feedback, or else how do we grow, (apart from the packets of choccy digestives at the side of the keyboard), as a right-er?

So what makes for a good workshop? Here are my thoughts:

Spell out the rules of the game
Are you going to get students to write down feedback and get someone else in the group to read it out? One criticism to one positive comment?

It aint personal, but it is
Don’t make generalisations. ‘I think’ is better than ‘It is…’ Keep referring to the story not the writer. ‘The story seems to struggle here’, rather than ‘Having a hard day when you wrote this, were you?’

Make sure everyone agrees to the way the workshop is run
If they can’t, perhaps they oughta think about joining the mutual appreciation class down the corridor.

Be consistent
If you offer one author the opportunity to address the criticisms raised, make sure everyone has that opportunity

When the session ends, the criticism ends
Don’t let things descend to the ‘Hemlock in the canteen coffee’ stage. Ever

And remember
Wisdom doesn't necessarily come with age. Sometimes age just shows up all by itself.
- Tom Wilson

Thank you and Goodnight

A day of two halves

2007-03-08T21:14:00.000Z

So, it was all going well until I started to do some research for my Magazine Cultures assignment.

The March edition of my chosen magazine is out and nested within the pages of the esteemed publication I found my article.

Only I didn't write it.

Cue hysterical laughter.

Well, it seems that great minds do think alike. Although it appears that the greater mind thinks quicker

It all added up to a bit of a dilemma.

I did have the idea before the magazine came out, but if the module leader spotted it whilst browsing the racks at her local Smiths she might just think I copied.

So I did the honourable thing and told her.

'What a drag' she said. Yep I thought. Think drag of Titanic-anchor sized proportions.

The second half was better. Met a graphic artist who bought in a wad of 'creative' magazines. The idea of starting with a photograph and writing from that had not occured before.

I saw some memorable images, although one of a naked man with a pigs head sticks rather too firmly.

So I'm going to do something arty with daffodils, baby rhinos and stilletos.

Now I bet DL won't publish that...

Article of Association

2007-03-04T22:17:00.000Z

After last week's look at various glossies to discover who buys them, the type of stuff they feature and how they are put together, we had to pitch our idea for an article in the seminar this week.

Being a young group, magazine choices included More, Nuts, Metal Hammer, Company and Cosmo. So article ideas ranged from how to live the celebrity party life on a budget to an investigation into the true average number of sexual partners a 20-something female has had.

And then we turned to my chosen publication:

Devon Life. The pipe-and-slipper-wearers-magazine-of choice

Devon Life is a county magazine. Its intended customers are, apparently, incomers and second-homers. It sells a 'Dream of Devon,' complete with blue skies, cottages made from gingerbread and local, wild-eyed artisans crafting things from recycled sandals.

It's important, we were told, to pinpoint the target customer to ensure that any article is written to appeal to them.

I've come up with a range of ideas:

How to live the celebrity party life-Devon style:
Forget Bollinger and Beluga- think Jail Ale and Cornish pasty

Sex and the Combine-Driver

Welly-boot fashion - wedges or stilletos?

So why did I choose it?

Well, county magazines pay for articles. Or they did until they read this blog...

For M

2007-02-27T18:55:00.000Z

私は愛する

Not so Top Gear

2007-02-26T12:03:00.000Z

From www.gapingvoid.com

Surprisingly perhaps for a media studies student, I don’t watch much television. That’s not to say that when I do it’s all historical documentaries presented by men in sensible shoes and natural history programmes describing the mating habits of dung beetles.

Oh no.

Sunday night is Top Gear Night - despite the fact that after the recent boys-own American holiday episode my son said the words every mother dreads hearing: ‘Cool. When I leave school I’m wanna be a presenter on that show.’

This week ‘Recovery’ followed Mr Clarkson et al on BBC1. Starring David Tennant and Sarah Parish it was the quality of drama I'd give my eye-teeth to write. It told the story of a family after the husband, Alan, suffered a brain trauma. Unlike Top Gear presenter Richard Hammond, who sustained his injury whilst driving the motoring equivalent of a bean can powered by a skyscraper-ful of dynamite, a distracted Alan stepped out into the path of a lorry. All very mundane. All very probable.

The writer and actors had done a lot of research into brain injury. Indeed, some of the erratic behaviour of the main character seemed to mimic the experiences reported by Richard Hammond following his accident: childish behaviour, aggression, depression. That’s the same Richard Hammond who, on his much heralded return, was asked by fellow presenter Jeremy Clarkson if he was now ‘a mental.’ The same one sporting a boyish grin as Clarkson made the comment: ‘Speed-kills.’

Watching as Alan's family struggled to come to terms with the admittedly fictitious but very true-to-life situation they found themselves in, Clarkson's comments seemed less than funny.

Now, in case you were wondering, the well-scripted Top Gear is recorded on a Wednesday. Plenty of time to consider just how those off-the-cuff, 'witty' comments might be received by the family and friends caring for the many ‘Alans’ who weren’t as fortunate as ‘The Hamster.’

Of course black humour is a way of dealing with terrible situations. Clarkson is well known for his 'irreverent take on life'- I'll admit he is one of the reasons I watch the programme, cars generally bore me to tears, (unless they are VWs). I suppose we should all shrug our shoulders and accept it. And if the presenters of Top Gear were just a group of blokes down the pub, (a setting the programme does its utmost to recreate), his words would, of course, pass without comment. My point is TV isn't 'The Dog and Duck' and the presenters weren't in the snug. Eight million people were in on 'the joke.' One million people acquired a brain injury last year. Unlike the National Lottery it really could be you. Or someone you know.

In my Writing for the Stage module we were told that the Greeks believed that great drama involved catharsis. Catharsis is defined by Wikipedia as: ‘a sudden emotional breakdown or climax that constitutes overwhelming feelings of great pity, sorrow, laughter or any extreme change in emotion that results in the renewal, restoration and revitalization for living.’

I know I experienced it whilst watching 'Recovery' on Sunday night. I wonder if the Top Gear presenters were watching too?

What a difference a lecturer can make...

2007-02-21T20:04:00.000Z

Had guest lecturer Belinda Dixon today. Belinda is a freelance media person and full of energy, humour and talent. What is more, in just three hours she's managed to single-handedly refloat a module I thought was dead in the water.

Wednesdays might just become the highlight of my week.

Tasty Undies

2007-02-20T21:06:00.000Z

My unwanted email filter is fantastic. I found this today:

Spam:Knickers by Agent Provocateur

Now I bet Monty Python never thought of that...

Scorched bottom

2007-02-20T17:03:00.000Z

Writing for the Stage today. We learned a technique called ‘Hot-Seating.’ For this we had to ‘inhabit’ a character from our respective plays and answer questions from fellow course mates about ‘ourselves’.

The technique also involved making sure that we got the ‘physicality’ of the character right. We had to sit in the way our character would. We were also encouraged to get the little gestures right; would our character scratch their nose, stretch or yawn as they answered the questions?

We have Stanislavski to thank for this fun.

So I am Heather Smith no longer. I am David, 45 year old, single, shaven-headed stockbroker. Hear me roar...

That Eureka Moment...

2007-02-20T16:22:00.000Z

HIM: 'So I went to pay the credit card bill this lunchtime and I found this envelope.'
ME: 'Oh, err, Happy Valentine's Day. Mmm, you didn't find any chocolate in there as well, did you?'

My funny Valentine

2007-02-14T18:56:00.000Z

Hey, I'm oozing Lurvve.

I've bought my dearest a delicious slab of chocolate and a wonderful card.

I bought it nearly two weeks ago.

The only problem is...

I've forgotten where I've hidden it.

The semester's subjects: Cybersex, Sartre, Stanislavski

Well, somethings gotta give..

What is in a name?

2007-02-13T18:57:00.000Z

This semester is fair steaming along.

Today - Writing for the Stage.

We talked about characterisation today and the importance of matching name to persona. For example Sharon could never be an 30 year old barrister and Fifi wouldn't be found restocking the freezers at the local supermarket.

So what character would Heather be?

Well, while you ponder that, here are some fascinating facts about Heather, (with thanks to Wikipedia):

Heather is a popular ornamental plant in gardens and for landscaping.

The generic name Calluna is derived from a Greek word meaning 'to sweep', as the plant was used to make brooms.

Heather is an ingredient in gruit, a mixture of flavourings used in the brewing of beer during the Middle Ages before the use of hops. The use of heather in the brewing of the modern heather beer Fraoch is carefully regulated. By law the heather must be cleaned carefully before brewing, as the undersides of the leaves may contain a dusting of an ergot-like fungus, which is a hallucinogenic intoxicant.[citation needed]

Heather is The national flower of Norway

So perhaps Heather might just describe that intoxicated Nordic cleaner and landscape gardener character you've not been able to name?

Porcine Needlework

2007-02-12T11:27:00.000Z

The next edition of Behind the Spin has been published. A few copies were passed around the lecture group.

Someone noticed my article and accompanying, obligatory, head-and-shoulders photograph. They were quick to point it out to the rest of the class:

'Like the picture', they said
then
*giggle*

Everytime I've had an article accepted for BTS the editor has asked me if I want to use the head and shoulders shot he’s printed before. I’ve never seen the point of changing it - you can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. But really...
*giggle*

I guess I should've taken the hint...

Flicking through the magazine I noticed that although the theme of this edition is: 'PR - it isn't really glamorous', the pictures accompanying the articles show young, fresh-faced, and err, frankly glamorous people. And then there's yours truly, aka Methusala's Mother, staring out of page 26.

I think I oughta find another magazine to write for. One in which my mug will look truly at home. Goat-keepers Monthly, Your Dog or Total Carp perhaps...

Half way through...

2007-02-06T18:01:00.000Z

So I'm half way through my degree. Year 2, Semester B is shaping up nicely. I'm studying: Writing for the Stage, Magazine Cultures and Creative Web Design.

Modular degrees mean that I get to dip my toe into many different subject areas: PR, Media and Creative Writing. Occasionally I jump right in and create a few waves, when the mood takes me, safe in the knowledge that I don't have to take a module in that subject area again if I don't want to. A bit like peeing in the pool and getting out before anyone else notices the warm patch.

