The residual scent of coffee saunters through the air, merging with the countless cigarettes that litter the ground. A gentle breeze drifts through the air, perhaps hailing the coming of a storm; the sky boldly trying to remain blue in the face of coming overcast. Oddly, the ducks are more content than the people as they loiter by the waters edge, decidedly not bothered by the crowd of maladjusted seagulls. The faint buzz of nearby conversation is almost overwhelmed as the ducks 'laugh'. A dog flumps down in abject boredom as its owners refuse to pay it no heed. A parade of chattering people, bringing with them a cacophony of conversation.
William Cain
In reception.
Far off footsteps become louder as students approach, the long corridors are echoing with sound. The receptionist behind me, looks up and on making eye contact, she sheepishly buries her head in her work
More pupils pass by. “Are there any cash points near here?” asks a girl with a heavy Liverpudlian accent. The phone bleeps and the receptionist staples whilst listening to the receiver.
A thunderous roar is heard from further down the corridors. It is the cleaner and her mop bucket. A squeak from the wheel is buried in a murmur of monotonous and systematic rolling. It is almost train-like.
Two girls point, whisper and giggle. They are gossiping about a girl who apparently doesn’t wash. They point to a potted plant by my side and wonder if it is real. Once they leave the doors, I touch the plant, it is indeed real.
An Asian girl with a fashionable jacket sits near me. She reads a magazine resting on the table. My attention is distracted by a woman with straight hair and glasses. She is dressed entirely in grey. She carries a red Mickey Mouse bag; this is the only colour on her attire and it seems to contradict the impression that the rest of her appearance gives.
The Asian woman is joined by an older relative or perhaps a friend. They converse in their natural tongue. I believe they are Chinese, although I am no expert on foreign languages. However I’m fairly confident that my lack of understanding is not a result from my inexperience of Northern English accents.
One of my professors for English Literature is walks past. He is wearing a vibrant purple shirt. This also draws my attention to a statue outside of a naked concrete child, wrapping its arms around itself for warmth.
A woman in a suit walks past. She looks to be on a mission. Her Maroon lipstick makes her pout look sharp and threatening. I am glad not to have to cross paths with her.
Stephen Henry
Shapes and sizes in abundance
Gaggling geese or ducks pretending to be geese.
Live it! Live it! Live it!
People arriving at each other, blending and dispersing. Moving towards each other meeting, silently passing without greeting and moving on towards their destinations, single file, two by two, and clusters of individuals clinging to their peers, moving as one to blend in and hide within the crowd, their newly found friends, their newly found security blanket.
Ping cling ping cling metal on metal.
Clink clank, red shoes worn with a black suit, with a short skirt.
Live it! Live it! Live it!
The delivery guys with their orange trolleys stacked full of boxes filled with reams of paper are going to the same place but are walking apart from each other, at different angles, as if to appear independent. And the 50cc Bradshaw van, smooth, small, semi silent, slips sleekly around the corner and disappears behind the bushes as if it was never there.
Dog barking in the distance, strange on campus…
Clip, Clip, Clip, 2 inch heals echo on the pavement.
Live it! Live it! Live it!
The girl with the sleeveless t shirt is wearing a long thick scarf and holding her boyfriend’s hand obviously keeping her heart warmed if nothing else. And the mature students are heading to the ‘Nether Regions of the education department’ At the same time a boy band trio, hip young and handsome walk into the LINC, filled with anticipation, filled with promise.
Incessant clanging and banging of builders annoys.
Wahr Wahr Wahr, a gull almost laughing, claims his turf.
Live it! Live it! Live it!
Two boys, soon to be men, sit along the bench from me (could be watching me watching them) talk of ‘shit’. Are they discussing the verb? The noun? Or the adjective? Strange how their voices raised when speaking the often offending word. Strange how they speak it excitedly and strange that, that laughing gull over head is here so far from the sea, laughing, watching me.
Live it!
