Amassed Observations

Observations

 

Adjusting to the hard, beige-ish coloured wooden seat, the student ahead of me huffed as his golden brown coffee sloshed on to the round table top in the Hub. The small splurt of hot coffee on the table jiggled with the vibration of his overly sized mobile phone he'd placed just shy of my own.

Looking down; trainers, converse, Dr.Martens, and sandals - of all things in this dreary weather - passed the table as I sat, staring intently throughout the students' social area.

A small spark of sunlight beamed through the large wall of window at the far end of the large space, making way for the pelting rain that swiftly followed. Umbrellas flew up in an array of bright colours; from pink to florescent yellow to the outstanding blue of a foreign sea. One however, that did stand out to me was one of a midnight black colour in the heart of a large group of female students making inaudible comments as they patted their hair, visibly worrying about frizz due to the heavy rain. A blonde girl bravely walked, without any cover, in front of the window that I had moved towards in order to obtain a better over-view of the small splatters of rain hitting the red faces of the PE students that ran past in their shorts and t-shirts - the poor people.

Staring as I wrote, a woman in an overly large bright purple hoody with 'Edge Hill University' printed in a vibrant yellow colour slipped on a clear liquid, that I assumed to be water, after it had been spilt on the floor by one of the hurrying students as they rushed to a table in the warm, dry congregation of huddling people. With the elegance of a swan, the woman rose to her black-booted feet, pushed her nose high up in to the air, in an attempt to get over her embarrassment, and strode on her way as I stood to leave.

Notebook and pen in hand, I watched as students, lecturers, bin men and all manner of other people stared as I found the nearest tree to stand beneath, sheltering myself from the onslaught of rain.

Looking back towards the Hub, I stood and watched one of the lecturers that had detailed the mass observation to our class; black shoulder bag in hand, desperately running to throw away the empty white starbucks cup that had a wooden stirrer poking out of its top.

The rain had stopped, so I wandered towards the main reception area, greeted by 30 or so freshers piling off of the Edge Link bus as they hurried towards their various destinations. A man, older than the others, carried a worn copy of 'Wuthering Heights' as he slowly meandered through the group, seemingly unaware of me as he walked straight through a puddle by the side of the curb, submerging his, previously, white 'Nike' trainer in the murky rain water. An almost inaudible curse escaped his mouth as he lifted his left foot out and shook it off, batting away a browning leaf as it relentlessly clung to his shoe.

 

Gracie Marie (e-name)

 

 

Observations of the lake

28/10/2012

 

The waterfall falls peacefully into the lake which is home for the quarrelling ducks. All of a sudden a rabbit bounces across the springy grass as a man’s cigarette smoke escapes into the air.

 

A jumbo jet echoes in the mighty sky above, whilst the papers in my journal blow apart in a swift gust of wind. And a cold, deep shiver creeps down the back of my spine.

 

Everything is quiet but the constant chopping sound of the gardener’s sheers. He beheads the plants with an expression of satisfaction across his face.

 

The wind picks up and produces a distant roar, spiralling through the atmosphere around me. Waves of students float past me offering confused glances; one of which is eating a sandwich and my stomach rumbles with jealousy.

 

A Honda motorbike stands beside the large towering building …I wonder who it belongs too? The pigeons don’t care as they saw left to right in beautiful synchrony.

 

The rain is here now…I am going back inside!

 

Robert Farmer

  

Observations

 

A man (gardener?) just drifted by his bright orange ride-on lawnmower. The big spinning light on the back of it alerted people to his presence, he damn sure wasn’t going to move out of the way for them! He drifted around a corner and out of sight.

A few minutes go by and I see other people writing, pads and pens in hand. I hope they’re not writing about me. Two women walk by in fluorescent green vests, they look like policewomen but they have a different, much fancier title on the back of their jackets that I didn’t quite catch.