It's quite hard to get into creative writing again - I felt a little faint when the lecturer said that she wanted a proposal for a play within three days. And then I gave myself a good talking to: Writing for the Stage - you chose it girl. What the hell did you think she was going to ask you for? A recipe for meatloaf?

It was either desperation or frantic hair pulling that provided me with a possible plot that provoked some constructive criticism amongst the group today. Good.

Later, we looked at Endgame. For the first half an hour I went through a grumpy 'this is the emperor's new clothes' phase. I must admit though, I can't stop thinking about it. Goddamit. Beckett.

Another ring...

2007-02-04T21:13:00.000Z

The eagle-eyed of you might have spotted the addition of a 1 to my bio. Yeap, it was my bday this week. I've gone from letting the waves of 40 gently tickle my toes to standing in the sea up to my ankles as 'twere.

Went to see a wonderful play on Saturday: Floating by Hugh Hughes. If you have the chance to see it do. If you already have - isn't it great? Just one fantastic mixture of multimedia, enthusiasm, comedy, pathos and wrestling.

Brilliant.

Forever Young

2007-01-31T23:08:00.000Z

Forget anti-ageing creams. Some lecturers can make you feel a whole lot younger just by talking to you. Today, as one of them gave us an ear-bashing about the importance of regularly turning up to lessons, (lectures), completing the weekly homework (sorry, assignments) and being punctual for registration (I mean lectures), I instantly felt fifteen years old again.

Perhaps it’s karma? After all, I was saying exactly the same things to my son yesterday.

Tis funny sometimes being a Laterstudier. When you have children you can empathise with lecturer’s frustrations, but after a ‘talking- to’ you feel the other side. I must admit there was a large part of me that wanted to slope off and draw none-too flattering pictures of ‘teach’ on the toilet door.

Ok, so it hasn’t been a Dry Blackthorn Day – more a stewed-cup-of-tea-gone-cold-on- the-bedside-table sorta day

What I wish I'd known - The Exam Edition

2007-01-22T14:48:00.000Z

1. Read, Re-read and Read Again…exactly what is required from a piece of coursework. Despite being referred to as ‘the write up of the presentation’, closer examination of the module guide revealed, (too late), that a ‘critical analysis’ was required for one of my assessed pieces of work. For a good description of what a critical analysis is try http://www.sussex.ac.uk/languages/1-6-8-2-3.html. And yes, it does involve reading some of those huge books with the yellowing pages from the library

2. Return of the Mock
Think back to those schooldays and the mock exams. The time when you could experience the tension of an exam room, the sickening feeling when you realise the questions are all about the First World War and you’ve revised the Tudors and the humiliation of the final marks. But it didn’t really matter, because it was all umm, mock.

Well, as they say, life isn’t a rehearsal and you definitely don’t get one at Uni. So my advice, if you’ve had some time away from the delights of the exam hall, is to practise answering questions to time.

Like Master Po, use your sage-like wisdom to pre-empt the questions that might be set. After all, most humanities-based subjects have two sides to them. It really is not a good time to decide which one you are on whilst sitting, a-shivering and a-shaking in the exam hall. Adopt a position and remember a few facts and quotes to back up what you want to say and make sure you say it in the time given.

3. Tempus Fugit
Some things have changed since the days of O Levels. The invigilators now sit at the side of the Sports Hall with jugs of water and tissues – although ordering a cup of tea and a digestive for 'the interval' might be a bit much.

However, some things have not. Due to different seat numbers, (they will probably change with each paper), I froze in one exam and boiled in another, (I was sat underneath a large light).

The tables were low and the chairs without lumber support, so after two hours I had to unwrap myself, teeth chattering and sweat-drenched, from the desk. Not very dignified, I can tell you.

How do you get around it? I’m not sure, although perhaps it might be a time to ‘pack a cardi', buy one of these and finally investigate the pleasures of an elasticated waist…

UPDATE: I guess I missed out the whole 'and how did you do?' bit. Well the second exam, (Written Journalism), went OK. The first exam? umm, well, can you hear the sound of nail against leather? That's my toes curling as I think about it...

Things I wish I'd known

2007-01-22T13:10:00.001Z

A constantly evolving post......

1. That timetables vary from semester to semester
- yes, it seems obvious now, but initally I thought that I would know from the beginning of the academic year the days I would be at college. The college seems to be particularly good at keeping students in suspense with regard to future timetables. Not very 'mature friendly' imo.

2. How to, at the very least, switch on a video camera/digital camera
- definate advantage when you are given equipment and told to take something in an hour. Just plain embarrassing when you've spent 45 minutes trying to work out how to turn the thing on. Hey - media studies wasn't even around when I was at school!

3. Learn how to text quicker - or at least know my mobile phone number. Seems to be the MAJOR form of communication between students.

4. That you won't be at college EVERY day

I know you also need to factor in time to visit the library, use media computers etc, but if I'd known how little required contact time there was, I would've come to college much earlier. Part of the reason I turned down an offer 9 years earlier was because I didn't think I could combine looking after my much younger children and travelling to and from college every day. Oh well, you live and learn - the unofficial motto of the mature student.

5. That the feeling you get when you realise you have to go back after the Christmas/Easter breaks doesn't get any easier to deal with.

Reconnect with your inner child - the one who forgot there was a spelling test on the Monday after half-term...

6. Definately learn how to spell definite You really ought to know by now

7. Watch 'Sex in the City' and 'Friends'. Read 'Heat' - it really will help in those media assignments.

8. Appreciate that people in your lectures/seminar groups may not be as enthusiastic about the subject as you are.

I've taken a long time to decide what I want to study. I realised after an ill-fated attempt to study with the OU, (Computing- what was I thinking of?), that in order to avoid the distractions of family life I need to study a subject I am very interested in.

Other people, however, have followed different routes to get to college.

For some, studying the media wasn't their number one choice of degree subject. Others have discovered that the degree they signed up for in September isn't quite what they thought it would be. After my experience with Computer Science I do have some sympathy. For those students who thought it would all be about 'Enders and Corrie, lectures about semantics and news values must be purgatory. Some have changed direction. Others are still hanging on in there.

So expect a cool response sometimes when you suggest books you've found useful or show enthusiasm for an assignment on a subject you've never studied before.

Believe it when their looks say: 'You are SAD' Put on an uninterested face, shrug 'whatever.' And do it anyway.

9. That you should sort out work placement EARLY

By now you've held down a job. Probably several jobs. Got a decent(ish) looking CV. So those companies you'd like to get some experience with will be fighting over each other to offer you a placement in return for your free services and enthusiasm - right? Wrong. Approach several companies. After the meeting decide if you want to work with them - sometimes the reality doesn't live up to expectation. Allow plenty of time for possible let-downs - remember, they're busy people and as far as they are concerned you're a 'student-sans-life'.

10. I should have read this book before I went

It was July 2005 and the company I was working for ran out of money to pay me. So began my earlier than anticipated journey into HE land. I didn't have time to read The Student Book by Klaus Boehm and Jenny Lees-Spalding, but I wish that I had. Full of interesting information including the number of mature students, drop-out rates and male/female student ratios at each UK HE institution, I found a copy at my local library.

11. Everything during the second year is about Postmodernism
During that long Summer holiday get hold of this book. You'll thank me later - honestly you will...

Technorati tag: mature student college life

Exam Blues

2007-01-18T21:04:00.000Z

Of course I'll be writing more on the whole exam-stress thing, but check out this blog for a very similar description of how my life has been lately

http://singleinthecity-xanadu.blogspot.com/2006/12/exam-night-fever.html

Same Hill, Different View

2007-01-18T20:47:00.000Z

I'm always on the look out for other Laterstudiers with whom to swap experiences of higher education and life in general, so I thought I'd check out the blog of a person I discovered after typing 'mature student' into Google's search. Here's what this 25 year old has written about her fears for her first day:

i dont want to rock up to class being 10 years older than everyone, and have to hang out with the "mature age students" all the old assholes that everyone else hates because they sit up front with their tape recorders and ask dumb questions

Hmmm. If she'd added 'and smell of wee' I guess she would've got me spot on...

Stormy Weather

2007-01-18T12:50:00.000Z

I love windy days. Putting aside the dangers of falling timber and kamikaze wheely-bins , there is nothing to beat being force fed gallons of the clear stuff whilst walking the dog. A real 02 high. And I still get excited when the sleeves of my coat flap in the wind. Like Orville I cling onto the hope that one day…

Teachers say that children become uncontrollable when it’s windy outside. Perhaps it extends into the playground of the mature student? I definitely experience a change of mood when the isobars squash together. At 8:30 this morning I felt suitably energised to dance around the bedroom to the sound of the Tamperer playing on Golden Oldie Radio Station. It was only as Maya’s voice faded into the background that I realised I hadn’t even put my clothes on yet.

All together now: What’s she gonna look like with a chimney on her…

Exam Concentrate, Just add Students

2007-01-15T20:57:00.000Z

Exam today. Another pitfall for this mature student. So, when was the last time I sat in silence and full concentration for two hours?

no checking out the stuff on boing.net
no checking for emails
no putting on the kettle
no music
no scratching the dog’s ears
no ‘I’ll write that 2000 essay in a minute, I must just go and sort out my sock drawer’
no lock and lock demos on QVC

I’m afraid it isn’t just younger, text-writing-whilst-iPod-listening- whilst- Internet-browsing students that lack this capability. Come the second hour today and I couldn’t tell you if I was doing an exam on media and cultural theory or Scooby Doo. Unfortunately the last question began ‘Critically analyse…

Anyway, the news, for those who were allowed to take fluffy gonks in the room last time they sat an exam, is that they haven’t changed much.

Exam Planning Session
Invigilator 1: Well, exams are stressful things, so we want to make sure that the candidates are as comfortable as possible so they can answer the questions as best they can
Invigilator 2: Yes I agree
1: So where do you think we should hold the next lot?
2: Umm. Err. Well. The Sports Hall?
1: You mean the place that’s cold, echoing, smells of BO, has glaring lights and is positioned opposite the landing pad of the local air ambulance?
2: Umm. Yep.
1: Perfect. Don't forget to bring your squeaky shoes, the desks from the primary school and the plastic chairs with the hole in the lumber area
2: Will do.
1: Oh, and just one more thing
2: Yes
1: Do remember to stop by Smith's desk at regular intervals and emit a loud sigh.