Jacqueline Mckenzie
Two canteen workers chat casually, during a lull in custom. The people to the left of me talk animatedly, in front of them, a sandwich and a packet of Quavers. A pair of girls in front of me talk about the sickness that one of them is experiencing. “Freshers Flu”, apparently. They get up and leave, making a stop at the bin before heading for the door. The smell of egg fills the air, and the custom at the till picks up again. The two people on my left talk about the intimacy that a couple they know share. One of them is more loving than the other. Two girls, a blonde and a brunette sit at the empty table in front of me, chatting, as the two people to my left leave. Three lads sit around a table, laughing and joking. A half eaten sandwich sits in front of one of them. The garden outside is full of vibrant colour. It contrasts against the dull brick walls of the university. Another woman joins the girls in front of me, and exchanges pleasantries. The three lads leave their table, leaving the half-eaten sandwich behind, still half-eaten. They are replaced by three new people, two guys and a girl, who are laden down with posters. The two cashiers strain over their tills, having a conversation. It abruptly ends, leaving the two women looking bored. A guy at a table behind me laughs out loud, as his friend gets up to leave.
Cameron McDermott
People walk past, lost in their own thoughts. The ducks splash and swim in the lake, oblivious to everything and everyone else. the sky is grey, as if it might rain at any moment. Fragments of conversation are picked up and then lost on the wind. A man comments on the beauty of our surroundings to his friend, who agrees with him. A woman sits with her back to me, facing her husband, a Labrador sitting faithfully by her side. Seagulls fly overhead, then land in the water.
A large crowd walks past, breaking the serenity for a moment with their combined voices and laughs. The peace is restored as they move further away, towards the campus. The smell of coffee travels through the air each time the door to the cafe is opened. Someone has left their dirty plate on the table where I sit. Some people can be so lazy.
Elizabeth Bower
Observations in the Terrace cafe
Though the square framed windows the sky is dark with heavy white clouds. On the grey roof of the opposite building a small brown bird hops across the roof tiles. Sitting in here, I listen to the endless late lunch time chatting. Different conversations blend together to form one continuous sound of voices. Mixed into this comes the sound of food packets crunching and the munching of sandwiches. Plates and cutlery clatter together and somewhere chairs scrap backwards on the grey spotted orange floor. Loud words of ‘good bye’ and ‘see you late’ cut though the background voices and are then gone.
Sitting opposite to me, a couple share a magazine. He wears blue jeans with a pale blue top and he has a shaven head. She wears a light brown t-shirt and many bangles on her arms. They get up, he collects his large sports type bag from the floor and she pulls down her black shirt. They walk out together, leaving behind them an abandoned sandwich packet on the table, its usefulness gone.
A girl’s voice flows over the other voices, ‘I could stay here all day.’
Another girl says ‘Where you off to now?’
Their voices fade once more into the background noise.
There is another man sitting opposite me now. He has a short black beard covering his chin and he writes on plain paper with a blue pen. He pauses and takes a bite from his sandwich.
A phone starts ringing, a hip hop music plays and is then quickly silenced. The answering voice is lost in a ripple of loud voices.
There comes the smell of chips that floats over the tables and then fades away.
A girl cries out, ‘Tomato ketchup on lettuce!”
The beard man opposite me has nearly written a side of paper. He stops and checks his phone.
The door opens on squeaky hinges and closes silently.
A man carrying a cutlery holder walks past. He smiles and nods his head at the woman on the till. He then crosses the floor to the cutlery stand, where he empties the cutlery into their correct holders.
Hails Hardman
LINC Building
A boy opposite with rosy cheeks wearing a Liverpool football shirt on is listening to music while concentrating on the screen in front of him. He is sniffing loudly.
There is silence yet there is not silence. Nobody is talking. The sound of the air conditioning and the hum of the electrical equipment is in fact noisy.
Four more people enter the room. There are three females and a male. They are all talking to one another as they position themselves at the computers. The silence has been broken yet the air conditioning still overpowers the conversation.
A money spider crawls over my left hand and makes its way under a computer.
The conversation has died down except for the girl with the auburn hair who is on her mobile phone talking to somebody about lectures.
Two of the females are now engrossed in Facebook looking at photographs of people hugging each other.
Mobile phone girl is still talking but clicking on various pages of Facebook. She is the loudest member of the quartet.