 

A crowd has begun to gather near me so I plan to head inside. But wait! A man in a small truck just drove over and stopped next to me. ‘Edge Hill Facilities Management’ apparently. The man climbs out, retrieving a bag from the shutter on the back of the truck. He just shot me a look, as if saying, “Have you never seen a man in a comically tiny truck before?” The crowd around me has begun rolling up cigarettes. Going inside doesn’t seen quite as interesting anymore. But on the other hand it looks like it might rain.

 

I’ve moved now to the other side of the duck pond and the sudden wind is making writing just a little bit trickier. People are sat in the café in the Education Building, pointing at me and the other writers. Sure, a person walking around writing isn’t an everyday occurrence but it hardly warrants pointing! A group of people walk closely by the pond, lost in their own worlds, and for a second they look as if they may fall in. Part of me wants that to happen. They’d fall in and I’d be stood ready on the side to write about it.

 

I guess I was wrong before, about it raining. In fact the sun has just come up. I’m now stood near a tree which has tiny bits of white strips cloth on nearly every branch. I think I know what they are but it didn’t matter. The rough weather had stripped them of their meaning and legibility. I’m guessing no one really cares though, they still look pretty cool.

 

I’m stood on the tiny bridge now. A kitten just darted out from within a bush on the edge of the duck pond, scared away by the ducks aggressive quacks. Clever ducks.

A security guard walked by on my other side, chatting casually on his radio. The gardener is back now, only without his lawnmower (that’s ‘parked’ around the corner) He’s trimming the bushes and chopping loose branches. Ok now it’s raining. The way the drops bounce on the stillness of the water feature make it seem almost interesting for once.

 

Jack Bumby

 

 

Mass Observation

 

The Wilson Centre cafe was not a place you could go if you desperately

craved privacy. The walls to the outside were nothing more than sheets of

glass, showcasing the outside world for the few paranoid souls who still

lingered inside watching the weather, making sure that the rain had indeed

faded from the sky and that the sun had finally settled into its position

for the day against a bright sapphire sky. At first, it appeared as if I

was the only one in the area who wasn’t relaxing. Everyone else had their

friends and a drink at hand to enjoy the scenery with, where as I had

traded my complimentary drink for a previously blank notepad and a friend

for a faithful blue armchair. As it turned out, however, I was not in fact

the only writer who had sought the safety of the café as opposed to the wet

if fairly sunny outside climate.

 

She crept into view like a timid deer, checking that the area was clear

from predators before entering. Her eyes were hidden behind a pair of

glasses and her head was a deep chestnut brown. In her hands, she clutched

onto her notepad, as desperately as someone might hold tightly onto some

water during a trek through a desert. It was precious to her, possibly why

she held it close to her chest. It held something special to her: words,

her words. She continued to cradle her notepad close, almost as if it were

a young silent baby snuggling into its mother’s chest. As she left, my brow

furrowed. I was alone once more.

 

The café wasn’t busy but, luckily, it was hardly dull. ‘I will always love

you’ bellowed from an unseen radio whilst people walked to and fro. A man

with broad shoulders and a grey coat skulked up into the room un-noticed

save for me. He seemed to carry a fairly pale look about him, leading me to

guess he was possibly a phantom of some sort. Whilst this was absurd, much

like a ghost, he vanished suddenly out of sight but not out of mind. In

front of me, three gentlemen sat sipping on their Starbucks coffee as if it

were the nectar of life. They were seemingly oblivious to my frantic

scribbling on paper, my attempts at noting down their presence and simply

smiled blissfully in each other’s company. The same could not be said,

however, for the blonde haired woman who approached the counter of the

café. She seemed to be alone, waiting patiently behind a man in cue for her

coffee. Her coat wasn’t anything too special apart from the colour. It was

a deep dark green, much like the colour of the trees I had passed earlier

that day on the way to University. In her hands, she fidgeted with a maroon

purse that looked almost like a passport to the untrained eye. She slowly

strolled up to the counter when it was her turn, ordering a quick coffee

before carefully slinking away.

