And just like that - they're gone

Sunday afternoon. The University year is over, although not my year (yet). And suddenly, in the last 48 hours, the energetic lifeblood of the Warwick campus has drained away.

I got back on Friday night. Instead of the hordes of undergrads enjoying the warm weather on the piazza, there was only a handful of them. They've all gone, the 12,000 sub-22 year olds that make up two-thirds of this university's daytime population. Summer has begun and the kids have departed, maybe for a season overseas, sleeping on the steps of cathedrals or riding pillion across India. Because they have the time.

I envy them. Because the only thing I've ever wanted is more time. I wish I could have my time again, a thousand times over: I've lived the best of all possible lives, but there's a multitude of bests, and I want them all.

And sadness. The sadness that comes from the constant reminders that, all too soon, this strangest of years in my life will be over.

Goodbye, undergrads.

Conservatives win in Henley

OK, so Henley isn't exactly a belwether constituency - it's probably the safest Tory seat in the country - but even so, it's nice to know there's one electoral district where the candidate for the ruling party actually lost his deposit, proving once again that Britain's just had enough of New Labour. As a local councillor puts it, 'get off our backs, stop the endless tax rises, and help us cope with the rising cost of living.'

How about a shout-out, Harriet?

Hmmm... while I'd love an opportunity to bash Britain's appalling government, I think the newspapers have blown this up out of proportion. The bill seems more about bringing various bits of legislation together rather than creating new rules. And anyway - 'allowed to give a job to a woman over a man of equal ability'? Isn't that just what happens now - you choose the best person for the job, and if there are two equally suited applicants you have to flip a coin?

I have to say, though, it'd be really, really nice if just ONCE, a spendthrift New Labourite would express gratitude to the most oppressed and put-upon group in Britain today - something like:

"And by the way, a word of thanks to the one minority that never gets ANY benefit from what we do, but which uncomplainingly pays the huge cost of implementing it all, every single time. Employed white middle-class males, THANK YOU!"

The Good Student

I'm a good man. And tonight I had proof.

Just spent an evening with a friend, nothing fancy, just noodles and Sauv Blanc. Forgot completely I'd had a load of laundry tumble drying in the block opposite, so went out to get it at 12.30am. I'd been ready for bed for some hours and groaned as I headed downstairs again.

On the way over, there's a girl arriving at the block's other door. Leggy blonde, boobs and bum half out of sequinned minidress, the usual thing. You can't help but look; I mean, whoa.

She's behaving a little strangely. Keeps doubling up, dropping things. Not unusual around this time on campus, although not an everyday occurence on a Monday. After the briefest of pauses I head towards the other door, bundle my bone-dry clothes into my bag, and head for home.

She's still there. All tits and ass and legs, in a giggling heap. I ask if she's okay. She is by the happy undergrad standards - i.e. paralytically drunk - but not if she wants to get home. While campus is safe enough, I don't want to leave a vulnerable teenager in a doorwell.

I offer to get her home. (My key fits this lock thanks to the laundry access.) I pick up the bundle of tits and ass and legs and support it on my shoulder, trying to get her to talk (it seems like just drunk, but if it's drugs I'll be able to tell once she's talking.) She talks, giggling. It's just drink.

"I'm Jess." Giggling. Oh hell and damnation, the bare arms are going around my neck. The face is startlingly beautiful, model-girl even. I ignore it. I'm a good man.

She doesn't know where she lives. I support her more. She remembers it's on this floor. Walking down a corridor I notice '------ JESS!' on a door. Whew. Now all we have to do is find the keys...

She's on the floor again. I sit her against the wall. The minidress barely covers her backside and there'd be nothing left to the imagination, if I imagined it. Concentrate, Worth, concentrate. You're a good man.

The problem here is that the evening out put half a dozen units into me, just enough to affect judgement and oh bloody hell she's kissing me. Stop. Stop her. I stop her. This isn't what I expected when I went to collect my laundry. Keep it together. Her breath's on my neck and the long legs are - you've got nieces this age, Worth. In fact, you've got 501s this age. Concentrate. You are an adult helping a young girl home. That's all you're doing.

We open the door. She nearly falls. Blast and buckets of blood, that means I've got to go in. Take a deep breath.

It's an undergrad room. In other words, it's just about possible to see the carpet under the jumble of towels, sheets, clothes, underwear, bags. "I leave in two days!" she mumbles among the jumble. Yeah, sweetheart, and I'm leaving in two minutes.

I don't even want to think about what'll happen if security walks down this corridor. I know exactly what it'll look like. This is bad. I ask her to take a few steps forward, to her bed and sanctuary. She reaches around and DON'T UNZIP YOUR DRESS DON'T UNZIP YOUR DRESS I stop her wriggling and manoevre her to the 'bed zone', a mountain of assorted blankets under which there's probably a mattress. I lie her down. She won't let go. Her arms are around my neck and I'm horizontal. Let go. The breasts are popping out and my resolve is hardening. I escape her honeyed grip.

