After arriving back in the Guildford area, I thought I’d get my car cleaned.  Which was great, except I’d forgotten to buy a ticket for the car park.  Luckily, the lovely car wash man bought a ticket for me, leaving it on my windscreen when I returned.  Isn’t that lovely?  In Godalming, however, I’d been out of the car less than two minutes before I had to charm my way out of a parking ticket from a nearby official.

And then began the inevitable cycle of travel vaccinations, downloaded TV shows & movies and late-night cereal.

I’d have plenty of time to prepare for my trip, right? Wrong.  I like to busy myself.

I went to see Hamlet, featuring Jude Law.  Law was funnier than I’d been led to believe, but it seemed like he was channelling a Mr. Tennant a bit much. My favourite part, though? Ophelia. Her under-acting was phenomenal as her subtle insanity shone through as clearly plaguing her. The speech-song-speech patter matched her lovely voice and she never seemed the gimmicky nutter…

The only thing I found myself wondering by the end, aside from how well Tennant’s performance was (and his supporting cast), by comparison, was a criticism of Shakespeare. Just how old is Hamlet supposed to be? Off the top of my head I’d guess 23, but his oft-talked about “adolescence” would peak far before that!

Thanks to my mother owning a Peugeot, we managed to get VIP corporate hospitality tickets to the London Taste Festival for free, which was a pleasant (and pallet-pleasing) day in Regent’s Park.

Among the hostel bookings, bus tickets and rail-timetable perusing, I also had the small matter of a pesky Russian visa to get hold off.  A trip to London, a wad of money lighter, 36 hours later and I was granted a visa.  We’ll gloss over the fact I mistook a ‘free massage parlour’ for an internet café that day, though.

Just in case I’d been missing university a bit too much, I ended up attending the RHUL Black Tie Summer Feast, sitting on the Principal’s table and having a jolly good (free!) evening meal.

And finally, I’d managed to wangle myself a job in telephone fundraising for the RGS.  Run in MacGregorJones’ offices in Southwark, I was officially a ‘friendraiser’ for the RGS Foundation this past week.

Drumming up support (i.e. money) for the 500th Anniversary of the school, I was subjected to a man who lied about his age, minor verbal abuse from a Venerable Archdeacon, an NYC OG whoo thought he was the police and even spoke to a nice lady en France qu’elle n’avait jamais entendu parler de la RGS.  All for £8 an hour, I raised about £1000 for The Foundation.  I was quite pleased with myself, althoough my career as a telephone fundraiser is definitely on hold (pun intended?).

Oh, and I got a 2:1 for this year, which I’m moderately pleased with.  Who knows what I can get if I attend more than sixteen lectures?

Anyway, I’d better go and think about the most important question plaguing my three-and-a-half weeks of travelling around Eastern Europe: cards or TravelScrabble?

I went to Cyprus, which was fine.  Relaxing, reading my pre-University reading list, sun, sea, sand…

I went to see underOATH at The Astoria, but really went for the support band, Envy on the Coast, who I met after the gig.

You know what? I can’t be bothered to do this chronologically.  We’re going for a stream-of-consciousness thing, now.

I’m at university.  Royal Holloway, University of London.  It’s in Egham, really.  Freshers’ Week?  That was dull, considering I expected a debaucherous seven-day festival.  Plus, everyone goes home at the weekend.

Now that was a depressing start to the term, as I learned a few home truths: it’s quicker for me to get to London (and more direct) from Godalming than Egham; everyone goes home at the weekend; our “Special Guest” at the Freshers’ Ball was Razorlike.

No, not Razorlight, but their tribute band.  And that was the most interesting event our Union had to offer.

My flat is great, though.  Only a year old, the block is great – eight flats to a kitchen, spacious, modern, each with en suite.  Granted, it’s not Founder‘s, but unlike their catered, Grade I-listed 19th Century castle (Serbian hostel-esque accommodation), we have internet and our own shower.  You can weigh that one up yourself.  Anyway, everyone here is lovely, and my eight flatmates (six ladies, two men) are equally fun.  Of note, we managed to get almost the whole block in our kitchen for a warming par-tay on the first night.  That’s about thirty-five people.  The second night we went out on a mediocre pub crawl, so we came home early and stole a To Let sign.

If you want to write to me: Tuke Hall, F-3A-05.  That’s block F, on the third floor, on the right next to our kitchen. Just buzz and I’ll let you in, and you can see my room.  It looks a bit like this:

Anyway, after the ‘hysteria’ of Freshers’ Week, this ‘teaching and learning’ part of university began.  I’ve got Wednesdays and Thursdays off, and 5 lectures and 5 seminars around that.  It’s not particularly intensive, either – most notably there was a “student” in my Introduction To Sonnets lecture who learned for the first time that Shakespeare wrote sonnets.  Who knew?

At some point over the first three weeks, I’ve come down with a terrible, incurable case of Freshers’ Fever. As well as the flu, it involves signing up to…everything.  It’s also identified as ‘being a bit of a whore’ and may include ‘spreading oneself too thin’.