 

At that moment, the three gentlemen were joined by a fourth man, dressed in

a crisp neat white shirt. He seemed out of place among them. There clothes

were simple, casual even. There was nothing really remarkable about

anything they wore, especially when compared to their neatly dressed

acquaintance. He looked more like a waiter than a university student. Soon,

the four strangers stood up and made their way towards the door. As they

left, I did as well, for the café had become quite empty and I desired to

see more stories unfold outside the still Wilson Centre café.

 

Outside, the sun was shining brightly, causing the small wet puddles that

still clung to the ground, enduring the torture of evaporation, to sparkle.

Five workmen strolled past. For a moment, it was hard to distinguish one

from the other. They appeared to be the same shape and size. They were like

an army of soldiers, all clothed in bright blue pants and dark blue

jackets. They walked as one, like a wave washing over the stone path. The

white helmets that clung to their head reminded me of mountains topped with

snow. They moved confidently, with commitment. As they passed by, so did a

friendly jogger. Surprisingly, he was not outside but inside. Like the

workmen, however, he too was cloaked in blue. The only real difference was

that dark patches stuck to the jogger’s shoulders as if the puddles from

outside had leapt up at him like affectionate dogs but had failed to let go

of his tracksuit jacket. As the jogger was, as you might guess, jogging

down the corridor, he disappeared from sight fairly quickly He was not

missed for long as my gaze was quickly drawn to something new. Nearby a

blonde and ginger haired girl, both of whom had their hair wrapped in a

pony tail, there stood another dark haired woman. Her dress was the thing I

had spotted. The Wilson Centre, after all, was a nice place to be but it

was not exactly a world of colour contained within a single building. It

was why I was so surprised when I turned the corner and was greeted with

her dress which flashed an array of colours. It was as if someone had

photographed a sunset and copied the colours into fabric. The bright burnt

orange sun crossed against the dark black border of the horizon and was

mixed in with the occasional yellow flash creating a chaotic but somehow

soothing collection of colliding colours. It blended together in odd

slashes and stripes. On a second glance, it resembled a tiger’s fur coat.

The bright combination of colours entranced me.

 

Michael Turner

 

 

Mass Observation

I would sit down for this observation however; the bench is coated in a shiny haze of raindrops, left behind and discarded by the passing monsoon season that so graciously joined the Edge Hill campus this week.  As I stand on the bridge that overlooks the pond, home to the almighty ducks of Edge Hill; I find no better reason to have a cigarette, even if just for a split second I gain warmth from the flame of the lighter on this bitterly cold day.

            Across the pond I see herds of students walking to and fro buildings, socialising and integrating to either the return of student life or the beginning of the experience. Bold and vibrant colours glisten across the pond. The attire of the students giving hope that the sky, a grey so dark will pass and let the sun prevail. It tries so hard to break free from the clouds, continuously battling a war he cannot win, or at least I feel a futile attempt.

            Just now a tortoise shell cat proceeds to advance on the water lilies of the pond, stalking any and every movement with delicate precision. He leaps from bush to bush to avoid the passing humans. Gone with a blink of an eye the predator disappears from sight.

           As I stand on the bridge I hear snippets of conversations between passing students. Just as the cat had disappeared, the conversations are soon to disappear around a corner, forever.  They mimic that of a newsfeed in the form of a racing car.

            Now I turn my attention and gaze to notice the other students observing their surroundings. Each one completely enthralled with the task at hand, heads buried in books and pens scribing the proceedings at hand. Each student strategically positioned to capture the essence of edge hill life. I divert my scrutiny back to the pond, to talk about the ducks but the cat had returned.  How that cat does love the limelight.

 

Declan Fox

 

 

The Lake

 

The ground is wet, but the rain no longer falls. What previously would have

been a patter of raindrops is now silence; the only sound I hear is the

trickle of water and occasional quack. The occasional quack is a mystery -

no ducks are in sight.