She's on the bed at last, lying on her side, best position if she vomits in her sleep. She's peaceful, breathing evenly, not in danger. She'll wake up with a headache, but no worse. I force myself not to linger for a look, and leave.

My laundry bag's in the corridor where I left it. I shake myself and head across the lawn to my block and home.

I'm a good man.

I've just had the best banking experience of my life!

Having to shovel cash around manually usually means a taped queue and a cashier. But the new-looking HSBC at Holburn takes the ATM principle to its logical conclusion: a proper bank, with people standing around to help if you need them, but all it contains is a lorryload of machines. Pay in, take out, and various other terminals for basically every banking service you'd ever want. Arranged in comforting swerves rather than stern horizontal rows. Three transactions, about two minutes, job done. Perfect.

The importance of sandwiches

Back in the city! Starting my dissertation project in earnest, I'll now be spending half of each week in London. Feeling fresh. Feeling fast, strong, healthy after nine months of study. Feeling pretty good, in fact.

And all the better for finding a good sandwich shop.

If there's one feature that really 'makes' an office for me, it's the proximity of a good sandwich shop. Not the Pret a Manger chain type, but an actual family-run deli style place, usually run by Italians, where the bread's piled in a basket and they make big bowls of mixed fillings every day or two. There's a great one in - of all places - Surrey Quays shopping centre, where I used to live; the danger in town is that the big chains have squeezed out the independents. Fortunately, the company I'm working with is right next to Sicilian Avenue, one of those London streets with immense character yet without being on the tourist trail, and - paydirt. An Italian-run deli where they greeted me like an old friend on my first visit.

Chicken and bacon with cheese in a ciabatta bun. Sorted.

You don't need a parachute to skydive; just to skydive twice...

Another weekend at a dropzone with Warwick's amazing Skydiving Club, with great weather and plenty of manifest space on the Cesspits, sorry, the Cessnas. (I don't like those planes much, but anything with a big door is fine after a few jumps.)

This weekend I'm on DRPs, where you have to demonstrate pulling out a dummy ripcord within a few seconds of leaving the aircraft. (The static line's still pulling out your actual chute; the point here is that you're showing you'd be capable of freefalling.) And then do it again. And again. Three in a row gets you to freefall; screwing up the third one puts you back at square one.

In contrast to most DRP students, my pulling-out technique is a little... relaxed. Both 'good' jumps, I was right on the five-second limit for a successful pull. I push myself out the door... wheee, this is fun, look at the scenery.... OK, time to start counting.... Two Thousand... Reach around.... There it is... OK, let's see if it comes out.... wahey! Done! So for the third one, the instructor wanted to see a slightly faster pull.

I, er, screwed up the third one. Forgot to mention above: '...while maintaining a stable position'.

There are perhaps occasions where being upside down and rotating rapidly is stable, but falling through void a mile up isn't one of them.

Yet somehow I've had no problem locating and pulling the toggle itself, even with the pack changing shape as the canopy deploys. Maybe it's an indication of my general attitude towards life, but somehow seeing the ground above my head didn't faze me. Just reached for the toggle and pulled, forgetting that above me (technically at that point below me) the instructor back on the plane would've been shaking his head sadly.

Quote from the debriefing instructor: "You pulled the toggle effectively, if we ignore the fact you were head down and spinning, which we er, won't...."

Oh well; had a great weekend anyway. Roll on the nationals!

New Labour wins by default, civil liberties crumble further

OK, so they finagled a win. 315 to 306 votes in the Commons, after Brown bought off the Ulstermen and flipped his MPs a couple of handouts. At least he's not pretending to have won it on principle.

Why doesn't anyone understand just how terrible this is?

The 42-day vote - giving the cops the right to arrest you and hold you for a month and a half without charge, longer than anywhere else in the civilised world - is yet another huge blow to the UK's ever-decreasing civil liberties by New Labour.

It's appalling - ancient freedoms enshrined in the Magna Carta have been systematically dismantled by this awful government, everyone from motorists to terrorists now presumed guilty until proven innocent, local officials freely authorised to conduct covert surveillance of pretty much anyone they choose, anti-terrorist legislation freely used against anyone including white-collar crimes like embezzlement, and no-one seems to care. Or indeed understand just how bad the situation is.

There are countless things you could do in Britain ten years ago - based on basic principles of free association, right to private life, presumption of innocence, against unreasonable stop and search and seizure - that you now can't do. Not because those things are bad or wrong, but because they're simply nobody's business but yours ... and what New Labour hates, above all else, is the thought that you might do something without telling the government about it. These erosions are horrendous. And yet the British public stumbles on, dull-mindedly blind to the dangers.

I've had enough of the sheer stupidity and head-in-the-sand unthinking-ness of the British public. I knew they were stupid; I just never thought they were this stupid.

