Posts Tagged ‘University’

The Niggle

September 15, 2009

.

There was a new student at Leicester

About to start his first semester

But it quickly became clear

As the beginning drew near

That something was starting to fester

.

It was not in his stomach, this niggling new doubt

Nor in his sock pile – which was starting to sprout

Rather it happened to be

(just between you and me)

in his mind, and it made him pout

.

Now I’m sure you’ll concur

Both madams, and sirs

That pouting can never be handsome

“But it couldn’t be helped!”

The young man would have yelped

if the issue had been brought to ransom

.

And it may well be, that the gentleman here

Was unable to alter his manner

But the point to be made

As blunt as a spade

Is the fellow’s just being a spanner

.

“So why is it,” you’re entitled to ask

“that you mention this dull metaphor?”

“Because,” I’d sigh, in weary reply,

“there are things he’d be much better for.”

.

Advertisement

A Tale of Two Uni’s

August 25, 2009

Typing this entry out one-handed, so it might be a bit shaky. Why? Read on…

Here in Leicester there are two universities; The University of Leicester (which I went to) and DeMontfort University. The latter used to be a polytechnic and was upgraded to uni status, so there’s a healthy mock/hate rivalry between the two.

The house I live in is deep, deep inside enemy territory; with the DM campus itself only five minutes down the road, the surrounding area consists almost entirely of DeMontfort students, so whenever the inter-uni events start and the ‘Leicester Uni is scum’ posters start going up in the windows of surrounding houses, it always feels prudent to keep one’s head down. I’ll leave the ‘your dad works for my dad’ chants to the people attending the rugby matches.

Anyhow, the nearest cash point to the house is outside their student union, so every now and again an expedition into the belly of the beast has to be made. Today was one such day.

Or evening, to be precise. The DeMontfort campus is not a pretty sight once the sun sets, and the ‘Demon’ part of its name begins to come into effect. Rabbles of students emerge from the murkier corners, perhaps even dragging themselves out of the cracks in the pavement itself, to roam the streets outside their student union.

In the midst of this horde is the cash machine.

As I paced towards it however, something caught my eye. Sitting on the concrete steps that lead up to the union was a blonde girl, hunched over, with a puddle of nasty looking vomit upon the ground in front of her.

Lovely, I thought, having skirted past, and keyed in my pin-number. Ten pounds.

As I waited for the growling machine to produce my grocery money, I cast another look at the girl. She was mumbling to herself, and did look in a bit of a bad way. I folded the note, shoved it and my card into my pocket, and went over.

“Are you alright?” I asked.

No response. Her head hung low so I couldn’t make eye-contact, instead having to make do with staring at the poorly-dyed roots of her hair. I reached down to pat her on the shoulder and ask if she had any friends nearby.

The girl snarled angrily, swatting my hand away, and I felt a sharp scratch across the palm of my hand. Shocked, I took a step back and noticed, to my disgust, that her long, fake nails were caked with reddish vomit.

Well; that was enough of that. Maybe she could tell that I was not one of ‘her kind’, so to speak. In any case, I wasn’t about to risk getting clawed at again so, unsettled, I left her to it and came back home. Next time I’m definitely going to the cash machine in town.

And those damn scratches are really starting to itch.

Shaving Foam

June 12, 2009

is something I may need, seeing as I now dance a merry jig upon the razor’s edge. On one side of the blade lies PGCE and teacher training, and remaining in Leicester. On the other, a return to York, and getting a job while doing assistant teaching volunteer work in to improve my chances for next year. All that remains is for Fate to give me a push.

Bloggish melodramatics aside, yesterday wasn’t actually as intense as I was expecting. Most of the other candidates seemed to be fairly taciturn, which surprised me as the last interview day I went to was for a sales company, and all the other candidates there were stone sharks, who would happily compare how many family members they’d sold for a raise in commissions bonuses.

I was also quite surprised to find myself almost the youngest there, with only one exception, another bloke called Alex. He was how pretty much how I expected myself to be; twitchy, shambolic and mumbling. Five minutes in and his name-sticker was tattered and falling off, and within ten he had lost it, and there were no stickers left. Apparently he’d also only gotten three hours sleep the night before – it really wasn’t the poor guy’s day!

As for my assessments, yeah the spoken part of the interview might not have been the best part of the day, but aside from that I think it went great overall. The first part was a group exercise in which we had to sort through thirty or so cards and put, in order, the top five most important aspects of being a teacher. Most of the rest of my group were rubbish, and it was I who got them sorted out, so I’m hoping that stood me in good stead.

The actual interview part lasted half an hour, and seemed to fly by, and all in all it was actually a pretty enjoyable day. Let’s see what Fate makes of it, because I’ve done everything I can on my part.

Also,  I did actually get round to shaving my beard off,  so am currently in mourning over losing it. I miss having something to stroke pensively.

(Get your mind out of the gutter, Jaym! What would your family think…)