Last Tango at Edge Hill: Mass Observsations 2013

This is the last batch of Mass Observations from 2013. I hope you enjoy reading the different ways people have attended to this task (in different places).

Robert Sheppard

Professor of Poetry and Poetics

PL for Creative Writing MA

web: www.robertsheppard.weebly.com

blog: www.robertsheppard.blogspot.com

new book: http://www.shearsman.com/pages/books/catalog/2013/sheppardATM.html

VERSE

Autumn leaves are falling

Winter is drawing in

The sun is low in the sky

Shining on my skin.

 

I watch the buildings around me

And the people walking in

Confusion on their faces

Don’t know where they have been

 

I see the young new fresher’s

And the ones that know it all

Only time will tell if their grades will

Rise or fall

 

I look over at the lake

At the ducks swimming by

The long reeds hide them

As they bop and play

 

I notice the red safety floats

Situated in the ground

I hope no drunken students

Jump in fooling around

The small golden leaves

Are now gathered at my feet

And as I move across the ground

They crinkle and retreat

They signify a regeneration

 Of the new life that we seek.

 

Rebecca Whittaker

 

 

YOU STAND

You stand by the wall, imagining that if you get close enough, you might merge with it.

They sit in herds and speak in tongues you've yet to understand. Their voices and their footsteps echo through the room.

Two men are on the other side of an outside glass wall, standing on a stage of concrete to entertain you. They're blasting away at the dirt on the pavement, cleaning it as much as they can. They fail. You're bored.

You watch two girls laughing, waving around their sandwiches. They feed off gossip and humiliation. You're full to the brim but thirsty.

Walking into the shop, you're met with too many options to choose from and you can hear their laughter from here. You turn back and watch as faceless, nameless students climb upwards, out of sight.

Alicia Beavis

 

 

 The Reeds Sway and Hiss

The reeds sway and hiss in the breeze. A duck buries it's head under the water, the constant flow moving it back and forth. Up and down, up and down. It's almost hypnotic. I feel dizzy. I move closer to the fountain, the slight wind brushing my hair against my face. The sun glistens, reflecting like sparks in the water. 

Students round the corner, enquiring about fancy dress costumes for the night ahead. I put my head back, close my eyes, and listen. A plane flies overhead. As the noise becomes a distant drone, a kind of whistling, or a low hum, I thought, I am struck by the calmness that suddenly befalls. 

I walk inside the building I had walk out of earlier, the metal stripped front and steps not exactly welcoming, but pretty nonetheless The far room, the room which had just minutes previously been filled with eager writers, was empty. I imagined then how it would be to stand here in the dark...in the silence, because now, although it is deserted, it isn't silent. The monotonous hum of the projector fills my ears. Somehow, it sounds much louder if you close your eyes, like the ringing noise you get after a night in a club or at a concert. Except this is oddly soothing, whereas the former stops me sleeping. 

Emma Clarke 

 

 

 They Enter

They enter and leave the shadows as they please.  A girl with the wind whipping around her floral print skirt, the breeze exposing even more of the black tights that cover her legs, passes with a hand tight on one strap of her rucksack.  She disappears into the shade of a building, its form old in comparison to that which stands opposite.

People around here seem lost, or, at the very least, lacking the confidence of familiarity.  One guy hovers around, his clothes dark like the shadow he stands in.  He covers himself more than the girl who passes him, her black summer dress decorated in delicate pink petals.  She shows a confidence in the way she walks that is matched by no other.  The lost guy takes a nervous glance at the map and seems transfixed, before moving off.  There is no direction in the way he walks.

There is no age here; people are not constrained to barriers that limit what passes the eye.  Hugging herself in a purple cardigan, a woman bearing the experience of at least 30 years talks with a crease in her brow.  The phone concealed in her hand passes from ear to ear as she fumbles around in her purse.  As she paces, she brushes past a man with a bulging waistline, his lilac shirt only attracting more attention to his figure.  He walks with a smile through the gaze of a couple, their hands seemingly forever interlocked.  The thick course of his stubble brushes her cheeks as they kiss.

