Various things.
I've been running around the country visiting various universities over the past few weeks, and will continue to do so for a while. I thought I'd jot down some of my thoughts and experiences, as I'll find them useful or, at the very least, interesting in the future.
Exeter Uni was three and a half hours away on the train. I had to get up at 5am and catch a quick train into the centre of London, in order to catch another train down to Exeter. I admit I was quite amused to arrive in Waterloo station and play spot-the-fellow-prospective-undergraduat
The journey itself was not bad. It was terribly long but I curled up with a bottle of water, my iPod and my book. The book in question was The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath, and I admit to worrying that I looked slightly emo reading it. It's great though - I'll spare you my thoughts on all the various aspects of it, aside from commenting that it's deliciously well-written without being obvious about it. I loved how it avoided being sensationalist, I loved how it resists the urge to become frantic and out of control, it maintains a gradual, subtle descent.
The university itself was good. One of my history teachers went there, and is very enthusiastic about the entire thing, so I'd heard quite a bit about it before, along with reading the prospectus. Exeter St Davids station lies in a valley or sorts, and the campus is right at the top of a hill. I hopped off the train and upon seeing the queue for the shuttle bus to the campus, promptly decided to walk. I spent the day wandering around the campus, armed with a map, going to various talks and sample lectures, and tours of accommodation. I spotted a couple of posters about upcoming gigs for bands like We Are Scientists, The Automatic and The Kooks, which was pretty nifty. On the way back home, I finished my book and listened to lots of music.
On Saturday, I visited Manchester University. Manchester's a city about 2 and a half hours north of London, and is considered to be one of the more "fashionable" cities in the UK. I'd never been there despite always wanting to see what the fuss was about. My mother tagged along with me, as it was the weekend, which proved beneficial on the train, as she provided pistachio nuts and strawberry laces for snacks. The journey was shorter this time, and the train nicer. I read Lady Chatterley's Lover by D.H Lawrence, which was excellent. Again, not to get all literature-geeky, but a) he writes very sensitively, b) the two main characters and their relationship isn't perfect, and c) I admire him for being so explicit and controversial, in the context that he was writing.
Manchester Uni is very different from Exeter in some ways. It's right at the centre of the city, which appeals to my innate love of cities and city life. It still manages to maintain a campus feeling though, which is important to me. Also,
airlight keeps laughing at me for forgetting to take my camera everywhere, and I truely regretted not having it in Manchester. There are some amazing buildings that I wanted snaps of. Manchester itself is interesting. It's different from what I expected, in a way I can't quite define. It's far, far smaller than London; it feels almost like a large town. That's no surprise though, as London is almost stupidly large, especially when compared to the other cities in the UK. The population is something like 7.5 million, whilst Birmingham, the second largest city is around 1 million. The other major cities; Manchester, Newcastle, Liverpool etc are all in the hundred-thousands, so as you can imagine, living and growing up in London throws my sense of general English city-size a little off. Everywhere else you go is far smaller. Over the past year or so, my feelings on that have changed. Nowadays, I'm mixed on whether London's colossal size is a good or a bad thing. I love that it has such diversity and different pockets of identity and community, and yet retains a sense of "Londoness", but walking around places like Manchester makes me realise how much more manageable smaller cities are, really.
***
I was thinking about one of my English teachers during my lesson today. We'll call him Mr McH. He's interesting. He's slightly eccentric (if there can be such a thing) in a sort of "I really don't care about conventional teaching" way. He openly admits to having gone through a crisis midway through his English degree at Leicester University, when he got sick of reading novels. Nowadays he says he tends to not bother with novels, choosing only to read essays and short stories, but more importantly - The New Yorker. Any American readers will probably be far more familiar with this magazine than I am. He raves about this magazine that gets shipped in from the States; apparently the quality of writing is fantastic and it's an incredibly well respected publication worldwide. I must hunt it down and read it.
Anyway, Mr McH intrigues me. His teaching consists of his sort of wandering around the classroom tidying up the chairs and scattered paper left by the Year Nine form that use the room, whilst talking or listening to our thoughts. He generally leaves the room about twice, to drift across the Old Gym into another room. He often sits at his desk whilst listening to a point with his head in his hands, rubbing his never-quite-fully shaven jaw, or scruffling up his hair. He always looks like he's not had enough sleep and can't be bothered and wishes he was somewhere else. But he's great. He makes me work hard. Usually with English teachers, I can think up a decent point or two quickly within the first lesson of the year and get into their good books, so to speak. With Mr McH, it takes a lot. He's the ultimate force in counter-arguments. You have to really consider your point from several different angles before it has any impact upon him. I can safely say that one of my achievements this year has been getting to the point where I've managed to come up with something that he's not demolished. You know you've made it when he's willing to nod at you in passing in the corridor. ;) It's good for me, a real challenge. It keeps me from becoming complacent or too assertive and set in my own arguments. Plus, we tend to like the same books. *grins*
Exeter Uni was three and a half hours away on the train. I had to get up at 5am and catch a quick train into the centre of London, in order to catch another train down to Exeter. I admit I was quite amused to arrive in Waterloo station and play spot-the-fellow-prospective-undergraduat
The journey itself was not bad. It was terribly long but I curled up with a bottle of water, my iPod and my book. The book in question was The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath, and I admit to worrying that I looked slightly emo reading it. It's great though - I'll spare you my thoughts on all the various aspects of it, aside from commenting that it's deliciously well-written without being obvious about it. I loved how it avoided being sensationalist, I loved how it resists the urge to become frantic and out of control, it maintains a gradual, subtle descent.