 

Rays of golden light stream onto the ground before disappearing again. The

sunshine is clearly beginning to make a getaway after being locked away

behind the deep, grey clouds for too long. Knowing the English weather, it

won’t be on the run for too long.

 

The delicate breeze is gently pulling on the reeds next to the lake,

gradually creating a current in the water, causing tree branches to sway

softly. However, what comes with this soft and relaxing breeze is an

unfriendly chill that leaves my fingers with no feeling.

 

The ducks have finally made an appearance, as have a few students, all in

small groups of two or three. The chatter and laughter grows louder as they

(the students, not the ducks) approach where I am sat, then this comforting

sound fades as they walk off towards the dark, wooden bridge.

 

Five minutes have passed and many different people have speedily walked

away, none of them into the café for some reason. I wouldn’t mind going in

for a hot chocolate if I’m honest. Winter must be on its way pretty early;

I only ever feel the need to have a hot chocolate then.

 

Every stranger that walks past can clearly feel this hand numbing

temperature, too. Hands are placed into pockets or tucked up into sleeves.

Arms are pulled up and pressed against chests. The desperation to keep warm

is obvious - everyone is speed walking. Does anybody ever take their time

when it’s chilly outside? Most likely not. I certainly don’t. The scowls on

faces passing by also shows the bitter feelings towards this typical

British weather, or they possibly just had a boring lesson. Could be a bit

of both.

 

I was right. The sunshine wasn’t on the run for long. It has vanished and

the rain is back. And my time is up. I too shall be speed walking back to

shelter like everyone else.

 

Jasmin Gannon

 

 

Mass Observation

 

Maybe I shouldn't have just sat down on a bench decorated with raindrops. A

tree, green with the possibility of hope and life catches the wind, gently

dancing as one. It blocks my view of a muddy green lake. Could it be called

a lake, is it big enough? The guy stood with his notebook in the bridge is

a smoke. Filthy habit, although now I seem to be intrigued by the idea.

Another guy, dark clothed, stands around with earphones firmly planted in

his ears. I’m slightly dizzy from a hangover. What time is it? Does the

buzzing possibility of a text in my left pocket from an hour ago bear any

effect on this location, this writing? 10:49 according to my phone. I feel

silly. I always have. It’s only a matter of time, him realising that. Am I

taking this too seriously? Everybody seems determined to tell me how alone

I am. Do I believe it? I think so. The bitter air and cold bench implores

me not to forget about the scratch marks on my arm. Self-inflicted. Drama

Queen. See, I’m too pathetic to do anything but that, or starve myself.

Because I have to be alone. No particular reason, just that I don’t get

nice things and somebody has to be miserable. This doesn't feel like

observational writing anymore, just another one woman pity

party. I've never really been that good a writer anyway. I suppose you

would wonder why I’m studying it then. Because it’s the only thing I’m half

decent at. And I wanted to escape. I wanted to find, as stupid as it

sounds, love. Yet I feel confined in this open space once more. I bring it

upon myself. I’m scared. My hair falls in front of my face and I can barely

see what I’m writing. I just smell him on me, still. I don’t know what I’m

supposed to do. The blonde haired lecturer told us writing was solitary.

She doesn't want me to find a sense of completeness either. People keep

moving around and another author spies me. Oh, he’s turned his head away

now. One brief flicker of attention. That’s all I ever get. The hair in my

face will be good to hide my tears, should I start crying. I’m vain, in

that I crave sympathy. Everything I do suggests it. Do you think I can ask

Kim to help me? My new personal tutor? He won’t want me to cry to him, I’m

sure of it. I want to check that text but I’m scared. That’s all I ever am.