Minutes slowly pass, and with eyes to the floor, more feet pass by.  Red converses and white Nikes, some newly-polished loafers on a man with a big stride, a pair of UG boots on a girl dressed for the chilling weather, a thick grey coat buttoned up to the top.  Their footfalls are quiet beneath the sound of chatter, the mixture of words clear.  It’s clear that the attraction to the campus passed much further than the scousers of Liverpool as three different accents drift off into the distance.

“So which uni did your boyfriend go to?”

The answer falls beneath the cry of the wind.  The two girls talking quickly disappear into the blend of students walking without expression to their various lectures.  The ‘early’ starts of eleven am take their toll on the many nursing hangovers.

Through the ruffle of the leaves, figures move disfigured through the sunlight.  They bring about the soothing call of the waves with every heavy exhalation of the wind.  Everyone around is oblivious to it.  They’re all too busy, even when alone.  It’s taken for granted, the peacefulness.

More people pass close by.  As they disappear off behind, the sun creates a halo in the blond tangle of a man’s hair.  They meet with two women pushing prams, although no contact is made.  The rolling wheels come closer as they scratch against the pavement, and I see that both women wear their hair the same way.  One is blonde, the other brunette, and they walk with the same confidence that their smart clothes exuberate.

The same sight is starting to irritate.  The details in the architecture are slowly becoming clearer.  It’s easier to notice things.  The red bricks seem off-colour in places, although with no pattern to its design.  There are streaks in some distant paintwork that blend in the light of the sun.  One could question the structure’s age when the campus is filled with the modern architecture of glass buildings.

The trees to the right form an archway, in a sense.  As summer has died, the leaves have already started to yellow, though some still retain their evergreen colour.  Others have taken on a burnt-orange tinge that seems golden in the sunlight.  The trees cast shadows over those who pass through, and ends in a patch of darkened shrubbery that bars further sight.

 

James Darvill

 

Litle Boys and Girls Lost! : Mass Observsations 2013

The “Beach”

Sunshine is cascading over the tops of the brand new buildings behind me, submersing me in a cool shade as I look out on what people are calling ‘The Beach’. Surrounded by lush, emerald-green grass, I’m sat on the prickly plastic grass chosen for this particular area of campus – seemingly they have taken it straight from an astro-turf.

‘Beach’ may be a slightly grandiose term for what I see here – true enough there is sand, nice and white with a few failed attempts at sandcastles littered here and there, with cigarette butts crumpled into the tops of them – proudly taking the place of the stereotypical little-red-flags.  There is also water, and with this amazing sunshine – that at this time a year comes few and far between – there is a definite illusion of peacefulness in this spot.

The water seems to have developed a current that is forcibly pushing itself against the pull of the wind. From this distance it seems to shine a kind of, denim-jeans-blue, and is streaked with brownish-grey sludge, that I can only presume comes from the nearby construction site, which is adding yet more stuff to this ever-expanding campus. 

I take a closer look at the student’s version of ‘the sea’ and discover a Jack Daniels bottle – or some cheaper equivalent – standing proudly in the water, it’s neck protruding from the tops of the tiny, murky-brown waves. The perfect stereotype to student life.

-Jessica Barnett

 

A young man with long, unkempt hair sits to my

A young man with long, unkempt hair sits to my left with his back to me. He lights a cigarette and inhales. In a daze he stares at the floor, and exhales.

 A guy in obscenely short shorts and a t-shirt shuffles by. He has completed his misjudged outfit with sky blue socks. Hi eyes scream regret.

A contractor in paint-splashed overalls passes me smoking an electronic cigarette that glows blue at the tip. He glances at the aforementioned male and raises his eyebrows.

A girl follows yards behind, she wears green jeans and red shoes. A far too festive combination for late September.

Two guys walk by. One wears a gloss black puffer jacket, he turns to his friend, “I need to go to Nationwide”.