Thank goodness for coursework. Mind you, if I’d had a cup of tea and a hobnob half way through…

Back to uni

2007-01-10T22:41:00.000Z

Back to uni today for a final group critique of our photographic projects before they are given in for marking. Fascinating stuff. Everyone had done something different, with themes ranging from teenage drinking haunts to fireworks - in black and white. I'm going to miss this module...

It’s a jungle... in here

2007-01-09T10:26:00.000Z

The most dangerous place to be post Christmas? At home revising for exams when you know that out in the kitchen there is a box of mince pies, half empty carton of Roses, (all toffee-centred, but hey - they’re still chocolate covered) and tin of festive (?) biscuits scratching at the cupboard door, begging to be eaten.

Oh well, guess I’d better answer their call. The fact that my hips have become wedged into the chair just makes it easier for me to sit down again afterwards, doesn’t it?

Where would I be

2007-01-08T15:48:00.000Z

without this man:

Daniel Chandler

and his site:

www.aber.ac.uk/media

Answer: probably not in Media Studies Land...

Although I do find the search on the site a little unhelpful, just type in your search words and add Daniel Chandler on the end and if its there, good old Google usually finds it.

Taa everso Mr Chandler...

The Crimbo Chronicles

2007-01-04T10:02:00.000Z

View from Pew Tor, but not on 25 December 2006

So how was it for you? Christmas is always 'fine' for me. I can never bring myself to say 'good' due to the fact that after all the hype leading up to the big day, I spend most of the time thinking that I'm not 'doing' Christmas quite right.

It was good to have some time off from studying. Although the weather was dreary we walked to the top of Pew Tor on Christmas Day. We also managed to provoke a few sympathetic looks from passing walkers who thought that the beef burgers we were happily munching on, (cooked on a camping stove on the top of the tor), were our Christmas dinner.

As usual there was an embarrassing disparity with one of our presents: their present to us= doughnut maker, our present to them= a pile of poo and a couple of racing nuns.

Regifting was big news - or about as big as it gets over the Christmas period. My advice? Just Don't Do It. As someone with a birthday in February there is a limit to the amount of talcum powder, foam bath and chocolate a woman can cope with. You have been warned. I have three jars of curried piccalli - and I'm not afraid to use them....

Media Students - we're academics too

2006-12-21T15:32:00.000Z

Christmas Do last night. Things went better than expected, helped, I suspect by the addition of free wine and the ‘Big Boss’ offering to buy a round of after dinner drinks. I found out later from my ever-so-slightly-agitated partner that this should have been tea or coffee. Oh dear. So that would account for the manager’s stare which ensured that the ice in my JD stayed intact for ages.

I didn’t end up with squid mousse or parsnip gateau – bonus points all around then. Someone *cough* also made the brilliant suggestion of changing seats between courses. However, I did encounter an old chestnut - and it had nothing to do with the turkey stuffing. It began innocently, as these conversations often do:

‘So what do you do then?’
‘Oh, I’m studying at Marjon.’
‘Really, so what are you…..’
‘A BA Hons,’ I say - rather too quickly. I know where this is going. ‘Actually I’m half-way through. Would you mind passing the cranberry sauce please? Cold weather for the time of year isn’t it…’
‘In what?’
At which point I’d love to say:
‘Astrophysics.’ And I would - only there is always the doubt. That they studied astrophysics and gave it up - because it was too easy. Or they’ll suddenly reveal themselves to be Brian May or Patrick Moore or Steven Hawkin, (perhaps not). Anyway isn’t honesty the best policy?

‘Writing for the Media.’

Note that the one word reference is enough to get the eyes rolling, the arms folding and the hands reaching for the Mickey Mouse ears – carried especially for such occasions.

‘Yes,’ I continue determined to defend my choice of degree. ‘In fact parts of the course are really sociology, but quite specialised.’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’ says my earnest questioner, dismissively. ‘When I was at university we didn’t have –ologies…’
‘You had philosophy though?...’
‘Oh yes, of course. As Aristotle said: ‘I think therefore I am’’
‘Actually it was Descartes’, I reply. ‘And one could argue that the end of the metanarrative and the advent of postmodernism signals the end of Cartesian Perspectivalism. What do you think?'

Well…he had it coming to him.

Do, Do, Do - The Christmas Do

2006-12-11T14:53:00.000Z

So it’s that time of year again. The office Christmas ‘Do.’ Or more specifically, because you are now a lazy, skiving student, the Do-ings of your partner’s office. The evening when you are obliged to sit next to the man who tells you he’s leaving early because he has to creosote his fence in the morning. It's OK though. Over the course of the next one and a half hours he'll be only too happy to discuss the apparatus he favours to complete the job.

No expense is spared. The place you usually go to for efficient overnight accommodation is transformed via a few balloons and crackers into a ‘Party Venue’ offering a ‘Festive Banquet.’

It’s also time for the other eternal question. Why, when everyone on the other table is convulsing with laughter five minutes into the meal, am I on the one where the silence is broken only by whispered questions as to whether the orange slush on the edge of the plate is, in fact, the ‘butter-glazed seasonal vegetables? And where things become a 'bit lairy' when someone puts-on their paper hat.

I’ve ordered my meal and, ever the optimist, I hold out hope that I’ll get to eat it this year.

It's true. People never remember what they’ve ordered.

You can’t blame them. Barely recovered from the gippy tummy they got on their Spanish holiday they’re asked to decide what they want to eat in December. It really shouldn’t be surprising that in the four months between ordering and eating they’ve changed their mind.

Especially when they see what the Chicken Liver Parfait actually looks like.

It’s just unfortunate that I get all the stuff they’ve ‘forgotten’ they’ve ordered. Highlights for me include soup the colour and consistency of phlegm and a piece of Christmas pudding that I’m sure had fallen off the space shuttle.

I’ve decided. The only answer is tattoos. Across the forehead.

Despite all that, I know it’s better than doing nothing. I’ve worked at a place where the sole festive ‘treat’ was the opportunity to give the manager a Christmas Kiss. Give me cheese and pineapple on a stick anytime...

Being a student, things are a bit different on my 'Do' this year. WKDs, Snakebite Turbos and a packet of Doritos for dessert. Should be just fine. Now, should I wear the black or red evening dress?

Mission Accomplished

2006-12-05T17:57:00.000Z

Jammy Devil

Drawing strength from Julia's comment yesterday and a chocolate covered cointreau soaked apricot I went to interview the voluntary staff at my local Oxfam today. I thought it went OK. Mouth behaved itself. Made sure that I came up for air occasionally.

Afterwards, I bought myself a congratulatory doughnut from the local bakery. Before retiring to stuff myself, I decided to return to the store and buy the bargain-priced jacket I'd spied out of the corner of my eye.

The shop was quiet. The dear little old lady's voice carried loud and clear:

'Some of those questions she asked were silly...'

Which kinda knocked the wind out of my sails. And the jam out of my doughnut...

What the hell is the matter with me?

2006-12-04T16:10:00.000Z

So after weeks of procrastination I started a contribution to Behind the Spin today. I really shouldn't have - I don't have the time, but n'mind.

I had to do a couple of phone interviews. And that is where the problems began. For today, my mouth seems to be on a spin cycle. A condition brought about by a sudden and complete lack of confidence that anyone in the whole planet would want to talk to me.

Hello, my name is Heather Smith. I'm doing an article for Behind the Spin, a student PR magazine. Would you be able to answer a few questions?

became

Hello, I'm doing. Actually my name is Heather Student. I mean Smith and there is a magazine that I'm writing for and I wonder if you would ask me some questions. I mean could I ask you some answers for Behind the Spin. Which is a PR article.

Add some unreciprocated (and slightly hysterical) laughter, too many pleases and thank yous and I think you'll get an idea of the type of day I'm having.

Perhaps I'm getting a migraine. I hope so.

Got to visit the local Oxfam tomorrow. Which should be fun. Perhaps I should take an interpreter?

Different angles

2006-11-29T16:12:00.000Z

One aspect of HE life I particularly like are the different points of view I get to hear. Take this for example:

'My Mum got a First for her degree. She had it easier than me though. She was older. She didn't have her friends dragging her out to the pub night after night.'

So take note all you mature students out there. As you go around making sure that PE kits are washed, meals are cooked, homework is helped with, dogs are walked, Christmas is organised, sick children are nursed, toilets are cleaned, parents' evenings are attended, ageing relatives are phoned, bank statements are balanced, partners are sympathetically listened to and cooking ingredients for DT lessons are purchased, just take a moment to think of the nocturnal dilemmas faced by the younger students.

And thank the heavens you aren't THAT age again...

Life doesn't get any easier...

2006-11-25T09:47:00.000Z

Roland Barthes - general egghead - and secret lip syncher?

So, nearly half way through my degree how have I changed?

1. I now move my lips as I read media textbooks. It doesn't help with comprehension, but I always get the best seat in the library.

2. The fact that I cannot remember the other feature of Classical Realist Text is enough to bring me to a dead halt
2a. Like the 80 year old 'safe' driver, I can now say: 'I've never had an accident, Though I've seen plenty behind me.'

3. Asked to do too many things at one time my old computer used to run out of RAM and 'hang'- I now understand how it felt. This deficiency can cause a particularly bad case of 'seat shuffling' when the lecturer asks about something he/she explained five/four/three minutes ago.

4. I cannot criticise any film without my family saying it is because I am a media studies student. No. 'The Terminal' was a bad film by anyone's standards...

5. I read books written by people who say that words have no meaning. I read on...

6. I now appreciate that not only can you write in dust you can also engrave it...

7. I have a growing respect for the intellectual powers of my lecturers. Add the gift of foresight to their list of abilities. Don't believe me? Read this:
'You have eleven weeks in which to do your essay, not just he one or two leading up to the deadline date'

Bloody marvellous aren't they?

Not a media studies joke - hurrah!

2006-11-20T11:10:00.000Z

I always think that bloggers have reached an all time low when they start quoting posts from other blogs.

So from Julia Buckley's blog:

What did the english graduate say to the maths graduate?
"Would you like fries with that?"