The male of the group is looking at his timetable on the internet and checks it against a piece of paper he is holding in his left hand.
Silence again apart from the rapid tapping of the keyboards.
The female who is sat next to mobile phone girl is looking at the same photos over and over again. A male of about twenty years of age with an orange face pulling his tongue out seems to be the favourite.
Paula Ward
In between the roars of motor vehicles meandering through the rabbit warren of roads winding their way in and out of campus, small snippets of conversation and responsive resounding laughter are then silenced as they have passed. In the trees which quiver only slightly in the welcomed soft breeze, birds thrive; contrasting with the whine of an engine which for a few minutes sits purring. This followed by a brilliant yellow JCB barging mechanically through campus before both car and digger rumble away. Jokes… strawberries and NUS cards reflect the low hum of chatter ranging. People; brightly dressed with corresponding bright faces, students bustle past clutching folders, phones and haphazardly seizing bags which are slipping down shoulders. Seemingly unaware of the beauty of their surroundings, activity focuses on reaching the next destination. Standing in what could be described as packs, they await transport which they are then loaded onto in small clusters and whisked away.
Kirsty Culshaw
In the distance I can hear the chatter of voices, with people walking past in deep discussion. They seem to quieten down as they walk past the weirdo sitting on the grass, scribbling into a notebook and watching the passers by. Everything seems peaceful, with the well kept greens of the campus, and historic significance of the main building. It all seems so tranquil, until the rumble of a JCB begins to move closer and closer to my peaceful surroundings, destroying the relaxing atmosphere in which I was greatly enjoying. As the load menacing machine shudders past me, it leaves a thick layer of dust, which blocks my view of the grounds. The people who are walking past begin to talk loader, to try and hear each other over the heavy machinery which is moving around them.
Katie Shaw
25.09.2008
People are standing in an unorganised line seemingly waiting for the bus to arrive. The depressed and woeful looks on their faces tells me that they have been waiting around for some time. I can barley hear what they are saying however because of the sound of people walking past me, many of them wearing heels making this task become more annoying by the second. Across the road from me stands a lone building surrounded by bins, more bins and litter discarded around the bins. The sound of engines humming and cars driving past start to drown out the sound of peoples heels clicking against the pavement. Horns are beeping, people are waving and then laughing. I don't understand what's so funny about seeing your friend in a car. Finally, the monstrous sound of the bus drowns out all else as it pulls up in front of the unorganised line. Relief briefly raises on the faces of the people as they see their bus pulling to a stop. Only briefly though as a fight soon starts about who's getting on the bus first.
Richard Dugdale
Observation - The lake...
Two workmen in fluorescent coats, one with a blue helmet, one with a white helmet, dig in the reeds at the edge of the lake. Three boys are sitting on a bench, heads to the ground. One has a beard and a bandanna; the other two have no particularly memorable features. Now there is only one workman in the reeds. He steps onto the wall by the waters edge and leans against the railings. He begins to smoke a rollup cigarette and he holds it in his mouth as he fumbles around in a pocket, bringing out a phone, dialling and holding it to his right ear. The other workman returns but he is no longer wearing a hardhat. He has a tattoo on one arm but it is old, smudged and faded so the pattern can’t be made out.
A large girl in a jumper crosses the boards near the water. The way the jumper hangs on her reminds me of those dogs with sagging rolls of fat. Now and again white birds flap and take flight from the lake. Each flies forward and then curves to the right, as if this is the rule for exiting flights. A man and woman are heading towards the cafe with a Labrador dog. The dog has a sleepy look about it and it’s concentration on the ground suggests that it is a guide dog. A bald man and a blonde haired girl are now sitting on the bench the bandanna guy was at. The girl has a camera and is photographing one of the many ducks sitting on the grass at the lakes edge. The man is looking searchingly across the water and occasionally takes a drag on a cigarette.
On another bench there is a boy in a stripy jumper talking on a phone. He keeps standing up, walking in a circle, and then sitting back down again. The girl with the camera crosses the wooden boards and stops briefly, placing her camera on the railing and taking another photo, quickly. People push trolleys across the wooden bridge that have sandwiches and bottles of lemonade on them. The wheels make a comforting click clack noise as they go.