A man jet-washes the floor. The sound is abrupt like machine-gun fire, piercing the sound of chit-chat and life and scaring passers-by.

A man in “smart/casual” attire strides purposefully wearing headphones. His steps seem to match the beat of his song.

Opposite me, a man with the appearance of an aged Andrew Marr sits and smokes. He wears a jed jumper and red socks.

A young man walks towards to the low sun which bounces off the puddles. He shields his eyes with his hand. His baseball cap is worn backwards.

I overhear a conversation. A man in business attire speaks on the phone loudly. “Hi mate... Don't worry about it, no it's fine... How are you? Good Holiday?... Nice down there isn't it? Yeah, lovely yeah... Did you sort that... Oh you did?... That's great, top man, top man... You're a star mate.”

 Jack Evans

 

An (Extra) Ordinary Day

The absent hum of chatter, occasionally interrupted by the cry of a bird.  Class must have just let out because there are suddenly people everywhere – nameless, faceless people.  An outrageously red scarf; a black sequined t-shirt; leopard-print leggings – and then nothing.  No one.  The rush is over as quickly as it began.  On the other side of the lake, a lone man ambles along, completely oblivious to my gaze.  Good for him.

An obnoxious duck peers at me through a gap in the reeds and then gets out of the water with two of her friends.  They wander over to two girls, who are intent on feeding them crisps.  "Have you ever seen ducks mating?" one girl asks; the other replies that she doesn't want to, and I think I agree with her.  The ducks abandon them, unimpressed with the talk of their sex lives.  A male duck calls to them; it sounds like he's laughing.  He isn't getting laid tonight.

The sun is warm but the wind is cold, a fact reflected in the people as they walk by, miserably hot in coats or miserably chilly in shorts.  Some pause for a moment to catch their breath and watch two ducks as they splash together in the middle of the lake, quacking loudly.  Perhaps they are fighting – or not.

A guy on this side of the lake wears a t-shirt that reads "I am not normal".  Is anyone?

 - Charlie Lord

 

 

Observations from the shadow of the Creative Edge Building

I sit on a wall underneath the large, modern structure that is the Creative Edge building, and with a coffee in my hand I look around to see the goings on of the world around me. Behind me sits another creative writing student who scribbles away with a smile on his face, clearly enjoying his work and most importantly not bothered that I’ve nicked his spot. Not my fault this area of campus lacks benches.

Two white vans, one marked “Liverpool Van Hire” park up just in front of me and 4 men start unloading an assortment of metal poles and boards from the back of one of the vans. One of the men explains numerous times to his colleagues the correct way to handle the objects – yet when it comes to lifting the objects one of his co-workers drags a pole along the floor clearly not heeding his instructions.

Hundreds upon hundreds of cars glisten in the sun as if they are coins flipped into a water fountain for good luck, the numerous gaps of empty spaces making it seem as if they are in some sort of formation, and also making me question why I was rejected a parking permit.

A girl with a number of multi-coloured bags draped across her shoulders scurries past me, texting furiously as if she is on a time limit. She takes a quick glance over at me, although quickly changes her line of sight when she sees me looking back, to make it seem as if she hadn’t meant to scowl at me at all. I’ll forgive her this time.

The sky is almost naked, with few clouds present to protect its modesty. Despite the high level of brightness, even the builders – who have a reputation for enjoying work shirtless – have multiple layers of clothing on. Another creative writing student walks past, perches on the bars next to the running track, jots something down and carries on walking. I try to follow his gaze to see what he found interesting but see nothing, although I do notice the hurdles are now present which were not last night when I drunkenly staggered past the track on my way to the union bar.

The student who was writing behind me stands up, gives me a pleasant smile and approving nod and leaves. Another student comes past me, perches on some construction material and starts to write something down until a stern look of a returning builder makes him scurry away. My phone buzzes, and it’s time for me to return to class.