Post from Simon Haynes

Normal service will be resumed after I've finished writing my latest assignment folks...

The Devil Eats Pasties

2006-11-14T22:57:00.000Z

Buses, don’tcha just love ‘em?

I’m talking to you, Mr BMW man who drove past the bus stop this morning. You might have thought that the look I gave you was admiration or envy. But no. You are wrong.

It was pity. Pity that you had chosen a 1,000,000 BHP, leather-lined trip to work this morning rather than enter the melting pot of humanity that is A Bus Trip.

Really, if you want some creative writing ideas there is no better place to pick up characters: the elderly lady with the ‘Greatest Hits of Praying Mantis’ on her MP3 player, the schoolboy with a dog lead, but no dog and a man who whistles ‘It’s a long way to Tipperary’ over and over, whilst lining up his change on the seat next to him.

Honestly - the fun never ends

I had a rather surreal experience on a bus the other night. We had just driven onto the ‘Gateway to Dartmoor’ road from Plymouth. As the name suggests it cuts straight across the moor and, without warning, the driver turned off all the internal lights except for two strips that let out a faint red light.

I looked out across the desolate blackness and the almost full moon. And, as I clenched my butt cheeks together in a desperate attempt to stop myself from sliding off the seat as we hurtled around bends, the thought occured to me that it could be Lucifer himself behind the wheel. Taking us on a final trip into the fire-y depths of hell. Fifty lost souls trying to text final messages to loved ones in the eerie glow. (Where is the full stop when you need it?).

Over-active imagination. It’s a blessing. It’s a curse…

It was only when we stopped to pick up a fare that I realised that Beelzebub couldn’t be driving the bus. A West Country accent on the Great Lord of Darkness?:

‘Oi’m going to take you to moi terrible abode – that’ll be fortee foive pence, mind 'ow you go me lover..’

Nahh…

Later, as one of the remaining few travelling down a deserted country lane I suddenly thought of another use for a red light in a window. Don’t be so silly, I told myself. And then I looked up to see the man opposite staring straight at me – and jiggling his spare change…

Being Buried

2006-11-03T22:26:00.000Z

www.gapingvoid.com

Media and Cultural Theory today. A module that attempts to connect the great philosophical minds of Foucault, Sarup and Barthes with 'Sex and the City' and 'Friends'.

It’s a module I’ve never felt completely comfortable with, possibly because whilst the people around me are talking about the films of Jean Luc Godard and Pedro Almodovar, I’m wondering whether Lassie did make it home.

Today's subject was Post-Structuralism.

We watched I Dish by Jayne Parker. Move over Saw III - you won't forget the images from this film. For 10 minutes a woman eats a fish, digs for fish, sieves mud (naked) and cooks the fish-that-thinks-it-is-a-mole. The highlights are the shots of a man repeatedly washing his penis and bottom in a kitchen sink. And if that all seems a bit out of order - it's supposed to. That's Post-Structuralism Folks.

Afterwards the lecturer said that the man's penis wasn't 'very majestic,' confirmation, if it were needed, that I've lived a very sheltered life.

All in all, I’m not sure I get this philosophy and media studies thing.

I tried to explain what we were doing to my Mother. I told her a table didn’t really exist, that by naming it as a table we gained control over it.

She asked me if I was getting enough sleep, before telling me that she had to go:

‘We’re having liver and bacon for tea’, she said. ‘And I really must get your Father to lay the linguistic construct before the potatoes boil dry…’

After the lecture I met the editor of Behind the Spin walking down the corridor looking rather agitated:

‘Did you know that yours is the first article on the Behind the Spin web page? he asked.

‘Oh no…really?’ I lied.

‘Yes, apparently, the person who compiles the blog thought that your piece was the most important article of the last edition and put you at the top of the page. We’re going to have to change it.’

I searched his face really hard for a smile. I didn’t find one.

Pay-As-You-Go Degrees

2006-10-31T20:34:00.000Z

There has been a lot of talk today about the quality of HE qualifications. Most of the debate in the news has been about the varying amount of study undertaken by students and the 'value' of science versus social science degrees in the job market. Interestingly the case studies most commonly cited to illustrate these differences have involved a medical and media studies student...

Medical students aside, I would argue that any degree has limited value when it comes to choosing the right person for a job. It's the extras, (work experience, voluntary work etc), that will give an employer a more accurate indication of the calibre of person sat opposite them in an interview.

And although you probably wouldn't want them removing your appendix, media studies graduates have one of the highest rates of employment amongst those leaving higher education.

What I am more interested in is the 'quality' issue. Not the amount of hours spent outside the classroom - I don't think you can compare time spent reading medical textbooks and 'loose', creative time thinking up ideas for photographic projects and articles. No, the quality I'm interested in is the effectiveness or otherwise of lectures and seminars.

In my experience modules vary widely in their quality. Cut and Paste Powerpoint presentations. Two hour lectures that go on for half of their scheduled time. Sound familiar? Could you really have learnt more sitting with a text book in the library? And I've written before about what is wrong with module questionnaires.

I've just got my first statement from the Student Loan Company - so you can understand the sensitivity of this issue. Four hours, (a weekly module-worth), is costing me around £15, (with an adjustment made for one hour final assignment/exam marking). I'm lucky. If I'd joined this year it would be more than double that.

So how about an idea - Pay-As-You-Go Degrees?

Simple. Just pay to go to the lectures/seminars you think are actually worth it. Students would have to pay back the money to the Student Loans Company for those they didn't attend - so there would be no monetary value to missing lectures.

Progression would still be based on passing exams and assignments - so time would need to be spent in that library with that book. Modules that weren't up to the mark would be quickly identified and rectified when the uni realised they were losing income.

Result
-Improved lectures/seminars
-Reduced student loans

Perfect - or not?

Singing the Second Year Blues...

2006-10-26T18:17:00.000+01:00

I'm shattered. I've just finished the assignment that has to be in on Monday - a piece of work that has taken me three times the amount of time I'm sure it should have done. You'd have thought that after a year at uni these things would be easier.

Not so.

You know how people who know about these things talk about the 'difficult' second album for musicians? - well I've come up with a similar theory for second year students.

It was easy in the first year. Everything was new. You couldn't quite believe that you were there surrounded by all that youth and books and drinking opportunities. And somehow, in between wandering around the campus in a bewildered state you managed to get your assignments in on time. It didn't really matter what grades you got. All you have to do in the first year is PASS. And pass you did.

In the second year, like the follow up album, there is more at stake. The marks you get go towards your final grade. You have to keep up the good work and more. You realise this is it. At your age you're not coming back. This is your chance to 'do' HE and you want to do it well.

Hence the amount of time taken to complete this first assignment - that all important 'opening track'.

Of course, after finishing this task I took a look at my diary and the other work I have to complete.

And I had a little weep.

A cup of strong tea and an almond croissant and I'm feeling better now. I've made a PLAN. I had to. Well, who really wants to be a one hit wonder...

Dog Bites Man (NO) Man Bites Dog (YES)

2006-10-24T20:45:00.000+01:00

Want a text book on news values that is comprehensible, up-to-date, full of useful quotes and is actually quite an interesting read?

'Making Headlines - News Vales and Risk Signals in Journalism' by John Venables, is all of those things. Describes the impact of studies by Galtung and Ruge, Bell and Schlesinger in addition to explaining the 'Machiavellian intelligence hypothesis.' Just imagine how clever you'll look quoting that at the next PTA coffee morning....

Reading Week

2006-10-23T20:46:00.000+01:00

It's Reading Week at Marjon. Five days free from having to go to lectures. Time to get stuck into well, ummm, reading.

Luckily, it just so happens to coincide with half-term. But be warned. Not all universities are the same. A few students have told me that some HE places have a one- lecture-off-per-week system and work right through. And I've still got the February half term to cope with. No Reading Week at Marjon then. It is a situation that is made all the more frustrating when you have such a huge time off during the Christmas and Easter breaks.

First assignment due in on Monday 30th October.

Busy, busy, busy...

This swearing is very wearing

2006-10-22T17:19:00.000+01:00

Swearing. I do it. Most of the people I know let at least the occasional naughty word slip out. As Mark Twain once said:

Under certain circumstances, profanity provides a relief denied even to prayer.

However, there is still something about swearing in front of a crowd that causes outrage.

Madonna ensured that she was the talking point of Live 8 with a well positioned F-word. Although he'd probably argue that it is what he can do with chicken livers that has earned him his fame, it cannot be denied that a good part of Gordon Ramsay's success has relied on his ability to incorporate as many obscenities as possible within 30 minutes of TV airtime. And turn on Radio One and the number of bleeps you hear in an hour might make you think that the man in charge of the time pips was very, very drunk.

So am I really alone in feeling uncomfortable when lecturers start to cuss in front of a room full of undergraduates?

Like William Haig in a baseball cap and Mingus announcing that he tunes into the Arctic Monkeys these attempts to get down wid the kids make me feel slightly queasy. And let down. Because surely these apparently educated people don't need to resort to the sort of language that I was always told signified a limited vocabulary to make a point?

And no, it can't be an age thing - in fact one of the worst offenders is old enough to be my mother.

It's the blaspheming before an audience that adds the shock factor. Talking in seminar groups afterwards is a different matter, but sitting in a lecture room literarily 'looking up' at the person at the front swearing makes me feel very uneasy.

So lecturers take note. It isn't funny. And it definitely isn't clever..

Afraid of the dark

2006-10-18T20:49:00.000+01:00

It's OK. You can sit closer to the screen. I'm (relatively) germ-free now.

So it was the darkroom today and I was eager to redeem myself after the *embarrassing episode* the other day:

Lecturer: In a minute I'm going to turn out the lights and close the door and you are going to load your film onto the developing spool
Me: Ummm so we'll be in complete darkness...
Lecturer: Yes
Me: And when you say you are going to close the door that means that we are in effect locked in this small room with no way out...
Lecturer: Yes

You guessed it - who was the only claustrophobic in the class? Step forward Heather and take your Prize Numpty award.

Developing film is fascinating, awkward, wonderful and scary, (well, you do only have the dimmest of red lights on and the door remains closed). Boy, do I have so much respect now for all those photojournalists in the past who had to rely on manual cameras and dark room skills to get 'the shot' that paid the mortgage and put bread on the table.