A gull with bright orange legs lands on the railings. It just walks back and fourth, as if observing people. Three ducks now waddle casually over the bridge. One has a long strand of weed hanging from its beak. They pass close by me and I hear them quacking in a low conversational way. They suddenly fly into the water and swim in a line, before flying off again, just as suddenly.
Ross Law
25th September 2008. (2.30pm)
It was our first lesson and I had been sent here on a mission – to come up with a piece of writing and document the world drifting by and capture it! - I wandered to my location that I had been assigned on my map of Edge Hill as our exercise, as I made my way to the Sporting Edge, which was located on the outskirts of the campus. I was slowly but surely followed by the two young ladies both in brightly coloured Afro wigs, on stilts and with techno-coloured shorts.
I slowly walked in the direction of the Wilson Building, along the gravel outskirts to the benches where normally the spectators would watch as their friends and team mates would be participating in either athletics, rugby football or all the other sports that are either played competitively or as part of the sports their sports associated courses. At night the surrounding flood lighting would be lit- it was still daylight even if slowly the day was meandering towards late afternoon and a chill had started to fill the air.
In the middle of the grassed area were some rugby posts, a concertinaed large net, and hurdles on the racing track
A couple of buildings were in the distance – one looked like an accommodation block and the other where fellow students were being taught.
As I started to just sit there and wait for the snap-shot of what was life for that moment in time – the birds sang sweetly in nearby trees and rooftops, and mingled with the sound of a nearby extractor fan…. this was only broken by the passing of pairs of students chattering to each other as they cut through onto the grass… maybe thinking that waiting for them were imaginary submachine guns from the roof tops – waiting and secretly looking for them for their “lawlessness” of walking on the sacred grassed area?”.
They talked about this and that and no doubt of what they had done the last few nights and what they planned to do as they cut through.
A solitary bearded, suited tired looking professor heaved his large heavy black case, umbrella and equally heavy carrier bag towards the nearby car park which was nearby, longingly for the last time that day as he thought of going home and probably finishing off a bottle of wine to blot out that day.
A couple of student also cut through alone very silently across the grass- probably thinking of how drunk they were going to get that night when they met up with their mates
The girls on the stilts paced up and down unsteadily as I sat there - shaking their buckets of loose change and going up to everyone who happened to be in the vicinity and handing out their carrier bags before they disappeared indoors themselves.
Once my mission I felt was completed –I collected together my notes that I had made to enable me to make this snapshot of life at Edge Hill and started walking back to my class.
Valerie Navarra
Mass observation
Area 17 (performing arts building)
Unlike other areas of Edge Hill, the entrance to the performing arts building is almost silent. The only noticeable sounds are the chirping of birds and the quiet rumbling of car engines in the distance. The window of the building houses a poster for an upcoming stand up comedy show. The bright yellow poster almost fills one full pane of glass as it looks out towards me.
The silence is broken as a stream of students exit their classroom into the foyer of the building. Being outside, I can’t make out what the students are saying; although it’s obvious from their gleeful chattering that they are happy to be out. The noise quickly subsides as they hurriedly rush to another classroom.
After a little while, a group of three students leave the building to converse by the bench I’m sitting at. They talk between themselves for a couple of minutes with only the odd glance at the creative writing student sat beside them, strangely scribbling into a notepad. There conversation mainly centres on their previous lesson which apparently was a welcome class and in their own words, was “pointless”. Other than their “pointless” drama welcoming class, the group sporadically converse about other subjects such as housing, television, clothes and food. Apparently one of the group, a tall girl with curly blond hair and a tribal tattoo on her back, likes the show ‘two pints of lager and a packet of crisps’ as she talks for over a minute about an episode she watched the previous night.
The group’s conversation turns to a dance class they all attend. The blond girl stands in front of her friends and begins to show them some dance steps she had learned before coming to Edge Hill. She gloats at how her dance instructor had noticed how her dance style gave away that she had previously done ballet. She continues to dance, as though she was performing on stage. After the impromptu dance show and a quick cigarette, the group begin to walk away from the area in the direction of the main building, restoring silence back to the area.
