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