It is true. Life is a lot easier with digital cameras and Photoshop. But getting the 'spell' right: the timings, the light, the chemicals and watching the image appear before your eyes is wonderful. (Actually, add jumping up and down with excitement in the darkroom to the things you shouldn't do if you want to retain what little remains of your dignity with your fellow course mates)

If only you could do it with the door open....

AWOL

2006-10-13T15:50:00.000+01:00

Had to come home early today. Nose dripping more than an Artic iceberg. And if the thought of a lecture on post-colonialism and world cinema wasn't enough to give me shivers, my cold - does that sound serious enough?- my virus was adding a few more to the mix.

Before I went I borrowed a library book that looked relevant:

NOTE: Be warned. It is an unwritten rule that academic books never have useful words in their title. You know. The ones like: 'Post-colonalism and World Cinema,' 'What you need to know to answer that essay question that has to be in by next week,' 'Media Studies - the sources you forgot to note when you were writing down those intelligent-looking quotes and are now reading through every book you ever looked at to find.'

This afternoon I have resisted the obvious temptations of the heated eyelash curler demonstrations on the shopping channel and have made a start on this fascinating(?)subject.

And it got me thinking - why have I chosen to study at a bricks-and-mortar establishment and not an Open University course?

The attractions of studying at home are many. This afternoon I've put a load of washing in, sat in a comfy chair and sipped numerous cups of tea whilst reading my book. When your living room is your classroom travelling costs are non-existent - and you won't end up catching hideous student germs in an overheated lecture room. According to a recent survey the OU has the highest satisfaction ranking out of all the HE institutions in the UK

So why do I do it?

Well, I got an HNC through a home study course and I've been an abject failure trying to study with the OU. Now I'm at Marjon I can exclusive report that the difference is:

((Are you ready for this?))

People.

Obvious really. Being part of a crowd of people coming out of a lecture theatre scratching their heads and asking 'what the hell was that about?' sure beats crying into your lonely keyboard convinced that everyone else on 'Discourse Analysis' knows the answers.

There's the other opportunties too. Voluntary work that might lead to other things. Lecturers with contacts.

Then there are the books and journals. Drinking coffee from a pot that has been kept warm all night, heated discussions, reading Heat magazine, cheap beer at any time of day, scary moments, signing a student loan form and sending out the signal that you are serious about this...

No, as tempting as not having to commute to and from uni I wouldn't have it any other way.

Now... where is the remote? - it's Zilo smellkiller week on QVC - and I'm sure Andrey Zvyagintsev can wait...

Have I made it to the other side?

2006-10-10T10:00:00.000+01:00

The last thing I remember is getting a Google account, then it all went black and I woke up to find...well, very little difference actually.

Do you think I can I take off my black leather coat and glasses now?

Nice little box on the bottom right hand corner so I don't have to keep cutting and pasting that technorati script thingy, (and forgetting toputspacesinbetweenthewords).

Ahh, it's lovely to have my voice back. Watch out, I'm coming to a blog near to you very shortly....

Neddy No Mates

2006-10-10T09:42:00.000+01:00

OK, OK clever Blogger creator-people. I get the message. Seems like my stand against Blogger Beta, more beautiful sister of Blogger, is leaving me socially bereft.

No longer can I leave my pearls of wisdom on blogs and, what is more, when people leave me messages I can't publish them on my blog. I'm fed up of standing by myself at the edge of the playground with my packet of Bacon Frazzles.

So I'm just going to have to upgrade, aren't I?

Here goes......

Premiere for Plymouth International Film Festival - Sunday Shorts

2006-10-06T22:41:00.000+01:00

So, met up with the team who are going to help organise the Sunday Shorts film festival today. Kayla and Stuart are the driving force behind the whole thing. They've organised events like this before.

I've been roped in to do the publicity. Press releases and so forth. I'm really keen that I do this right - It could be so good for the college and Plymouth. Hopefully I can pick the expert brain of my PR lecturer, (well, he owes me), and produce some corking press releases.

Did I mention it was for a PEX06, an international film festival showing work from the US, including a film from an Oscar nominated film producer? With a panel including scriptwriters and producers? Opened by a local celebrity? Tickets available for £5 to include a delicious pasty and copious amounts of tea and biscuits?

(Well, every bit of below the line advertising counts)

Met in a trendy student bar today. It's amazing I've lived down yer for 10 years and have never been to some parts of Plymouth. It was good...

Technorati tag: plymouth film festival PEX06 short films

It's not just about lectures....

2006-10-05T22:48:00.000+01:00

Ok, ok, so it's been a week since the last addition to Laterstudy. Truth is I'm so busy it's time to revert from the considered and witty comments of the time-rich Summer to quick, but hopefully insightful, posts.

Went to the design and print place today to see how a graphic artist 'zoozes' up the pieces submitted to Behind the Spin with images and quotes to produce a professional looking finished article. Came home back to Plymouth via the train - took just 20 minutes - v good. Park and Ride from Plymouth to the car park took an hour - v bad.

Tomorrow I'm meeting with some lecturers and fellow students to plan publicity re: a film festival Marjon is hosting in November. Have to fit this between a PR lecture and lecture/seminar on Media and Cultural Theory, (yes, you may yawn). If anyone thinks that Media studies is just reading comic books and Heat they ought to take a look at the first reading from my module guide. Written by one of those academics who has swallowed a dictionary. Or two. We are supposed to be discussing it in the seminar tomorrow. Between 4pm and 6pm. I'm sure it is going to be an absolute blast.

On Tuesday I'm donning my Student Ambassador hat, (or should I say T shirt) and helping with a young peoples'creative arts project in Plymouth.

So how am I going to fit in all my module stuff?

This is what I didn't reckon on when I came to uni. All this interesting, 'extra' stuff that you don't want to say no to. Even though you have a presentation to plan and massive tomes to read....

The (un)taped confessions of...

2006-09-29T12:28:00.000+01:00

I’d been asked to interview someone today. This was ‘serious stuff.’ Although I’ve interviewed people with a view to get a quote or two to liven up a feature, this was going to form the basis of a 1500 word article. So I prepared. Constructed a list of probing questions that Andrew Marr himself would’ve been proud of. I’d borrowed a tape-recorder and performed a dry-run, eager to ensure that nothing would be missed and I would construct an article nothing short of Pulitzer prize winning.

Now, the questions I had asked people before have always been with a view to how quickly I could scratch down the answers. So short and sharp would be one way of describing my interview technique. But with the help of the tape recorder I was in full flow. I diverged from the questions on my sheet, thinking up new and insightful questions as the interview progressed.

‘This is great,’ I thought to myself as my interviewee proceeded to rattle off some very complicated statistics, and I realised just how quickly the old me would have to write in order to get this stuff down.

Then I looked at the tape recorder. The reels weren’t going around.

I’ve never been to the Artic, but I’m sure that the shiver that passed straight through me couldn’t have been colder.

I searched frantically for the nearest available pen. The nearest available pen belonged to my daughter; glitter barreled and topped with a tuft of feather boa, it was, of course, full of purple ink.

I began to scribble furiously along the eighth inch of blank paper at the edge of the A4 sheet of beautifully prepared questions. Did I wish that I could turn back time and tell that 17 year old bunking off those shorthand lessons that she really should go? You betcha.

The interview continued with me firing questions rapier-like at the poor man who must have wondered why I had changed so suddenly from the previously relaxed and friendly tone to Humphreys-on- speed. My notes continued on the back of a kit-kat wrapper, bus ticket and a postcard from the vet asking me if I’d wormed the dog recently.

Inspiration struck me at the end. ‘Can I email you if I’ve missed anything.’ I said. Just like that. Cool as a cucumber. Or perhaps an Artic cucumber – you’ve heard of them haven’t you? Ming’s favourite pop group?

It appears that the tape recorder ran out of batteries. That makes two of us then.

So what to do about those missing five minutes. Well, I considered regression therapy, but decided, in the end to see what old Google-eyes could come up with. Hopefully, I might just hack it.

So what have I learned?

1. It really isn’t the end of the world

I’m a mature student. That means I am learning – just like all the other people on my course. That means that if things go wrong it’s OK. I’m allowed to.

2. Always have auxillary back up

It is true that the only blackberry I use is the stuff I put into a crumble, so it is ironic that one of the few times I trust technology it lets me down. So I will always have pen and paper with me. And another pen, just in case.

Technorati tag: mature student interviewing writing for the media

It's a modular life

2006-09-20T15:29:00.000+01:00

Andrew Lipson

So what is a modular degree then? Well, in case anyone is as confused as I was this time last year, and have turned to the blogosphere for help, (apparently there are only two of us mature student bloggers and I feel the responsibility), I'll let you know how I understand it.

Imagine a wall made out of Lego bricks. The wall is six bricks high and three bricks wide. The three bricks along the bottom represent years of study. Each of the six vertical bricks represent modules you need to study to get a named, i.e. Writing for the Media, honours degree.

The bricks are not the same though. The first set of six are bronze, (or certificate level). The second are silver, (or intermediate level) and the third are gold, (or honours level). Each brick equals 20 credits, so an honours degree is equal to 360 credits.

In the first year you have no say over the set of bricks in your wall; all modules are chosen for you. However, in the second year you can choose three of your silver bricks and in the third year you can choose four of your shiny, gold bricks. Still with me?

After finishing each of your bricks in the second and third year, you'll be given a mark. If this is lower than 39 you will have to remove your brick and resit the module. If you are given 40-49 your block is a third, 50 -59 your block is a 2:2, 60 -69 you've got a 2:1 and 70 - 100 its a 1, (and well done you).

At the end of three years the examiners count up how many 3, 2:2, 2:1 and 1's you've achieved and you are awarded that 'quality' of degree.

This is for full time study. You can take up to six years to complete your degree taking three modules per year. More Hadrian than Alcatraz.

Technorati tag: mature student modular degrees college life

Glad I've seen John Hegley

2006-09-19T15:48:00.000+01:00

Went to see John Hegley recently. For anyone who has ever had to 'analyse' poetry as part of coursework or exams, John Hegley's work is a welcome relief. His irreverant use of metre and rhyme combined with subjects including farting dogs, Luton and vomiting Grandmothers produces poetry that is mostly hilarious. And occasionally touching.

