Having now met my fellow students I can confirm that I truly am the oldest student in the world. Everywhere I go I am asked whether I am a member of staff. On my first day, I realised how truly awful it is to be a newbie with nothing known; no grounding. Fortunately, I spend most of my life in a state of terminal confusion so am quite adept at blundering through.
We are eight and a very high achieving bunch they are too...it seems to have been a prerequisite to have a first from a top uni..and I mean top. I don't have a first but I have other things. The initial meeting has been programmed as one in which we will discover more about the course and what is expected. It turns out to be a series of power-point slides depicting a holiday in Ireland and an introduction to other staff, one of whom plays the hurdy-gurdy. It is hoped that we will ask questions. Silence reigns. I ask a question about the forthcoming assignment. Someone else asks what a hurdy-gurdy is. Small pieces of yellow paper are distributed. We can exchange them in the bar for free welcome drinks. No-one has told the bar staff this and allow us only to have a cup of tea.
Today I spend six hours in the Cornish sunshine reading and taking notes. And very enjoyable it is too.
Wednesday 29 September 2010
Sunday 5 September 2010
Home
Having passed Okehampton, my heart drops as I see that Bodmin Moor is, yet again, swathed in fog. In my heart (and meterologically) beloved Dorset lays behind in glorious sunshine. Ahead, miles of endless gloom. Fortuitously, the cloud lifts and I discover that the moor is home to lakes and animals and is actually...dare I say it....quite lovely. But the road is long and I have decisions to make.
I find an elderly gentleman striding down the track. Where has he come from? He looks as startled to see me emerging from a motor vehicle as I was to nearly hit him driving at 15 miles an hour round yet another bend. I explain my presence and predicament and he gives me careful directions. In this part of the world you could be a long way from anywhere but be optimistic in knowing that someone will appear.
I am going to live with Nicola and her family in their converted farmhouse. It is not what I'd anticipated but their home feels lovely. There are children, two big dogs and endless fields. You have to go with your gut instinct. The alternative is to live a life in boredom.
I find an elderly gentleman striding down the track. Where has he come from? He looks as startled to see me emerging from a motor vehicle as I was to nearly hit him driving at 15 miles an hour round yet another bend. I explain my presence and predicament and he gives me careful directions. In this part of the world you could be a long way from anywhere but be optimistic in knowing that someone will appear.
I am going to live with Nicola and her family in their converted farmhouse. It is not what I'd anticipated but their home feels lovely. There are children, two big dogs and endless fields. You have to go with your gut instinct. The alternative is to live a life in boredom.
Tuesday 31 August 2010
Movement
It's been some time since I wrote. Now I am a matter of weeks away from the commencement of the course and still have nowhere to live. The pre-reading has arrived...only about one thousand pages of A4. I've made a good start on Camden but am struggling with the rest of it. I lay in bed at night; not worrying about how I will cope with the academia but, more prosaically, where the hell am I going to live. I am too disorganised for a Virgo. Counting the number of books written by Dickens or Hardy no longer works. It's my birthday tomorrow. I will do nice things and not get anxious about Thursday when I must return to the hinterlands to find my new abode
Tuesday 13 July 2010
Despondent
I am sitting in the rain in the Memorial Gardens which have been erected in the place where nineteen people were killed by a bomb in WW2. Why did they bomb Penryn? On the other hand, why not? And why not make a proper job of it? Penryn is shut today but the lady in the pharmacy says it’s generally quiet. Apparently, everyone’s gone to a cow fair some two miles hence which is the annual away-day. There’s nothing to eat in this town. Not a solitary pasty.
I feel I could be out of my depth and too old for this accommodation-seeking business. I may have been lead into a false sense of security by my foray into the south of France a couple of years ago. There, I hadn’t seen any of the accommodation I subsequently inhabited before I arrived but even the least desirable of those temporary homes failed to match what’s on offer in Cornwall. Rosie has a waterside apartment. Its defining feature is that it’s waterside which is pretty meaningless if you live on the edge of Poole Harbour. The euphemistically named apartment, which is not inexpensive, contains not so much as a cup. No cutlery, no crockery and two little hot plates on which to cook. There is no washing line as washing is, in these environs, unsightly.
Meanwhile, Barry is laughing. I’d laugh if I lived in his house which is stunning. His selling point is the garden which is green and lush and has old roses clambering over the back wall. I know I’m on a loser when he asks if I want peppermint tea or roobosh. I don’t know what roobosh is or how to spell it. With regard to my suitability interview, there are two questions: firstly, do I play a musical instrument? I ask whether this is compulsory. Apparently, he’s looking for someone to jam with. The other enquiry was am I a non-smoker? I have failed on both counts. As a default question, clearly an afterthought, I am asked whether I could bring any cups with me. Given the previous experience, I surmise that a) everything hinges on the outdoors and b) there is no crockery in Penryn. Barry thinks he might sail across the Pacific for something to do. I think I might go and buy a glass of wine for something to do.
Later, I’m sat outside the pub in Falmouth overlooking the bay. A man with a giant blue plastic dolphin rubbish bin walks across the rain-sodden beach. Last year, it was a Roman centurion. Holiday-makers, dressed for a journey in the footsteps of Ernest Shackleton, drag themselves to the evening seashore and look out gloomily wondering when they can go home. They may be gone for some time.