Ashley King

Little Boy Lost

 A slight man strolls past the Business School, his black sports bag in hand. Strangely he isn’t holding the straps of the bag, preferring to grab the top and let the rest hang from his grasp. His head and shoulders are drooped as he walks, looking at the floor as though it’s more interesting than anything or anyone else. The dark hair and black jacket and shoes that he’s wearing add to the impression he gives; he’s a shy one, a little boy lost in the big wide world.

 A group of four first year girls – three brown haired, one blonde, all confident – gossip as they walk to the Student Information Centre. One of them tells her story about the choices she’s had to make for her timetable, “They asked me to choose whether I wanted a Monday or a Friday, and I was like…” but I couldn’t hear the rest; her voice trailed off as the distance between us grew.

Another man walks past. He’s stockier than the first and ginger. He is suited and booted and ready for business in his light purple shirt and jumper, showing that he’s in touch with his feminine side. His iPod plays as he heads over to the Hub. It’s as though he’s psyching himself up for a meeting, maybe listening to the powerful ‘Eye of the Tiger’ to boost his confidence. With his paper folders in hand, he calmly enters the hub through the doors beneath the orange stairs.

A couple of American girls pass by me, trying to find their way to the Business School. Their accents and loud voices set them apart from other students and immediately catch my attention. It must be lonely being at a university in a different country; being four hours away is hard enough. Their lives have changed in an instant - the culture, the food, the weather – and they can’t get home without going on a nine hour plane journey. The technology nowadays helps when you feel low and want to talk to people back home, but it isn’t the same as actually being there.

I turn around but don’t get a chance to look at them because they have disappeared, presumably into the Business School.

Three young lads then walk in the sun, their destination to the right of the library. They all wear back packs and hoodies, two of them in the low slung jeans with the crotch nearly at their knees, the male version of the leggings and ugg boots trend – ugly. They’re the cools guys who can walk into a room and click with people like they’ve had to do it every day of their lives, the ones that people like me avoid for fear of embarrassment. Their swagger carries them past the library and out of my field of view.

 Two students take a seat next to me on the wall. They’re hung over and forty minutes late for their lecture. They’re lovely though, approachable and friendly, a complete contrast to the lads who had just passed, and they show very few signs of their heavy night; they only look a little tired and slightly confused. Bless. They introduce themselves with a handshake (how formal!) and observe and write as well as they can in the morning after the night before.

I struggle to find any Yorkshire accents in the crowds that pass me; nothing that feels like home. There are plenty of Scousers, with their speech hard to follow as they talk at 100mph, a couple of Americans and other northern accents: Manc, Geordie and the local accents from the people of St Helens and Preston. Nothing from Yorkshire though.

The building across from where I’m sat has a lovely little garden with a variety of yellow and green plants and a single cerise flower in the mix. I can’t tell you what they are as I don’t know my Dandelion from my Daffodil, but they make the garden look inviting. There’s also a section of grass in the shape of an eye that still has the neat, curved lines from when it was cut.

 In amongst the plants are two pieces of cylindrical blue plastic leant up against a thin black pipe, almost as though they’ve been thrown in there. The thin pipe leads to a larger one snaked between the plants and soil, spoiling an otherwise peaceful scene.

 You’d expect to see more insects with the density and variety of the greenery in front of me; you definitely would back home. But here you just get the single wasp, the lone ranger flying where he can. Maybe that’s the thing here, the way people here work. Maybe they just go it alone.

 

Jenna Shaw

 

Mass Observation- “Edge Hill’s Forgotten Pockets” (Ailsa Cox)

     To seek the forgotten pockets of the University campus is to enter a deceiving maze. All the different paths leading to various buildings make me feel like I am in a quaint, toy village. Some people cruise down their chosen path, whilst others are carried along by the excited waves of the certain ones. I wonder if I cruise, or if I am swept? There seems to be more than one route to access every area of the campus, which unfortunately makes it more difficult to locate places. Although, making it much easier to lose yourself.