The university itself was good. One of my history teachers went there, and is very enthusiastic about the entire thing, so I'd heard quite a bit about it before, along with reading the prospectus. Exeter St Davids station lies in a valley or sorts, and the campus is right at the top of a hill. I hopped off the train and upon seeing the queue for the shuttle bus to the campus, promptly decided to walk. I spent the day wandering around the campus, armed with a map, going to various talks and sample lectures, and tours of accommodation. I spotted a couple of posters about upcoming gigs for bands like We Are Scientists, The Automatic and The Kooks, which was pretty nifty. On the way back home, I finished my book and listened to lots of music.
On Saturday, I visited Manchester University. Manchester's a city about 2 and a half hours north of London, and is considered to be one of the more "fashionable" cities in the UK. I'd never been there despite always wanting to see what the fuss was about. My mother tagged along with me, as it was the weekend, which proved beneficial on the train, as she provided pistachio nuts and strawberry laces for snacks. The journey was shorter this time, and the train nicer. I read Lady Chatterley's Lover by D.H Lawrence, which was excellent. Again, not to get all literature-geeky, but a) he writes very sensitively, b) the two main characters and their relationship isn't perfect, and c) I admire him for being so explicit and controversial, in the context that he was writing.
Manchester Uni is very different from Exeter in some ways. It's right at the centre of the city, which appeals to my innate love of cities and city life. It still manages to maintain a campus feeling though, which is important to me. Also,
airlight keeps laughing at me for forgetting to take my camera everywhere, and I truely regretted not having it in Manchester. There are some amazing buildings that I wanted snaps of. Manchester itself is interesting. It's different from what I expected, in a way I can't quite define. It's far, far smaller than London; it feels almost like a large town. That's no surprise though, as London is almost stupidly large, especially when compared to the other cities in the UK. The population is something like 7.5 million, whilst Birmingham, the second largest city is around 1 million. The other major cities; Manchester, Newcastle, Liverpool etc are all in the hundred-thousands, so as you can imagine, living and growing up in London throws my sense of general English city-size a little off. Everywhere else you go is far smaller. Over the past year or so, my feelings on that have changed. Nowadays, I'm mixed on whether London's colossal size is a good or a bad thing. I love that it has such diversity and different pockets of identity and community, and yet retains a sense of "Londoness", but walking around places like Manchester makes me realise how much more manageable smaller cities are, really.***
I was thinking about one of my English teachers during my lesson today. We'll call him Mr McH. He's interesting. He's slightly eccentric (if there can be such a thing) in a sort of "I really don't care about conventional teaching" way. He openly admits to having gone through a crisis midway through his English degree at Leicester University, when he got sick of reading novels. Nowadays he says he tends to not bother with novels, choosing only to read essays and short stories, but more importantly - The New Yorker. Any American readers will probably be far more familiar with this magazine than I am. He raves about this magazine that gets shipped in from the States; apparently the quality of writing is fantastic and it's an incredibly well respected publication worldwide. I must hunt it down and read it.
Anyway, Mr McH intrigues me. His teaching consists of his sort of wandering around the classroom tidying up the chairs and scattered paper left by the Year Nine form that use the room, whilst talking or listening to our thoughts. He generally leaves the room about twice, to drift across the Old Gym into another room. He often sits at his desk whilst listening to a point with his head in his hands, rubbing his never-quite-fully shaven jaw, or scruffling up his hair. He always looks like he's not had enough sleep and can't be bothered and wishes he was somewhere else. But he's great. He makes me work hard. Usually with English teachers, I can think up a decent point or two quickly within the first lesson of the year and get into their good books, so to speak. With Mr McH, it takes a lot. He's the ultimate force in counter-arguments. You have to really consider your point from several different angles before it has any impact upon him. I can safely say that one of my achievements this year has been getting to the point where I've managed to come up with something that he's not demolished. You know you've made it when he's willing to nod at you in passing in the corridor. ;) It's good for me, a real challenge. It keeps me from becoming complacent or too assertive and set in my own arguments. Plus, we tend to like the same books. *grins*