Jamie McNally
Continuously, people brush by me non stop. People go about their business, occasionally some drop inside the university shop, or swing the double doors open as they enter the bar. Each time the doors swing the noise of the crowd becomes more audible, yet I can follow no string of conversation only random utterances and words. Across from me a girl sits still with her nose in a booklet gripping two bottles of soft drink and a gossip magazine. To my side, notices line the walls. Two couples crowd around them and bump me a few times before striding off again. The girl with the booklet takes leave at the site of her friend, who takes one of the bottles as she gabbers on about not being able to remember where anything is as the first girl nods, agreeing, with a “yeah, yeah”. There is a stale smell of smoke in the air mixed with the soapy smell of toiletries I can only assume is coming from the shop across. Suddenly, there is a bizarre sight as two girls in bright yellow dresses and afro wigs, probably as part of some kind of promotion, walk their way in on a pair of tall stilts. The first manages somehow to climb inside a photo booth as the second behind her sways and laughs hysterically behind, somehow managing to keep her balance.
Mark Smith
----------------
The rather vast ‘courtyard’ that overlooks the Edge Hill pond is an ideal place to see and observe diverse events and people without really being too obtrusive. It is also the best place to be - out in the open, with the soothing sound of the water and the light, cool breeze – on a bright, sunny day like this. There are quite a few students walking around : Some just out of classes, strolling, with all the time in the world. Others rushing to get to theirs on time. A lot of them sport fluorescent green wristbands which tells me that they are fellow freshers.
From where I’m sitting opposite the Learning Resource Centre Building, I can see just some of the famous Edge Hill ducks. But the noises of the others much further away from my line of vision, drift across the water as if to confirm their presence to me. The area is suddenly very quiet and devoid of the usual gaggle of people and I have time to look around at all the buildings … the mixture of the classical brick and stone ones with that of the very modern glass and steel ones, very pleasing to the eye. Striking that elusive perfect balance between the old and the new, the ‘ancient’ and the ‘modern’. Just then a man walks past with his dog. He (the man, not the dog!) is wearing a thin, brown sweater over a white and blue checked shirt in such a way that you can only see the collar part of his shirt. The dog is an adorable Labrador (hey that kind of rhymes on some weird level!) and is happy to be out and walking in the warm sunshine, one can see that with the way his tail keeps constantly wagging. He seems relatively harmless and quite friendly though. Before I can observe him more, a large group of guys and girls walk by and I hear two of the girls call out my name. My friends - Lucy and Lisa - on their way to the faculty of Education. I nod a greeting to them and we talk a bit before I remember that I have an assignment to complete and before they remember that they have to get to class!
The unfamiliar noise of the seagulls pulls my gaze overheard and I see that there are many of them around - on the roofs, over the water, in flight – screeching their lungs out as a way of communication with each other. Somehow whenever I see or hear the word ‘seagull’ , my mind immediately brings up the image and story of ‘Jonathan Livingston Seagull’ by Richard Bach, which is one of my favourite books. It does that now and I become kind of lost in thought over it before a guy talking rather loudly on his mobile, settles down on the bench right next to mine. He is wearing a red t-shirt and a tan coloured jacket and blue jeans and seems really agitated over something. The wind blowing my way and the guy’s weird accent prevents me from hearing what he is saying but I gather that it is something about not being able to make someone do something they don’t want to. Though clearly preoccupied with his talk, he has time enough to look in my direction and give me a weird look that wonders why I’m observing him so closely. I take the hint and turn my attention elsewhere. Two other students from my Creative Writing class are sitting at some distance, nearer to the edge of the smaller pond, which is right in the middle of the courtyard. One of them is sitting with her back against the inner wall bordering that pond, her feet up on the ledge, her notebook on her knees. I see her comfortably settled but furiously scribbling. She stops for a moment, as if sensing my gaze, looks over at me and waves. I wave back, just as the ducks in the smaller pond start flapping their wings furiously, splashing water in all possible directions, while some of them fly over to the actual pond. This catches the attention of a group of students who have just walked out of the CMIST building and they head closer – some of them lean over the edge and feed the ducks some scraps, while some of them just eye them rather warily from a bit further away, as if afraid that they might get their heads bitten off if they went any closer. Two of the braver ducks venture close enough to the girl feeding them, for her to scream and back away hastily with the ducks still venturing closer.