So, my first port of call, was reputable and successful independent (i.e. no money from the SU, and therefore allowed to slag off the SU if we want) student newspaper, The Founder.  Inexplicably, surprisingly, ecstatically, I’m News Editor.  And the only Fresher on the Editorial Board.  Wrote my first article and it made it onto (the left hand side of) the front page.  Hear that ma?  I’m a real (student) journalist.  My NUJ press pass is in the post and everything.

Next stop, Insanity Radio, an official Student’s Union media outlet.  After a cock-up with ringing me, I didn’t manage to get a presenter slot (bah!), but hopefully I’ll be on the News Show.  See a developing theme? Mm.  I’m on the music team for Insanity, too, which gets me lots of free CDs I have to review and I’m interviewing Pause.Break.Riot on 23rd October. Exciting.

Okay, so I’m disillusioned with the Union.  What do I do about it? Become Halls Representative for Tuke, Butler and Williamson, Student Representative for the Media/Communications sub-committee and Commercial Services sub-committee, obviously (?!!).  But I did make sure I didn’t nominate myself for First Year Rep.  That’s a bit too much.

I overslept and missed all team trials in my first week (not that I was ever in any team at RGS), but my heart’s really in this journalism lark, which you already knew about me, anyway.  So I dropped out of the Drama Society’s chorus role they gave me, and inexplicably got embroiled in the Media Society, becoming Communications Officer.  I only went to their AGM because my seminar was next door.  I swear, apart from The Founder and Insanity Radio (maybe the SU sub-par publication The Orbital ‘magazine’), I didn’t really want to do anything else.

My sleeping patterns now revolve around going to bed at close to five every morning, which means my Critical Practice essay on Homer for Friday is being done….now.  Pope vs. Fagles, anyone?

Oh, food.  I always forget about that. Having your own kitchen is great, and I do love cooking, but I’ve learned to love the simplicity and efficiency of ready meals.

Remove sleeve. Pierce film.

Fantastic.

Okay.

I’ve had my last A-level exam, I’ve returned (most) of my books, we’ve had the leavers’ ceremony, we’ve been to the pub with our teachers afterwards. I’m a little numb from it all, really.  Apart from the yearbook and the OG tie..we’ve only got our own memories and anecdotes.  Seven years. It’s a long time.  For our leavers’ statement (which wasn’t even included in my pack), I mashed up my personal yearbook entry and my UCAS statement, cobbling together an irony-tinged last-minute bit of prose, written at some ungodly hour the night before two and a half weeks after the deadline:

A seven-year relationship is difficult to summarise, let-alone forget, and as with all experiences there have been ups and downs.  At times my patience has most definitely been strained due to my insistence on seeking out extra-curricular activities to occupy my time:  with Amnesty, hosting the Charity Gigs, Young Enterprise, Schools Without Walls, the House Reading competition (unbeaten 5 years in a row…), countless school plays and the Junior Drama Society among others, I’ve certainly been kept busy – and away from the sports field!  Although I may lack a legacy, I certainly know my liason with the RGS will stay with me forever.  I may have occasionally let the pressure overwhelm my emotions, but if you don’t crack the shell, you can’t eat the nut.

I hope the RGS will miss me as much as I will miss it – take from that what you want!  Nevertheless, I’ve made some friends I hope I shall never lose contact with, certainly my time on Facebook to the detriment of my work has seen to that!  Whether or not the school has made me who I am is left open to debate, and I’m sure I will have to fend off the stigma of being a ‘posh Surrey private school ****’ all my life, but I certainly wouldn’t have been content to go anywhere else.

With my A2 grades, my leaver’s hoody and my yearbook, my year is finally at an end, and I shall walk out of the RGS gates for the final time, free from the daily grind that, dare I say it, brought an enjoyable, community-feel to the centre of Guildford. What do I do now? Well, I hope to study English at RHUL, with aspirations of becoming a broadcast journalist   As Tom Stoppard said in a 1988 Guardian interview – “I still believe that if your aim is to change the world, journalism is a more immediate short-term weapon”.

To try and stem the tide of sentimental emotions and the inevitable “what am I doing with my life?”/”I’ve-made-all-the-wrong-university-decisions-and-achieved-nothing” breakdowns, I’ve been to A Midsummer Night’s Dream post-exams party, a Superheroes-themed party…

I got invited to Centre Court at Wimbledon (debenture seats – thanks Tim & Mr. Scott!) to test out my new camera, eat strawberries and cream, watch Djokovic get knocked out and Federer beat Soderling… and now I’m packing to go inter-railing with these people for three weeks.   Oh, and I fixed my iPod by uploading 13368 songs individually to target the problem. Yay!  In case you didn’t catch the embedded link, you go here for updates now.

It’s a hard life, eh?

Actually, I’m knackered.  And so is my bank balance.