And did I have to travel miles to see him? No, due to the wonderful Villages in Action initiative it was a 15 minute drive to hear such brilliance as:

A Comparison Between Logs and Dogs

Both are very popular at Christmas,
But it is not generally considered cruel to abandon a log,
And dogs are rarely used as fuel.

John Hegley

Technorati tag: mature student poetry john hegley villages in action

Educating Heather

2006-09-18T13:25:00.000+01:00

Richard Bailey's blog tipped me off about this article in The Daily Telegraph. In it, Lynne Truss writes about an increasing number of students entering Higher Education who, although they have A *s on their A level certificates, do not possess basic writing skills.

I've written about this before from the dual points of view of mature student and mum to secondary school age children, and I agree with the thrust of Ms Truss' argument that teachers and lecturers need to consistently correct pieces of writing. It is the only way to ensure that students understand that spelling, grammar and structure really matter:

'It is patronising not to correct someone who is supposed to be learning; in fact, it is quite a good idea occasionally to force people to confront the scale of their own ignorance.' Lynne Truss

As a mature student I've been confronted by my ignorance too many times. Yeah, I thought I was good, but the horror of being told that a piece of writing contained 40 spelling and grammatical errors and only finding 20 soon fixed that. Then there was the grim realisation that I had spelt harassment as harrassment throughout an exam piece. And no, until February, I didn't really understand what a ; was for.

Seeing that red ink is hard. There is no doubt it hurts. But that is precisely the time to 'unleash the Rita:'

You won't hurt me feelings.

If I do something that's crap,
I don't want pity,

I want you to say, "That's crap. "

Here.

It's crap.

So we dump it on the fire
and we start again.

Educating Rita - Willy Russell

Technorati tag: mature student writing grammar educating rita

When what not to wear gets a little wearing

2006-09-15T17:49:00.000+01:00

You've got a place on the course, a loan, and a rather natty pencil case, so you're all set to go - right? Well, no. Because there is another thing to consider. Something that causes your wardrobe to empty and a pile of clothes to materialise on your bedroom floor that soon rivals the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

What does the 'average' mature student wear to her first day at 'big school?'

I know, I know. Whether a hoody is 'de rigeur' is a facile question compared to all those intellectual debates on post-modernism you are about to take part in, but those first impressions count.

Before you go any further, I'm talking mature, mature student here. Those that think the puff-ball skirt was invented this year are excused this particular rambling.

Being the wrong side of 30 is beige enough without wearing the matching bri-nylon twin set. Things were easy at work - basic black suit, white shirt and courts - but can you really wear that now without being mistaken for a student's over-anxious mother on the Freshers' campus tour or, horror of horrors, a lecturer? (Believe it or not, some of them don't wear jackets with leather patches - shocking isn't it?).

Of course you think that you can play safe and wear jeans and a T shirt. But you remember the stereotype. Does your casual attire signal to the lecturer that you are just another desperate housewife, passing time between trips to the supermarket, coffee mornings and walking the dog? Any way, just when you reach the age when you begin to find yourself fading into the background, do you really want to make your disappearance complete? No - you still want to be noticed during those question and answer sessions. But you know you really can't get away with those bare midriff numbers. Unlike those eighteen year olds in your class, childbirth and time have ensured that you have a stomach to match those 'slouch' trousers.

No, you decide, that Holy Grail of the middle-aged that ensures you look 'Smart But Trendy' seems to be the answer. Again. And just because you've got that piece of paper from UCAS in your new Quicksilver rucksack doesn't mean you're any closer to finding it.

So, one year on and what have I learned about what not to wear to college? Well, I've discovered that the majority of the younger students aren't the ripped trouser, many-pierced, multi-hair-coloured specimens I was expecting. Mostly it is just, well, jeans and T shirts. Except for those studying Sports Science whose year- round attire of shorts and flip-flops seems compulsory, with the variation of brown legs in Summer, blue in Winter.

So if you're waiting for Registration next week, good luck. And if you're signing up to three years at Marjon, be sure to come up and say hi. I'll be the one wearing the plus fours and diving helmet...

Technorati tag: mature student what not to wear

A BA keeps the doctor away

2006-09-13T13:32:00.000+01:00

Derriford Hospital, Plymouth

I listened to John Humphrys patronising, I mean interviewing, William Cooper, Britain's oldest graduate, on the Today programme last week. The interview included some not-too-clever questions that ensured that Mr Cooper fitted neatly into the stereotype of the mature learner; a kind of Victor Meldrew with a mortar board.

Enjoy a good argument do you, (Ho, ho)
Had some problems with your eyesight? (Ha, ha)

Interestingly, he asked the recent graduate what he planned to do with his degree. William Cooper is 89 years old Mr Humphrys, I think we could all guess the answer to that probing question. Anyway, I wonder how many younger graduates could say with truth what they intended to do with their bit of paper - and at least Mr Cooper has paid for his time in education. Degrees aren't a direct route to a 'high-flying' job The number of graduates sitting at checkouts or filing paper is testament to that. No, degrees have more value than that. They (should) affect more than a job title on a business card. card.

It was only in the dying seconds of the interview that the 63 year old John Humphrys touched on the more interesting angle the interview could have taken. Perhaps this kind of true life-long learning should be encouraged more?

Later I visited the local Chemists. The shop is one of a dying breed with shelves full of Blue Stratos aftershave, Yardley talcum powder and Vosene medicated shampoo. The pharmacist is a well-known local man with a loyal clientele who tend to be older than the people who use the big-name chemist in town. I watched as customer after customer, with more than a 'sprinkling of snow on the roof', struggled out of the shop clutching huge bags full of medications. 'I need a wheelbarrow with this lot,' laughed one man. And I thought of the spritely Mr Cooper.

The body-mind health link is well documented. Depression caused by loneliness and isolation can cause all sorts of physical ills. If we encouraged more older people to continue with their education instead of assuming they will be content to doze in a chair all day I wonder how many pills and potions could be avoided? Could it be that if degrees were put on prescription we could cut a lot of illness? Personally, I'd love to have William Cooper and his arguments in my lectures

And if you think I have a vested interest in this issue, you're right, I have. So have you Mr Humphrys. As my mother used to say: 'Don't laugh - you'll be old one day.'

Technorati tag: mature student

Climb every mountain

2006-09-13T11:40:00.000+01:00

My son came home with details of a school trip yesterday. Norway. July 2007. Trekking, rock-climbing and canoeing. £1400.

What ever happened to trips to the Imperial War Museum? Or the zoo?

If you've got children what happened next is possibly familiar. Part of me started to think about the things, (set of soup bowls anyone?) or body parts, (couldn't even raise the deposit with those worn out things), I could sell to allow my eldest offspring to go on an adventure I never had to opportunity to take part in. And, of course, I felt guilty about the fact that I'm spending my time studying and not out working and providing the where-with-all to finance these expeditions.

The other two thirds started to curse the insensitive teacher for raising the hopes of the students and placing yet another pressure on overstretched households in an Objective Two area.

Of course my son knew what the answer was going to be. The clue was in the sentence delivered as he handed over the letter. 'You are going to say no...'

It appears that the teacher involved has told them it is a never- to- be- repeated, once in a life opportunity. 'You know that isn't right love', I said as I folded up the note. 'When you're earning you'll be able to pay for yourself if you want to go. You've got your whole life ahead of you.'

He managed a smile as he thought of this. And then he looked at me, sitting in the Last Chance Saloon, and delivered his final incisive comment:

'Yeah Mum, it's not like you've bought home the note.'

Teenagers - don't you just love 'em?...

Technorati tag: mature student

You've got to hand(bag) it to the boy

2006-09-08T15:08:00.000+01:00

www.thesun.co.uk

Well, as someone regularly criticised for the feminine 'weakness' of packing everything barr the kitchen sink into my bag, I did grin when I saw this picture of P'n'B in Venice.

What has Becks got in that enormous Boy Bag?

Answers on the back of a postcard please....

What am I doing looking at The Sun?....umm, well it's media studies innit...

Never too late

2006-09-07T10:42:00.000+01:00

"But I proved to myself that I was as good as the rest and I got a certain amount of satisfaction that I had not wasted my time.

"I asked a lot of questions. The young ones were rather dumb as far as speaking up but I induced them to follow suit.

"Lecturers told me I got my degree through persistence." William Cooper, recent graduate, Wolverhampton University.

Quite.

Honours for 89-year-old student

BTW - Is it just me but does 'lower-second-class degree' sound somehow less worthy than a 2:2? Damn those media studies lessons, they've turned me into a cynic...

Technorati tag: mature student

Gnood Gnews

2006-09-07T10:13:00.000+01:00

I was tipped off about this book site by Nick and Mike - thanks chaps.

Type in your favourite author and the programme draws a literature map in front of your eyes - the closer two writers are on the map the more likely you are to also enjoy their work.

The site also suggests writers you might like to try, based on a few easy questions, and also provides forums for discussing writers' work.

Enjoy

Oh... and while you are there check out the sister site gnod - an 'experiment in the field of artificial intelligence. Its a self-adapting system, living on this server and 'talking' to everyone who comes along. Gnods intention is to learn about the outer world and to learn 'understanding' its visitors. This enables gnod to share all its wisdom with you in an intuitive and efficient way. You might call it a search-engine to find things you don't know about.'

Basically it allows you to discover music in a similar way.

So very clever.

Proof if proof were needed of why I'm just studying the media....

Technorati tag: mature student writing books

Second Act

2006-09-06T13:13:00.000+01:00

So September arrives and with it a booklet from the college outlining Registration, another of those ‘baffling processes’ mentioned by Simon Larter in his article about mature student life.

Despite the fact that we live in a technological age, Registration still involves hundreds of students standing in line on an allotted date and time in a Sports Hall. As requested, you bring your enrolment form, student loan letter, evidence of academic qualifications, (remember to blow the cobwebs off), and a chequebook, (remember to blow the moths out). You’ve also remembered those old school medicals and washed your hair in case ‘Nitty-Nora’ is there to complete the scene. And as you stand there, smelling the distinctive aroma of ‘healthy exercise’ and watching the hard-working staff ticking boxes and issuing pieces of paper, (including that all important letter reducing your council tax), you can’t help but wonder just how difficult it would be to move the whole process into the 20th century – well it wouldn’t be, would it?