What if he flirts and I can’t do it back? I can’t be enough. No question

mark. I still hear the faint swishing and words of two much more in place

and prettier girls talking about health as they walk on. I need to be more

healthy, I know. But 600 calories is enough, more than. I need to cut down

really. I overate this whole freshers week. I disappoint those already skin

and boned girls. I wish I could achieve that, but no. I’m stuck at a rather

large 10/12 size. I wish I’d bought a pair of scales. I bought a measuring

tape but that won’t help me restrain myself as I see the pounds pile on. I

check my phone. 11:05. Do you think he really cares? I’m ignoring his text

still. I need to stop feeling so emotional. I just wish I could believe him

when he says he’s here for me. I haven’t had anyone like that. I try to

blink away fading tears as the wind bites back at me, suspicious coupled

with the sun. Most people have moved on now, smoking, talking, leaving me

in that solitude. Socialising. I burp through familiar hunger pains. I love

them because they hurt, they remind me ‘eating is pure, starving is the

cure.’ I’d almost let myself forget that. Then again, it’s only a diet. Not

too bad. The guy who looks like John O’Callaghan from The Maine brushes a

hand through his light hair and what I believe to be a raindrop falls. More

now. Frequent. People move and leave. A bustling of life. Some carefree

duck quacks frantically. I should too. I've written far too much.

 

Kerry Andrews

 

A Bleak Day

 

It’s a pretty bleak day. The clouds are fresh out of rain, sweeping across the sky in broad watercolour strokes, their edges bleached of colour by the low-rising sun. Its rays are weak; they stripe the lake’s surface glitter grey in rippling parallel lines that chase a group of ducks to the relative safety of the mud-slicked bank.

 

I shiver in my seat and tug my sweater sleeves down past my elbows as a biting autumn wind descends. It whistles through reeds that huddle in cramped clusters at the lake’s edge, renders them hunchbacked, bent into shaking arches like senescent spines. Hoards of ducks nestle between their withered bodies in search of shelter, squawking erratically at bemused passers-by with an enthusiasm that I find admirable in such depressing weather.

 

The rain starts up again, spitting concentric circles into the murky body of water at its feet, and I am grateful for the awning stretched over the bench where I sit with some fellow students. Still, raindrops slant beneath the shelter on the sly, pricking the pages of my notebook, and black ink bleeds into a sprawling mess that smudges the skin of my fingertips.

 

The rain hammers harder. It elicits an outcry from the lake, and I look up from my soiled hands. The ducks are yammering on in little bursts of angry sound, emerald heads bobbing as they scuttle deeper into the shelter of the reeds. Their smoky grey feathers are dampened darker by rain, and ruffle indignantly under the onslaught of the sky. Poor buggers. It’s pretty funny, though.

 

Shannon Eden

 

Mass Observation

Upon reaching the Wilson Building, I notice the weak sun has completely vanished behind the thick fluffy grey clouds that threaten the chance of rain. The swirling path leading up to the building is damp and wet under foot, with the occasional puddle to step over, or if you really want to, step or jump into it, depending on your attire of course.

As I stroll along, the tall trees are still in full bloom, the green leaves are yet to fall, blocking my view of the athletics track. I round the bend to see the athletics track in all its splendour and glory…But no one is on it! It is unusually quiet and empty, apart from the occasional student passing me on their way to lectures, looking tired from the lack of sleep and too much partying, after all it is freshers Week!

The automatic doors to the Sporting Edge Building rattle and shake and seem in need of repair. Entering the café I am instantly hit by the strong yet fragrant smell of coffee and the sound of a fridge humming in the background, but the humming is over powered by the sound of a coffee machine preparing and making a coffee for a student. Only a couple of students are sat in the café, drinking coffee and talking to friends quietly, as radio music is played in the background.

 I venture along a curving corridor, there is suddenly the rush and bushel of students walking and talking quite loudly to each other and if I listen carefully enough I can hear the quiet shuffling of their feet which they too lazy to pick up properly…Then the corridor is silent again, only me and my feet occasionally disturbing the silence.

 

 Joanne Wilson

 

 

Arts Centre and Surrounding Area-

 

A man hiding snakeskin boots under his denim jeans. He strolls into the

nearest building: frankly I'm impressed.

 

A broken light that causes a lot of confusion- Arts Ce_tre. "What does Arts

Cetre mean? Is that French?"