The glass building in front, performing as a modern piece of architecture seems out of place connected to the archaic main building. The hub plays tricks on the eyes; I can’t look in without looking at myself. A sheet of vulnerability covers this building. There are no hiding places here, I am exposed and bare in the hub. My whereabouts, actions and my thoughts are uncovered. Paranoia spreads like wildfire as the hundreds of pairs of judgements scan their inhabitants. Are they looking at me or themselves in the glass? Vanity strikes as the reason the mass of females sneak at their reflection in the walls. Or is it pride? I am staring obediently at one girl in particular as a quote from Austen’s ‘Pride and Prejudice’ steals my thoughts.

“Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us.”

     Now, I think more highly of the said girl, as I too succumb to the persuasion of the demonic glass and watch myself suspiciously taking notes. The big screens play the BBC news continuously, providing a comforting background noise along with a direction to look without the danger of meeting with the glass. I watch the herds climb up and fall down the stairs in the centre, always with another. Students tend to travel in packs like wolves. Did I look odd sat alone? I was surrounded by bodies spinning on orange swivelling chairs. Not one of us could sit still, the urge to spin was a great force creating a strange unison between us- everyone stopped mid conversation and spun to face the glass. The sound of the jet wash outside invaded my ears loudly, whilst a man wearing head phones showered the unknown white flowers with life. He, along with the other workmen, was showering Edge Hill with new life. The Creative Edge, the new halls of residence, the new running track and the new moat. The renovation of the University was being showcased all around, everywhere I looked, and for that moment, I felt blessed. Edge Hill was bettering itself right in front of my eyes, for us, its students.

Ashleigh Corrigan

 

An Observation

When making an observation, one of every day University life, I never expected that a large group of ducks would ascend on a small group of girls; not looking for food, but looking and sounding as though they wanted to join the gossip. They were attempting to make conversation, to join in the cliques that must be so huge in Uni that even the ducks wish to join in!

When the girls left, albeit after twenty minutes, the ducks just wandered aimlessly for a moment, looking very lost before picking a new target which happened to be me.

 Within seconds the noisy horde was upon me, gathering at my very toes and attempting communication. I had no idea whether they were scavenging for food or simply demanding my attention, but never had I need a common vulture to be so cute.

 Some ducks were braver than others, usually the females. They hesitated when I reached out to stroke them and it was humorous to watch them clearly dabble in the thought before then walking off in a huff as though they were offended by my gesture of an empty hand.

 A large group of girls then walked out of the large building before me. They were either a bleach blonde or a bee-hived brunette, but all in black leggings and looking as though the Empire had released the clones. A female duck shared my humour, it squawked out in loud cackles as though it were a hyena at the women. Intelligent enough not to speak.

It was then from the corner of my eye, did I see one woman with a paper bag and I instantly knew what was coming. One single duck was fed a few crumbs, twenty then formed an angry mob and charged over. A few very out of place Coots and one lonely Moorhen then began to forage behind the army for any morsel of scrap left.

 One solitary female duck, the same one that had laughed at the women, stood on her own looking out at me for pity. I felt sore that I could not feed my funny little companion while she cried at me in small huffing whimpers.

 But I did not think a Starburst was ideal to feed to a duck, and I went on my way, feeling too sorry that I could do nothing at that point to help and I could not stand those sad eyes any longer.

 Naomi Bond

 

 So Here I Am

So here I am, on my first day of university (after arriving late thanks to a heavy night out and an equally heavy head) and I’m sat here, on the grass, just looking around. Yeah, it sounds dull, which is probably a fair evaluation, but it’s peaceful and, you know, it’s nice just to get my surroundings. I’ve got lost around campus so many times already it’s shameful. My family are all poor at finding their way around places so I’m pretty sure I’m at a genetic disadvantage.

     The one building which never fails to catch me out is the main one. Unfortunately that also happens to be the place where the majority of my lectures are at – brilliant. Who manages to get lost in a building that isn’t even that complex? (Clue: it’s the person who’s currently writing this diary entry.) The corridors are practically endless and all look exactly the same, just with different notices and timetables on various boards. It’s undoubtedly a stunning looking place but it could really do with some signs for people who don’t have an inbuilt compass.