I can't believe no one else has thought this, so I have come to the conclusion that Registration is the final frontier - the ultimate test of will and determination to begin study. ‘Being processed’ provides the college with the definitive proof that you’ll breeze through the next three years studying media analysis techniques and Postmodernism. Of course as a mature student you may take a stand against the system. But be warned. Should you choose not to accept the mission, Jim, you will pay the price. A £30 Late Registration Fee. This entry (won’t) self-destruct in five seconds. Good Luck…

Technorati tag: mature student student life college

Tea gives you wings

2006-08-24T12:22:00.000+01:00

Hoorah, the 'Red Bull' of Laterstudiers is actually good for you...

Now, all I need is some clever scientist to discover that chocolate digestives and jam doughnuts increase your brain capacity and I'm all set for next semester...

Technorati tag: mature student

There's no need to fear the wind if your haystacks are tied down - Irish Proverb

2006-08-23T09:52:00.000+01:00

"Promise, large promise, is the soul of an advertisement." - Samuel Johnson

As someone planning a trip to the isle with more shades of green than the faces of the passengers on the Swansea-Cork ferry, I was devastated to discover that the location used on the Magners cider ad was, in fact, in New Zealand.

Goodness me, they’ll be telling me next that cars can’t ice-skate. Or fly. Or I can stop looking around the fields next to my house for him. But I was never convinced of this ad. Man. Cleaning products. Nah.

Congratulations

2006-08-21T16:34:00.000+01:00

Well done to Alex on her recent appointment. She had some lovely words to say about my blog recently which convinced me that she is obviously a woman of taste and distinction, destined to go far…

If I could just add a few words to her style tips for the unemployed. Bewise have a wonderful range of tartan pyjamas – just perfect for hiding those curry, cold baked bean and chocolate stains. Honest, I heard it on ‘Style Makeover’…or perhaps it was ‘How to look good naked’…hmm it could have been ‘Get a life.’ No, thinking about it now, I’m pretty sure it was on ‘Richard and Judy’…(or maybe ‘10 years younger?’)...

Seeing is believing

2006-08-18T23:16:00.000+01:00

You wear a costume identifying you as, if not quite divine, someone special. - Irving R. Kaufman

I was quite chuffed this week when I was asked to help with the production of the next issue of Behind the Spin. OK, I know it’s the middle of the holiday season and there are very few other people about, but still…

Later, however, I suddenly realised the responsibility I’d taken on. Opening the emailed articles, I started to feel a bit like a museum curator unwrapping some very precious vases. All those sweated-over sentences lay in my sticky hands – ok, hard disk. I hoped I wouldn't drop them...or fall over my shoe laces.

During all this excitement – yes, excitement, I do live in Devon you know - I discovered that editing work provides a quick. if rather scary, way to refresh that grammar knowledge. With the blue pencil poised I suddenly became unsure of all those words I was previously confident I knew how to spell. Focussed or focused? Semi-colon or comma?

The theme of the next issue is the role of the visual image in PR. From what I've read it seems like it's pretty much key to the whole process. And it got me thinking about 'personal PR' and how important the way we look is still so important in creating that first impression.

I used to work for a small, start-up software company where the casual dress standards found in larger offices during an average 'dress-down Friday' were something the employees aspired to, but never quite reached. I was the sole female and, try as I might, I just couldn’t attain the running short, stretched T shirt and stained-trainer look my boss managed so well. I played safe.

My smartish appearance always attracted his derision. With all the wisdom of self-made management he used to proclaim: 'You’re not working for a big business now love,' as if I hadn't already gathered the fact, located, as we were, above a pet shop and blessed with toilets that regularly backed-up. (Which reminds me of his sole motivational quote delivered as he placed another stack of menial 'To Dos' on my desk: 'Sh*t always runs to the lowest point, dear' - Richard Branson eat your heart out).

However, when people called into the office they would always ask him if they could speak to someone in charge. Even when enlightened, it was always me that ended up with the business card, as if they couldn't quite believe someone in 50p Oxfam shorts could possibly run a business …

There are numerous other examples that prove that, even though we are repeatedly told not to read a book by its cover, first impressions are vital. The man who knocked on my door this week offering to do some gardening work. He looked presentable enough, but was sporting a blue-black eye. Blame it on my overactive imagination, but the thought flickered across my mind that he'd got it from an irate customer. Perhaps he would’ve done better just to post the leaflet through the letterbox?

Then there was the man who turned up to give me a quote for lopping some trees. It all looked good as he drew up outside the house at the agreed time in a smart looking pickup truck. But as he walked up the driveway I noticed he had a pronounced limp. OK, well I didn’t want to condemn him for that, as long as he thought he could get up an down my 40ft oak trees that was fine by me. However, when he started to make a plan of the trees that needed work and I noticed three missing fingers, I decided the nervous frenzy I would achieve simply by watching him swing from the branches in my back garden with a rampant chainsaw just wasn’t worth it. (I’ve since learned from other people he refuses to use sissy things like safety ropes and helmets. I wonder how he gets insurance certificate– hmm, what insurance certificate?…)

But, of course, first impressions can also have a sinister side. And the stereotype of a female, mature student, fitting in a degree between trips to the supermarket and coffee mornings is something all Laterstudiers should be aware of.

Behind the Spin - out sooner than you think. Read it, enjoy it - just don't find any spelling mistakes...

Technorati tag: mature student behind the spin spelling grammar

Update on spelling

2006-08-16T10:53:00.000+01:00

Interesting to read this today...

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/education/4793655.stm

Glad to say I got them right!

Technorati tag: mature student writing spelling grammar

Spelling just like my grammar used to make...

2006-08-08T17:08:00.000+01:00

There has been a lot of tut-tutting recently in the media about the quality of spelling and grammar amongst graduates. Standards are dropping, it's all the fault of teachers/text-messaging/McDonald's/(insert your favourite scapegoat here). And it's not just the finer points of the English language. New graduates don't know the difference between its and it's. Can't see what is wrong with seperating facts from fiction. And it's affecting their future careers

Well, as someone with a foot in two camps: a mature student who has experienced old school methods (or should that be old skool?), and a mum of two children in secondary education, I've thought about what has changed.

In true Dr Who stylee, let me take you into my time machine and transport you back to 1971. Notice the blackboard and chalk? The cartons of milk warming next to the radiator? See the child with the scabs on her knees. Can you see her lips moving as her latest short story masterpiece flows from her pencil onto the ruled page? Talking to herself at such an early age - what a shame, you think. But actually 'The Cat in the Hat' book on the desk beside her gives it away. Our budding author is trying to spell the words as she says them. But move closer and it seems the good Dr Seuss hasn't got the answer to everything. What's a crocadil? or an idear? - well, she is from the West Country. Seems like she's going to have to learn the shapes of words, as well as letter sounds if she wants to become that top-flight writer. Never mind, those much loved Enid Blyton books will help her identify those word spellings - it's just a shame about all that class/gender/racial stereotyping she'll also learn along the way.

Come back after that delicious pre-Jamie school meal of roast mutton, cabbage and tapioca with jam sauce and you'll see the teacher give a fleeting lesson in grammar to his flatulent class. It's the basics of course. Full stops, commas, capital letters, paragraphs and commas. But it's boring, boring, boring...and the girl would rather get back to writing about that crocadil.

Take off that scarf, ( I always did prefer Tom Baker's version of the Dr) and fast forward thirty (very) odd years. Despite perceived advances in education, both my bright, chip-off-the-ol'-block children 'get' spelling at widely-differing ages using a whole range of techniques. So some things haven't changed. And although the head-shakers and hand-wringers say that grammar isn't taught in schools anymore, part of the preparation for my son's recent SATs involved a not insubstantial grammar revision book.

So what has gone so wrong? In my experience spelling and grammar are still being taught, but lecturers, including those at Marjons, and employers tell us standards are falling. Hmm have you got your Kwells?

'Miss 1970s' has got her story back and all misspelled words are underlined. She has to correct them using a dictionary. Find the difference between their, there and they're. Every missed full-stop has been noticed. And if she gets them wrong in her next story she has to correct it again. It's obvious. The teacher cares about this. It's important she gets it right. And checking is a habit that she continues into grumpy old womanhood.

When I was told that my daughter's work was being marred by poor grammar and spelling I went to see her teacher. Despite looking through her work no words were underlined. No capital letters inserted. I queried this and was told that they didn't want to hamper her creativity by the heavy-handed application of red-ink. A good sentiment I'm sure. Being a teacher must be a fine balancing act. And, of course, spelling and grammar is boring - but ultimately necessary.

So, are we sending the message loud and clear to young people that spelling and grammar matters in everyday life? Or do they feel that it is just something to learn for SATs exams and quickly forget?

Oh, I don't know. But I do have a great idear for a crocadil story.

Technorati tag: mature student writing spelling grammar

Mama always says: 'Life is like a plate of scones and cream.....'

2006-08-06T13:11:00.000+01:00

It's all right. Despite my earlier posting I haven't done a Forrest Gump - although I have been away. With the children packed off to a Granny set to 'full-spoil', I decided to fill up the camper:

and enjoy a few days in Somerset and Cornwall, away from the guilt of being a slacking, drain-on-society student - oh, life's hard.

Putting a fresh spin on a green idea, I decided to make it a Cream Tea Neutral holiday with long walks offsetting my consumption of clotted cream and cake. Here is a handy ready reckoner:

3 hour, 5 mile circular walk, Horner Wood = Exmoor Special Cream Tea (Tea, two scones, cream, jam and piece of fruit cake)

3 hour, 4 mile circular walk, Prussia Cove to Perranuthnoe = Battered Hake and Chips, (note: lamentable dearth of 'cream tea shopees' in Prussia Cove)

6 hour, 10 mile circular walk, Lelant to St Ives = Cornish Cream Tea, (Tea, two scones, cream, jam, slice of Hevva cake)

4 hour, 7 mile circular walk, Helford River to Frenchman's Creek = Double scoop Roskilly's Gooseberry Icecream with clotted cream and chocolate flake

I reckon I might have the makings of a new diet book here.....