I become so absorbed in the spectacle that it is almost too late before I realise that I have to be back in the class within the next 2 minutes. I pack up my things and walk away, wondering what eventually happened to that girl feeding the ducks.
ANUSHREE NANDE
2:21pm, Sports Field:
Cars line the perimeter of the field, maybe close to a hundred. The field itself is deserted, apart from one man, a janitor of some sorts walking along the track. Four students just past the far end, probably walking to their cars. There are three in front, one behind. A van drives past behind me and as it leaves, the only sound to be heard is birdsong. Students pass by going nowhere exciting judging by the scuffing of feet.
The flow of students seems almost continuous now, talking within their groups about stationary and general small talk. Two wasps are circling branches on the tree beside me. I'm not a fan of wasps but right now it's a case of live and let live. One of the insects moves to a lower branch and my fear returns; I feel myself shuffling back and turning to watch it's movements almost obsessively. The wasp flies around the nearby branch, almost menacingly, he can sense my discomfort. The field ahead is once again deserted and another van drives by, as a group of giggling students pass me.
Heather Sutton
There is a slight rustling of the leaves caused by a tiny breeze of the wind. Several of them have tiny, uneven holes in them. They have clearly provided a veritable feast for the caterpillars and other such tiny creatures. Some are browning, a sign of the change in the season. Others are still resisting the onset.
The Edge Hill bus on its tireless journey, with three or four students sitting inside. The Edge Hill bus driver has a bored, mundane, tired expression on his face, clearly showing his love for his job.
A woman walks by with sunglasses on, seeming unaware of the lack of sunshine making the act of wearing sunglasses slightly redundant.
There is a car waiting patiently at the gate. The gate doesn’t rise, apparently playing a malicious game with the car and making the driver more and more frustrated.
A JCB ploughs its way down the beaten road which silently groans under the immense weight of the beasts powerful tyres. Not content with the punishment it has handed out, it reverses back to give the road more.
A line of nine bollards stand beside the road, eight of which stand tall and upright. One however leans pitifully to one side, the victim of an innocent accident or a drunken misdemeanor.
Mark Parker
The LRC has a coffee house inspired atmosphere with the comforting sound of light conversation and the frantic tapping on a computer keyboard. Sat in the centre of the room, there is a constant flow of students as they grab a quick coffee before lectures or walk around casually searching for the book they desire. A man directly in front of me catches my eye, his posture relaxed and legs crossed as he reads his newspaper in the corner of one of the sofas. He occasionally furrows his brows as he reads something that causes disapproval, the sound of him fiddling with his chocolate bar wrapper reflecting this. His relaxed persona is a contradiction to the five or six women sitting opposite him already in an intense and deep conversation. However, the light topic of dogs, “...bed and lead...oh God I told Dan he had to buy some dog food!” matches the chilled atmosphere of the room.
A crash of papers shoots through the library and leaves a red faced and green wristband student sheepishly drop to his knees in a frantic attempt to retrieve them. I notice a member of staff look sympathetically at the student but she remains seated, shuffles a few papers around her own desk and takes a few sips of her brew before heaving herself off her chair in a moment of guilt to help him.
Meanwhile, the group of women have exploded into laughter as one of the older women has burst into an improvisation of an angry cat, complete with sound effects. After a bit of sighing and the wiping of eyes, the women settle down and attempt to change the conversation topic with “my hairdresser always says I sit with one shoulder above another, don’t know why!”