     Feeling slightly better about getting lost since the same person has walked past about eight times since I started writing and even that’s a conservative guess. I should probably try help him but that’d inevitably lead to him getting even more lost and, most likely, ending up Manchester. He looks so confused though; I think he might either cry or have a cigarette. Or both. Ah, never mind, he’s bumped into someone who’s probably his friend. Now they’re hugging; cute.

     I’m about 90% sure if I write much more I’ll miss the train so will have to bid you adieu, diary. Hope you’re prepared for more rants about my, let’s face it, undeniably incredible sense of direction.

 Sarah Lavender

Mass Observation 2013: Ducks and Other Erotic Sub-Texts

Mass observation 

 In the distance a middle-aged man wearing a yellow high visibility vest, washes the floor with a pressure washer. A thin layer of mist floats into the air, being dragged away by the wind. The sun streams down and the water shimmers on the ground as the passing people try to avoid it.

A young man dressed in a blue shirt walks past, dragging a tall blue trolley filled to the brim with cardboard boxes and rubbish bags. As it passes through the puddle of water the trolley leaves two thin tracks behind.

Three trees stand separately looking frail and weak as the light breeze moves their branches making them sway and bend. An empty wrapper floats across the floor, scraping violently on the slabs until it is trapped against a wall.

As a group of people walk past one girl battles her way through to reach the bin, she casually throws her empty water bottle away and rejoins her friends running to catch them.

Written by Katie Thompson

 

Mary Holt's Mass Observation – The Hub (Downstairs)

 Two girls walk into the Hub. One is wearing a green jumper and the other girls is wearing a leather jacket. They walk over to a jewellery stall and try on some bracelets. The stall owner smiles at them and they engage in small talk. The girls leave the stall without making a purchase and walk to the cafeteria area.

 Three boys are sat at a table eating an early lunch. The boy in the Nike trainers is messing around with a Lukozade bottle. The other two boys get up to put their trays away and clear the table. The other boy follows throwing the bottle towards the bin. He misses the bin and goes to pick up the bottle and aims again. He gets it in. all of the boys sit back down at the table for a few seconds and then get up to leave.

 The woman at the clothes stall is showing another woman some of the ponchos on display. The woman focuses on one particular poncho (a brown leopard print one). The woman smiles and walks away.

 Two boys are at the ‘Grab and Go Bar’. The one that looks the most tired is telling the boy in the baby blue T-shirt about his excursions from the night before. He has a date with a girl named Sarah on Monday.

 A girl who is dressed very smartly walks from the entrance to the cafeteria to the upstairs part of the Hub while arguing with someone on the phone.

 There is less activity in the Hub although its occupants are talking rather loudly. There is a buzzing noise and when I turn around I see a young man in an electric wheelchair going past me and into McColl’s.

 A girl sits alone at a table staring towards Starbucks. She bites her pen before she begins to write. She puts her elbow on the table and uses her hand to rest her head on.

 A guy wearing a T-shirt saying “moths are just badboy butterflies” walks quickly past the jewellery stall.

 A man with long hair, a black jacket and a grey scarf walks into McColl’s and a few seconds later he walks out. He then heads towards the cafeteria to see what is in there and walks away again without getting anything. He walks past Starbucks, around the stairs and back into McColl’s he leaves the shop empty handed and walks to the nearest exit and leave the Hub.

 A girl in red Dr Martin’s is telling her friend about another girl who spilled a drink on her dress while at ta club the other day.

 A woman in a patterned maxi dress goes up to a member of the cleaning staff and asks for directions, the staff member uses hand gestures while giving the woman directions.

 A group of six people are sat at a table having a humorous conversation about a man’s misunderstanding with a policeman last week.

The news is on one of the television screens and the anchor is talking about the scores of a recent football match. There is a man who is the only person who appears to be watching it.

 A girl buys some hair extensions after complaining that her hair “is a state”.