Technorati tag: mature student photography cornwall somerset

Running over Forty - what they don't tell you

2006-07-27T17:00:00.000+01:00

Day One - Schedule - 10 minutes brisk walk, 10 minutes walk-jog, 10 minutes walk

1. Find pair of running shorts in bottom of drawer
2. Reminisce about the looks you got from that cute trainer the last time you went to the gym. The rowing machine, the music - hmm, what ever happened to Chesney Hawkes?
3. Put on shorts
4. Look in mirror
5. Take shorts off
6. Replace with the black tracky bottoms
7. Remove specialist undergarment from box
8. Wonder at assortment of supports and straps that would not look out of place restraining a space shuttle astronaut.
9. Remove pristine-white 'running' trainers from box
10. Bounce up and down on new trainers to test suspension of shoes and undergarment.
11. Check back view
12. Resolve not to overtake anybody. Ever.
13. Drive to the most remote spot you know
14. Imagine the Beast of Dartmoor congratulating himself on choosing home-delivery
15. Drive to a more populated area
16. 9:00am - start to walk
17. 9:10am - walk-jog
18. 9:11am - check watch
19. 9:12am - check watch
20. 9:13am - Look up from checking watch to discover group of golfers waiting to tee off
21. Although the average age of golfers is 75, increase pace
22. Become distracted by pair of lime-green and orange plaid golfing shorts
23. Insert pristine-white trainers into freshly deposited pile of Dartmoor pony poo
24. 9:15 - check watch - 15 minutes to go
25. Become aware of sun on top of your head, the regular pulse in your ears, sweat running down your back
26. Check watch - is that 16:54 or is it 23:09 or 1:13? So you have 123 minutes, no 34 minutes, no 27 seconds left to go..
28. Lie prostrate on grass
29. Notice gathering of very hungry looking sheep (aka 'Beast's Henchmen').....
30. Get up quickly, remember those hamstring stretches and hobble back to car.

Inspiration for all laterstudiers

2006-07-27T16:22:00.000+01:00

From St Martin's College website
Mother and daughter graduate together from St Martin’s College

Graduation this year will be a real family affair for Blackpool mother and daughter Anne and Nicky Bowen, who both receive their degrees at the St Martin’s College Graduation Ceremony in Lancaster next week (12 and 13 July).

52 year old Anne will graduate with a BA (Hons) Fine Art degree while Nicky (22) graduates with BA (Hons) Art and Design with QTS (Qualified Teacher Status).

Nicky is looking forward to graduation day and the culmination of both her and her mother’s years of study in Lancaster.

“I’m nervous about it but really excited as well! I’ll be seeing my mum graduate the day before me so that will be really good and I’ll be able to see how it all works!”

Anne is also looking forward to the double celebration, saying:

“A friend asked me who I felt most proud of, myself or my daughter. I said my daughter straight away but also I am very proud of myself, it’s a big deal for me.”

With both of them studying Art, it meant they spent a lot of time together working in the art studio on the Lancaster Campus but neither found it to be a problem, in fact it brought them closer together.

Nicky says:

“It was a bit strange at first, shouting ‘Mum’ in the Art Department got some people’s attention but it’s been really good. It ended up just being normal and I think it has helped. I like St Martin’s College because it is quite a small place and everybody knows everybody else on the teaching course, it’s just like a big family, and it’s the same in the Art Department. It’s been really nice to share that with my mum. We can share stories and memories when we look back”

Anne says:

“It’s been great because we were always friends before as well as being mother and daughter. We have been able to support each other in a lot of ways. I was quite nervous coming here being a mature student but Nicky had done a year here and knew her way round. We’ve also have had some very supportive tutors over the years. It was just a great experience.”

Nicky adds:

“I never felt that I couldn’t turn to anybody, there’s always been a tutor there or someone to go to or email when I’ve needed it. I’ve learnt a lot and it’s been a real confidence builder for me. I’ve met a lot of friends as well.”

After graduation, Nicky hopes to begin her teaching career and has been looking for a full-time position while also signing up for supply teaching. Anne is setting up a teaching studio to do pottery and painting workshops to serve the large community in her area. She also hopes to start an MA in Art in September next year.

Technorati tag: mature student

Poem

2006-07-21T15:16:00.000+01:00

(With apologies to the copywriters employed on the Sainsbury's and BT Broadband ads)

“The desire for perfection is the worst disease that ever afflicted the human mind”
Marquis Louis Fontanes, 1757 – 1821

I want a reach down behind the counter, 'this-is-reserved-for-our-more-discerning- customers' degree
I want a certified organic, taste the difference degree
I want a limited edition, signed by the artist degree
I want a Premier cru degree
I want a 'join a waiting list, tell us what colour you want for the upholstery' degree
I want a black Amex degree
I want a snuffled by pigs, costs more than gold degree
I want a 500 foot long, special berth in the harbour degree
I want an acorn-fed degree
I want a hand prepared Fugu degree

So please don't tell me I only need 40 to pass. It just doesn't fit with my personality disorder.

Perfectionism - Making Real Life Taste Like Overcooked Sprouts

Technorati tag: mature student poetry

It is better to travel than to arrive

2006-07-20T09:27:00.000+01:00

Delays, narrow seats, air sickness, stroppy attendants, having the seat next to a man who believes the fact that they have run out of his favourite newspaper is cause enough to keep the plane grounded...

Come on, unless you're at the pointy end, what is the attraction of flying?

For all those who believe that the journey is half the fun of getting there:

The Man on Seat 61

Gives details of how to reach destinations by train and boat, (soothes the green conscience). And you don't have to be under 26 to get a student railcard....

Technorati tag: mature student mature student travel Railcards man on seat 61 train travel

The Diving Bell and The Butterfly

2006-07-19T13:52:00.000+01:00

So I whine about writer's block - and then I discover this book

It is the diary of Jean-Dominique Bauby who suffered a massive stroke in 1997, leaving him completely paralysed except for muscles controlling his left eyelid. He dictated the 144 page book by blinking. The book describes what it is like to live with 'locked-in syndrome' - having a fully functioning mind, (the butterfly), trapped inside a failed body, (the diving bell).

The next book on the must read list I think.

Technorati tag: mature student writing

Sport Relief

2006-07-17T20:38:00.000+01:00

'Smeaton's Sock', Smeaton's Tower, Plymouth Hoe, Saturday 15 July 2006

Oh yes. Didn't I feel like Dame Kelly Holmes as I jogged around the course on Saturday. The years just rolled back. For a moment, as I passed the finish line with the crowd cheering and the sun boiling the top of my head, I was that girl again - the one in the regulation aertex shirt and fetching bottle-green shorts trying out for the school cross-country team. I was on a high. There was life in this mature student yet. And as I tucked into my post-run snack of hot doughnuts and coffee with its almost perfect balance of sugar, fat and caffeine the thought occurred to me that perhaps I should've gone for that Sports Science degree. Hmm, did they do a Post-Doctorate course?

Monday was the worst. The slightest incline sent my calf muscles into spasm - which is bad news during this heatwave when we are told to drink plenty of water, but the loo is upstairs. Even my elbows hurt. Yes, that's right. My elbows. My body was paying me back for all those hours spent on the PC exercising nothing but my fingertips. In my mind the girl on the school field had become the woman with a zimmer - Frightening? Yep, sure is.

Enter Serendipity in the form of the library. Strolling, (OK - trying to walk without looking like a duck with a hernia), around its aisles I saw Running Over Forty by Bruce and Sue Tulloh. It's full of inspiring stories of people who started late, (bells-ringing here?), and now find running an essential part of their life.

'The forty-year old needs to be more thorough in warming-up and warming down. On the other hand, the older runner has more mental endurance and physical endurance as well. He can cope with greater training mileages than the twenty-year-old. When Orde Wingate was picking his men, the Chindits, to fit in the Burmese jungle, he would take no one under thirty, because in his view they lacked the necessary stamina. Older runners may be slower, but they are tougher.'

Hmmm. Perhaps running and studying aren't too dissimilar...

It even has a half marathon training schedule, including something called Fartlek - no I'm not going to go there.

Exercise is good for writers for whom depression is just an occupational hazard of the job. I've already found walking helps to form those sentences you just can't seem to get right whilst sitting in front of a screen . Getting into a routine now will help when the stress of second year reading and assignment deadlines kick in - I hope.

Now, where are those chocolate eclairs? I need to do some carbo-loading before I begin......

Technorati tag: mature student college life Sport Relief running depression

Read this book before you go

2006-07-14T12:38:00.000+01:00

I've written about this book in Things I wish I'd known but it's worth a separate posting.

The Student Book - Klaus Boehm and Jenny Lees-Spalding, Trotman Publishing Ltd, Surrey

Found this book whilst browsing at my local library the other day. If only I'd read it before...

I like it's approach. Rather than assuming that 'subject' and 'league table position' are the most important factors in choosing a HE place, the authors list all the considerations, (student mix, distance from home, affordable costs, availability of term time working etc), allowing the student to choose priorities and provides the relevant information based on those choices.

HE is a compromise for a good proportion of mature students. This book would help anyone faced with making that difficult choice. Perhaps the subject at your local college isn't exactly what you would choose to study if you could go anywhere in the UK, but you can be home in half an hour. Maybe both local HE places offer the same course but there is a higher proportion of mature students at one.

The book includes detailed information on universities and colleges in the UK, including motorway maps, drop-out rates, a student's eye-view of the place and the number of graduates in full time employment/study after 6 months, (with the proviso that the authors do not know what sort of jobs these graduates are doing). Types of courses, student finance and admission tests are also covered

The book doesn't stop at the application stage. Life at Uni - health care, accommodation, Student Union etc, is also discussed. The commentary includes a wealth of useful links.

Don't be put off by its size. The Student Book is a very readable book with a lighter side, so often missing in similar tomes:

Staff-Student Sex

'Some universities have introduced codes of conduct to regulate staff-student sexual conduct. Others now require staff to report their sexual relationships with students, (rather like the House of Commons Register of Members' Interests, but more entertaining).'

It is currently on offer at Amazon for £11.21 (+ p&p) or the local library should have it.

echnorati tag: mature student college life UCAS University Applying to university