Sometimes, I despair of this country. I really do.

There Will NOT Be a waterfight! See Below -

And supposedly mature MBAs will definitely NOT be attending.

"Right, as some of you may have heard, the recent attempt to organise "Warwick Water War 08" was cancelled due to "health and safety" issues. The university has said they do not wish for any alternatives. So, furthering on from that particular group, I bring you a warning:

-There will NOT be a waterfight held in warwick to mark the end of the summer term.
-It will especially NOT be held on Monday 16th June.
-It will NOT start at 2PM and end whenever people wish it to.
-It will NOT take place in the field behind Tocil Woods (or anywhere else, subject to change or better ideas), especially in such a place where it will be hard for security to notice anything going on and get to quickly, and where it is easy to run away if any trouble does occur.
-You SHOULD bring your student cards just in case any trouble does start at a waterfight and security asks for them.

I urge you all to forward this warning to as many of your friends as soon as possible, to make them aware of this. Suggestions welcome.

Many Thanks,

;-)

DISCLAIMER: For "Health and Safety" reasons - By joining this group, you agree that if you just so happen to attend any waterfight that just so happens to occur as a result of this group, despite my warnings to the contrary, and you just so happen to somehow inexplicably injure yourself, then you promise not to sue me, or anybody in this group, the student's union or the university, blah blah blah etc."

Sunday afternoon on campus

I don't know why I should be so endlessly fascinated with a collection of brick and concrete boxes on a 1960s university campus, but I am. And days when the sun is shining makes it even better.

Now that's what I call living on the edge

For those people who think skydiving just isn't exciting enough, there's wingsuiting! The jumpsuit creates lift and responds to body twists, so it's a bit like skydiving with a very, very, very small canopy and faster response times... I'm several hundred jumps short of being qualified to try this, but it looks amazing.

June 5th, 2008: the perfect day

I want to preserve this day. Wrap it in gauze and keep it in a wardrobe like a wedding dress. Dry it gently in the breeze next to a new-mown lawn, then fold it lovingly to the dimensions of a rosewood drawer, then slide it shut to keep it crisp and fresh forever.

Today is the perfect day.

The sky's been bright but the sun not unstinting, stretches of sunlight interrupted by dreamy clouds breezing by. Warm but not hot, no jacket required. The perfect weather.

Preparing my dissertation, I've been drifting from Arts Centre to Learning Grid. The structure of my summer project is becoming clear. The perfect work plan.

I've paused only for coffee with beautiful women, conversation and frisson more sophisticated than you'd expect on a university campus, outside on the benches while the highly diversity-aware trees sway slowly, listening in. The perfect coffee break.

I'm needed. The need to be needed is perfect, too. Yesterday I was at Lord's with clients; tomorrow WBS itself wants me on another Open Day; recruiters have started calling. The perfect sense of belonging.

In the sunken central plaza, every step is occupied by groups of laughing students, drinking, smoking, doing things students do. A living place. The perfect plaza.

If only I could store days like this. Open a drawer and spritz a single cloud of lemon to bring this day back, late in the year when outside is scuzzed with slush and a million moist noses report sniffles season. One a week is all I'd need. To experience the perfect day once again.

But doing so would kill it. Value departs when available in infinite measure. And it'd kill me too. For living the perfect day, again and again, would make further progress down life's path meaningless. So I'll just appreciate this day while I can.

And so... I near the end ...

- of my perfect day!

Bittersweet rush of a year in the classroom

The last roll call!

And just like that - it's gone. The 14 courses of the Warwick MBA, all teaching now finished. Just last assignments and a dissertation to take care over the next couple of months. A final MBA party, hastily arranged, happened last night, and for a few beautiful hours everything was like September again.

And it's been good. My only regret was I wish I'd ... got into it earlier. I don't feel I truly got the hang of studing and learning formally until Term 3; thinking back, terms 1 and 2 were nightmarish, winging it on worry and adrenalin. Trying to give the impression that you know what you're doing takes serious energy, especially when you don't.

But I've learned a few things about myself. I'm still a bad person, but perhaps a bit less bad than I was. And I realise now that I feel most strongly self-actualised when there's something to push against, like deadlines and course timetables and people to let down. Exhausting and depressing it's been at times, but it's also been... awe-inspiring.

Ha ha. Me, who's walked across deserts and sweated through rainforests, awestruck by a concrete college curriculum.

As an outsourced marketing guy I had essentially no obligations beyond turning a great headline, and that's the trouble: working alone breeds megalomania. I spent the previous six years detached from reality. During this year I've gradually started the long trek back.

So: one of the three wishes almost done: build a relationship with the academic world. The other two I'm surprisingly confident about*, too. I came here not to earn a degree, but turn around a life that'd grown stale, and maybe knock off a few of the rough edges I acquired in six years alone.

I'm at the end of nine months of hard work, and all I want to do is go back and do it again differently. But then everyone would.



*Not telling you yet.