 

The Library and The  Hub

Two tall, green leaved trees, blissfully ignorant of Autumn’s advancing presence, flutter in the unusually warm September breeze; their pointed finger tips delicately graze the seemingly dusty red bricks of the campus library with a certain natural elegance.

 Adjacent to the library, autumn’s elusive screwdriver can be seen at work, tweaking and loosening the invisible bolts that keep browning leaves rooted to the branches of their respective trees.

 Light breaths of wind wisp an array of autumnal colours into the air: crisp oranges and fruity reds dance and jive in an almost choreographed rhythm.  Gracefully, they glide to the ground with a stuck landing worthy of ten points. Silently and ever so gently, they settle on their grey, paved grave with a sound that’s too soft to hear. They crunch underfoot, a noise sadly exclusive to the colder months of Autumn and Winter.

 Mere metres below the library’s lush ever-green tree, natural elegance jarringly collides with social impropriety-bands of coffee-clutching students shuffle along glum faced and weary eyed taking regular swigs of over-priced black coffee to keep hangovers at bay; pale skin and jogger bottoms suggest that Starbucks isn’t quite the hangover elixir many thought it to be pre-purchase.

 The main hub isn’t quite busy yet, the day hasn’t begun for many at a raw 11am. The atmosphere is eerily quiet compared to Wednesday’s bustling Freshers’ fair. A que for the cash machine’s beginning to form though, more student loan being withdrawn to purchase precious but unperfected hangover elixir.

 The small square shop within, much like it’s exterior, is barely populated. A gentle flow of people make their way into the shop floor and consistently trickle out again like water from a stream. Hot dogs, surprisingly, appear to be a popular breakfast choice and, after last night, I must admit that they do look quite tempting.

 Harry Dungate

 

Untitled

 The sun smiles in a clear blue sky as a slight breeze cools the warm air. A blonde girl wearing blue skin-tight jeans and a white blouse walks languidly towards her destination. Her face white. No, literally painted white. She seems unaware of this fact, or she doesn't care. Noticing her friend in the distance, a smile breaks from her painted face. The friend moving much more enthusiastically, throws up her right arm and waves frantically. After a short time they unite and continue on their journey together, muttering words amongst laughter too quickly for me to comprehend. To my left, just past the trees, with their mobile branches and leaves singing in harmony with the wind, a cleaner carries two bags of waste in each arm, whistling his monotonous tune as he goes about his day-to-day tasks. The sun continues to smile, watching like I the events that transpire. A slight breeze cools the air.

 Brendan Quinn

 

An Observation

People are walking. People are talking. People are judging other people and others are completely ignorant to everyone around them. It's fascinating to watch an evolving species moving around in such basic protective circles. A gaggle of geeks pass by discussing the release of the first season of Arrow and one of the female members comments on the attractiveness of the male cast members.

I can vouch that the cast members are extremely attractive in that show, and also that one of the male members at the back of the group felt the same way, going by the grin he has on his face. This raises questions. Do the others know about his appreciation of the amazing physique of Stephen Amell or is he keeping that secret smile to himself and wondering when it would be the right time to nudge the girl and nod his agreement to her statement.

I hope he figures his stuff out, I mean, he's such a cutie, it would be a shame if he didn't open up and try to bag the messy haired, glasses wearing hipster who was also part of the geek group. Trust me, no-one with dress sense like he has is anything but gay. And with the looks he's getting from our 'Stephen Amell Fan-club President' I wouldn't be surprised if everyone else figures it out soon enough.

Wow, looking back over what I've previously written I have in fact lived up to the statement of 'you can find homo-erotic subtext in everything'. I need to stop with the fan-fiction and watching repeat episodes of Queer as Folk, homo-erotic subtext is becoming a real issue.

Charlotte Dunnell

Mass Observation

The Laundry Room

 

The Laundry room after a week of Freshers was bound to be full of new student who hadn’t probably seen a washing machine before in their whole life until now.