Sarah Nicholson
29/9/2008 14.20 Edge Hill University Campus
Serene surroundings broken only by the heavy and constant mumble of cars. A cluster of boys “Go on lad! Go on!” A nervous and seemingly lost girl combs her fingers through her hair self consciously, keeping her head to the ground as she manoeuvres her way through the campus. Excited fresher’s converse; “Are you on campus or off?... Which halls do you live in?... Have you been to the S.U?... Which course are you doing?...” Loud jingle of keys and coins as a man walks by, camera in hand. A jogger dressed in shorts and a woolly hat speeds past followed by a couple hand in hand laden with Aldi bags.
Louise Costigan
The Rock Garden
I position myself against the trunk of a tree, allowing its rough bark to scratch my back like a lover. The stillness of the garden absorbs my mood and slowly, before my eyes, it comes alive. Insects chirp and dragonflies dance in the air like myths, whilst in the distance I can see the gentle mounds of rabbits punctuating the greenery. The image transports me to the summer days of old; reading Richard Adams and allowing my mind to pillage the burrows of Watership Down.
The distant drum of traffic brings me back and I cast my gaze above, at the cracks of blue peering through massing clouds. It is then that I notice, nestled in the leaves of a high tree, a hula hoop.
Discarded.
I focus my thoughts on this lost, child’s toy and suddenly I’m drunk again. And I’m laughing. And I’m launching the circle into the air. Into the stars. Or else trying to but only reaching the lowest branch. Blaming my pathetic throw on the world and its incessant swaying.
A man appears from out of the foliage. Deer like. He darts through the clearing with his head down. I manage to note an official looking uniform before he runs out of sight.
I stare at the rocks in the wall, taking care to avert my eyes from the cracks. I try to relate their colour to the atmosphere of the garden but the deer returns. Hurrying through with a clip board in hand.
His intrusion into my solitude makes me question time. I become unsure of how long I’ve stayed.
As I gather my things I steal a single feather so as to remind myself to return…
Jesse Thomas
Creative Writing: Taking Notes outside the College Shop
Inside the shop there are the usual suspects, things that you might find in most shops like chocolates and food, booze, toiletries, stationary, paper, books and second hand books which is quite a good idea at a university and at the back there is a display for the Edge Hill hoodies.
There are lots of people walking past and I can only catch little bits of conversations. Two girls walk past me quite quickly, one asks the other, “Where are you going?” she replies, “Getting signal.”
A group of lads walk past and one shouts, “Yeah, that poster!” and the others start to laugh.
Laughter is the main thing I can hear come to think of it, along with the bleeping of the till, music playing in the bar and the swish of the automatic doors as people walk through them.
Most people are buying sweets and chocolate but there are two guys with A3 sheets of card, maybe they are doing art or making posters for tonight.
A girls voice says, “Can you hold this?” there isn’t a reply so I’m assuming whoever it was she was talking to held whatever it was she wanted holding.
Two lads come up to me and ask, “S’cuse me love could you tell me where the SU is so I can sign up to some stuff, sports like.”
“Yeah, just go through them doors and it’s a little door on your left.”
-Someone shouts really loud, “SHE’S IN THE JUNGLE!”-
We all laugh then the first lad that spoke asks, “Them doors where they play pool and that?”
“No, no the doors right at the end there.” I answer pointing him in the right direction.
“Ah right, someone sent us down here,” he laughs then says goodbye.
Some people are giving me some really funny looks but I suppose I might look a bit odd just stood here writing away. Ouch I think I just tried to slice my own finger off with some paper!
A couple walk past arguing, the girl is shouting at the lad, “That’s not funny, say you’re sorry, you’re an arsehole, don’t talk to me…say you’re sorry!”
Lots of random bits of conversation; ‘Yeah it’s a good un’
‘So Mel nearly got battered’
‘She put some pants on me head!’
‘So when’s that gunna start for ya?’
I’ve just realised that there is no rubbish on the floor, I’m quite surprised really as I thought there would be more when there are so many people about, there’s only an elastic band on the floor. Although the cigarette tray in the bin just outside is full, it’s not a good sight.
A girl with a really nice dress on just walked past; I wonder where it’s from.
I’ve only just noticed that photo booth, its strange sometimes how you can look at something everyday and never really notice what is there.