 

Due to the torrential downpour 12 ducks have relocated. To a makeshift

pond. On the path.

 

Varying fashion choices:

-Short shorts

-Pink Tassels

-Duffel Coats

Students in their element.

 

A single student standing out from the crowd due to his unbelievable talent

for air guitar. And for carrying on mid-conversation.

 

A student sitting on the bottom rung of a fire escape, ingenuity for

escaping the mud.

 

Alfie Pitts

 

 I don’t drink coffee!

 

The first thing that hits you is the tang of coffee. I don’t drink coffee, can’t stand the stuff, but the smell is almost bearable. It conjures up flashbacks to when I was desperately tapping away at a keyboard in a Costa two years ago, trying to reach my daily word goal in the NaNoWriMo challenge. So coffee, to me, is a good smell for writing. I might be in luck.

I chose to settle down on a low wall with my back to a dining area, facing the twisting stairs that spiral upwards to a world of plush red and blue comfort. To my left, people are queuing for the ATM (I nearly wrote ATM machine until I remembered that it would be redundant to do so) and I’m wondering if that machine actually ever runs out of money, and how much of a fuss it would cause if it did. Maybe you can get cash back in the shop… though of course that would require buying something. Inconvenient.

Oh, hello. I’ve just spotted one of the tutors. He’s on his phone. In here for a proudly-labelled Starbucks? Why, yes, it would appear so. Oh! The other tutors are here too. I guess someone has to like coffee.

Ohh, I just looked at one of the television screens. Summer work in a Disney Resort. I’d love to, I really would, but I can’t really go gallivanting off to foreign climes when I have a wife and child (well, girlfriend and pet cockatiel) to support at home. As much as I would relish the opportunity to wear a big Goofy (!) grin day-in, day-out despite wilting in the tropical heat like the delicate flower I am… I really can’t. At least, not this year…!

I’ve spied a fellow writer, perched upstairs where I was originally considering going. She’s on her phone. Hm. Some people just can’t break from technology, I suppose. Ooh, someone just dropped some money. I swear I’m a magpie for these things. Like a cascade of crystals, a little tinkle of appeal. Wouldn’t it be great if dropped pennies created a mad scramble for the cash from everyone in the vicinity, rather than a slightly embarrassed fumble from the poor sod that dropped them in the first place? Turning it into a game would be far more exciting.

Curious, there are some PCSOs hovering outside the shop. Are they here on a friendly visit, to – oh. Never mind. They’ve wandered off. Maybe if I was typing I would have been able to finish that thought.

Someone in an Edge Hill hoodie just walked past. Now, I’m enamoured by the blue and grey ensemble and can’t wait to nab one, but… purple and yellow? Clash! Maybe bright, juxtaposed colours are “in” now. I haven’t got a bloody clue. Fashion is definitely not my forte.

Just spotted someone with a Peppa Pig doll and was very confused until I noticed the young child with them. I’m not used to being somewhere like this; it’s not just a place for people my age, after all. People of every age are broadening their minds, and good on them. Old(er) dog, new tricks, etc.

(Another purple-yellow hoodie, yuck.)

(Clearly I have no taste.)

Ah, sunlight. Precious sunlight. No doubt it will disappear as soon as I get up, but for now it’s very pleasant and... yeah, it’s already fading away. Sigh.

Allow me just a minute to have a sandwich. Being surrounded by people eating is having an effect on me. Mmm, squished sandwiches are fabulous. Hang on.

(Ahh, I always get fixated on devastatingly handsome women. Grey hair looks so lovely on young people.)

(Ahem.)

Ooh, there are some lights on a wall upstairs fading between gradients of colour. Very aesthetic; I could quite happily watch them for a while – ah, a fellow writer’s just come up to me. Yes indeed, the time has gone quick. I should probably head back soon. The girl upstairs has already left.

All right. One last inhale of coffee.

Signing out.

 

 

Leigh Harlett