 Mostly girls, dressed in casual clothing, one wearing black leggings and bright blue converse sits on the floor leaning against a washing machine parallel to the one I suspect contains her clothes. She sits there watching it spin, hypnotised.

A few more girls come in and see the top-up machine is out of order, they stare blankly at the poster contemplating their knowledge of the English language, doubting the truth of the ‘Sorry for any inconvenience’ message.

  One girl with orange hair and a denim jacket is putting her washing in to a machine that I know doesn’t work. It pleases me to see people trying to figure out the machine. She kept inserting and reinserting her card in to the machine, ignoring or at least oblivious to the sound of it beeping in error.

Colin Smith

 

The Morning After

Walking along the paths of my new university, I found myself in a zombie-like state, unable to think properly, unable to process what was going on around me, and I even struggled to keep my eyes open. I was on my way to one of my first lectures, suffering from an immense hangover that was caused by last night’s antics of too many ‘liquid confidence’ shots, when I actually started to take in what was going on around me.

To my right was a student who appeared to still be in his pyjamas that he had received off his favourite granny when he was just a boy as he clung to his new purchases of fruit juice, paracetemol and a bag of Doritos. I guess I wasn’t the only one who felt like I’d been hit by a bus.

As I rounded the corner, something shameful caught my eye, and I when I turned my head to look, I noticed that I wasn’t the only one staring in complete shock. Two girls were stumbling across the path (barefoot I should add) in what appeared to be last night’s clothes, hairstyles and makeup.

The bags under their eyes informed us as the audience that they had a very late night indeed and with the way their kept their heads low and held onto each other for support completely gave it away that this was in fact an embarrassing walk of shame.

Sure, we students get up to all sorts of mischief and get into a lot of trouble from time to time but I never really expected university students to be daft enough to publicly display their behaviour, and just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, one of the girls collapsed to the floor before spewing up what looked like everything she had eaten for the past week.

I couldn’t hide my disgust any longer, so I quickened my pace and headed into the direction of my class, while promising myself that I would never let myself get so intoxicated that I would be in a similar position to the two classy girls who were out decorating campus with their vomit.

Megan-Grace Meeson 

Mass Observation

Taking it all in

I’m sat on a bench, the sun is shining, the wind is blowing, people are laughing and all I can think about is “where the hell am I tomorrow?!”. I mean, the way we have to figure out when and where we are is pretty hectic. You’d think the timetables could have just been posted online as well, you know, to make it easier on the commuters? But noooooo, technology is frowned upon! Why should it be made easier for new students? Well the idea is just ridiculous!

Anyway, I’m sat on this bench, observing people as they walk past. A bird chirps by me, it’s brown with spots and has an adorable little beak and head. One man walks past and I think “oh dear” as he is wearing leather on leather with sunglasses and a big buckle belt. It makes me wonder what goes through someone’s mind when they put together an outfit such as that. Now I’m not particularly fashionably myself but I know where the lines are so I don’t cross them into just “plain wrong”. Taking my eyes away from the fashion victim, my eyes roam over the scenery before me.

This place is beautiful. Manicured, sure, but still nice to look at without thinking “overdone”. The hedges are trimmed and green, despite it being autumn now. Only the trees show the changing of the seasons. Their leaves are spotted with different shades of browns and reds, littering the ground every time a wind blew by. The lake is a decent size, homing ducks, odd little red beaked birds and rabbits. Rabbits! Honestly I never expected their little fluffy grey heads to live on a university campus.

A bush rustles by me quietly and then the trees join in the chorus, gratefully drowning out the student’s rabble.  I sit, quietly, and feel content where I am. I feel the soft caress of the breeze on my cheek, slightly lifting my thick, unruly hair off my shoulders. It feels nice. It helps me ignore the ramblings going on in my mind, the insistent questions and nervousness that accompanies starting a new university. I let my mind wonder and I start to imagine what the university must look like in winter. White wonderland. Then I think about how I’m going to be spending the next three years here and all the good (and bad) memories I’m going to make. Expectant hope blooms in my chest and I smile.

Pamela Coughlan