Two lads walk past with big bottles of water and pretend to throw it at a group of girls
Just as you go into the shop, there’s a big patch of brown parcel tape on the tiles, I wonder why?
Three girls walk past, one asks, “Do you wanna go to town? I want to go shopping.”
“Shopping?” another girl asks a bit dismissively as if it would be pointless and boring, it’s a bit of a different view really.
The Red Hot Chilli Peppers song ‘Californication’ is sounding from the bar, now I’m going to have that song stuck in my head all day.
Two girls are giggling to themselves and one laughs, “A big fat a*se you mean?”
The other sounds a bit shocked and laughs, “May! Don’t say that!”
“I’m joking!”
“No you’re not!” and they both start laughing again.
A group of people walk past and one asks, “Are you going out tonight?”
Someone else replies, “Yeah Stanley!” in a funny voice and they all start laughing.
There’s a group of lads acting all macho, it’s quite funny really, they keep flicking he occasional eye over to some girls just to check if they’re watching.
“Yeah I’ll just have to smile it off won’t I, not a lot much else I can do.”
The clip clop clip clop of heels on the floor.
I can’t see who’s talking because I’ve got my head down writing but it is boys voices I can hear.
“Tell a joke.”
“Na, I don’t know any good ones.”
“What about UNDALAY!”
More laughter followed by, “Shut up you clown.”
“I’ll just kick her in the back of the heels so she falls.” Laughter.
“That’s a bit harsh, you’re evil!” more laughter.
Someone jus said, “That’ll be reet!” That reminds me of home!
“I just spent £500!” Would it be nosey of me if I wondered what on.
“I hope not all of that was on booze for this week.”
Two girls start laughing.
Dawn Wild
An annoyingly happy man is squeaking past me with a prehistoric wheelbarrow. He bounces towards me, desperate to say something, and chuckles
“That’s an odd place to sit down and write, isn’t it?” I sigh, partly because I’m far too hot, and partly because I’m trying to think of something captivating to write, and he and his wheelbarrow continue to annoy me.
“Not really, considering I’m writing about you.” Now his smile is insincere. Bye bye wheelbarrow man.
I’m not here to chat; I’m here to write something interesting...And it’s really not working.
I can feel some warm ventilation thing seep out of the wall. It smells musty, almost dirty. I shuffle to the left but I block a doorway. I shuffle to the right but realise all this shuffling isn’t helping me write anything vaguely significant. I stop shuffling. A man trudges past on some tractor type thing, and its noise gets closer, then closer, then passes. I struggle for inspiration so I eat a crisp. Next, I look pantomimically to the left, then to the right, as if with some sort of purpose. To my left, the map tells me ‘You are here’. To my right I see something drop from the tree. I like the way trees move when there’s a breeze, a bit like they’re dancing together to a ballad. I could imagine them getting lighters out and swaying. Maybe that’s what causes those big forest fires in Australia... Possibly.
I stop thinking about the tree when I realise that the thing that dropped from it was bird poo. Nice.
A cardboard box sits next to the bin. My suspicion boils, and my patience starts to melt down like a lit candle. I push myself off the ground; ready to take a look...Tractor man is back so I wait for him and his noise to pass.
The box is as empty and uneventful as this work, but thankfully there’s a cute little bird box on the ground that cheers me up. It looks so little and cosy that I wish I could live in it. The birds aren’t grateful for it; they just sit in the trees and poo.
A fellow blonde rushes past me and glares. My insecurities mirror hers as we both know who I’m writing about and we both feel uncomfortable as a result.
I wonder whether tractor man is doing laps, just to annoy me. I don’t like tractor man. A pack of 18 year old males laugh, shout and occasionally push each other in order to make the 18 year old females in the location consider the males to be masculine. I feel insecure so with one hand I write and with the other I let my finger tips stroke the grass. I dig my fingernails into the dirt then panic about hygiene.
A couple amble down the path, and I debate whether they are a result of fresher’s week and a mixture of vodka-red bulls.
I think I may throw something at tractor man.
I contemplate how much time I have left to write something inspirational and figure it’s too late.
My phone rings. Hello mum.
Jenny Thacker