When I visit my son in Swansea, I always have a feeling of regained security once I get this side of the Bridge. On my return from Cornwall, I feel much the same having passed Exeter. It doesn’t bode too well.
I feel I could be out of my depth and too old for this accommodation-seeking business. I may have been lead into a false sense of security by my foray into the south of France a couple of years ago. There, I hadn’t seen any of the accommodation I subsequently inhabited before I arrived but even the least desirable of those temporary homes failed to match what’s on offer in Cornwall. Rosie has a waterside apartment. Its defining feature is that it’s waterside which is pretty meaningless if you live on the edge of Poole Harbour. The euphemistically named apartment, which is not inexpensive, contains not so much as a cup. No cutlery, no crockery and two little hot plates on which to cook. There is no washing line as washing is, in these environs, unsightly.
Meanwhile, Barry is laughing. I’d laugh if I lived in his house which is stunning. His selling point is the garden which is green and lush and has old roses clambering over the back wall. I know I’m on a loser when he asks if I want peppermint tea or roobosh. I don’t know what roobosh is or how to spell it. With regard to my suitability interview, there are two questions: firstly, do I play a musical instrument? I ask whether this is compulsory. Apparently, he’s looking for someone to jam with. The other enquiry was am I a non-smoker? I have failed on both counts. As a default question, clearly an afterthought, I am asked whether I could bring any cups with me. Given the previous experience, I surmise that a) everything hinges on the outdoors and b) there is no crockery in Penryn. Barry thinks he might sail across the Pacific for something to do. I think I might go and buy a glass of wine for something to do.
Later, I’m sat outside the pub in Falmouth overlooking the bay. A man with a giant blue plastic dolphin rubbish bin walks across the rain-sodden beach. Last year, it was a Roman centurion. Holiday-makers, dressed for a journey in the footsteps of Ernest Shackleton, drag themselves to the evening seashore and look out gloomily wondering when they can go home. They may be gone for some time.
When I visit my son in Swansea, I always have a feeling of regained security once I get this side of the Bridge. On my return from Cornwall, I feel much the same having passed Exeter. It doesn’t bode too well.
Friday 9 July 2010
On my way
Off to the peninsular on Monday to look at some potential accommodation. I have chosen a mixed bag: a couple of lodgings and a waterfront appartment which will probably be way out of my budget but the Irish landlady sounds lovely. My favourite, thus far, is a house share with a lecturer. His selling point is the garden which, apparently, is home to slow worms, owls and wild roses. He doesn't possess a television....good news...but does own a projector for his regular film nights. Hmmmm. He also has a washing machine and wifi internet, these two being top of my list of priorities. I have fingers crossed which makes typing tricky.
How difficult will it be to live with other unknown folk after so long? Discussing this with friends at the writers' circle the other evening, I was a) taken aback by someone asking why I wasn't looking for alternative employment in such economically straightened times and b) much relieved by the interruption of another saying 'but, it's an adventure'. Carpe Diem and all that jazz
How difficult will it be to live with other unknown folk after so long? Discussing this with friends at the writers' circle the other evening, I was a) taken aback by someone asking why I wasn't looking for alternative employment in such economically straightened times and b) much relieved by the interruption of another saying 'but, it's an adventure'. Carpe Diem and all that jazz
Monday 5 July 2010
Developments
Two entries in one day......this can't continue. Falmouth, it appears, is full of very nice people who don't really want to rent out their properties. Carolyn has written to offer me B & B for £840 a month which is at an allegedly reduced rate. There is a possibility of a 'proper' breakfast for another £35 a week. So, that's a non-starter. Alec, who is extremely personable, apart from the fact that he keeps calling me 'kid' and lives in Nottingham, wanted me to stay in his house but only for eleven months. Easter is not, apparently, financially viable. He recommended Vicky from down the road. Vicky claimed not to have heard from Alec for six years and said, enigmatically, that things had changed. I think she was sulking about Alec. Vicky might phone me at the weekend if she decides whether to rent out her spare room. Then there is Rosalee. Rosalee owns what sounds like the ideal self-contained appartment over-looking the estuary. It's more than I'd anticipated paying but sounds and looks wonderful and all bills are included. However, because it is so wonderful, Rosalee isn't sure that she wants people living in it. Poor people: they obviously need an income but wish they didn't. They don't want children, DSS, undergraduates, smokers or anyone that might foul the sheets. In fact, they want you to bring your own sheets. I have made some enquiries about caravans.
In the beginning
I've just parted with money! The deposit for my Masters has been paid today so there's no turning back. All I have to do now is find somewhere to live in the depths of Cornwall. I've joined a Facebook group full of others all desperately seeking something. Sadly, they are, as one would expect, about three hundred years younger than me. I doubt many have spent the last three years living alone in the Twilight Zone. I doubt any want to avoid the party scene either. I've written to all sorts of people who want to let all sorts of rooms but have only received one reply. This new blog will form the record of how my new life progresses. Fingers crossed.
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