Observation in the
Hub
Mass Observation.
The Hub.
I’ve
ordered a medium coffee and added two sugars to it – never a good idea. The
queue for caffeine is yawning (I predict this will not last.)
Leggings
are seemingly popular. I can’t think why. They hug the skin quite tightly and
this can be unsightly in some cases. I think dark colours are best.
I have
just heard a yelp like someone has stood on a dog’s paw, but I think it was a
girl sat to my right who, whilst attempting to move its big heavy frame, scraped
the feet of her chair along the ground. She has a red face and her chair seems
to be expanding (or she is shrinking.) Maybe it’s because I’m staring at her.
I’ll stop now.
The desk
marked ‘New Students’ – which I assume, from the mountains of leaflets on the
tabletop, is a helpdesk – has nobody behind it. So it’s not too helpful after
all. Oh, no, wait; the lady at the desk was hidden from my view by a large
placard. She is wearing a pea green jumper. I might visit the fish and chip
shop tonight.
There
are lots of female students with cavernous bags, which are practical and
sensible in equal measure, but there are some with tiny bags, smaller than A4.
I’m struggling to understand this in a University setting. My bag is medium
sized.
The
short lady with mousey brown hair, who works behind the coffee counter, is
robotic in her work. Her wrists, elbows and shoulders appear to be hinged, and
her movements are reminiscent of those large machines that construct cars on
factory production lines. She has an incredibly nice smile too.
I have
just seen a male student rise from his chair and walk away from his table but
leave an empty water bottle behind. I followed his route from the Hub with my
eyes, and it took him past three large, marked and brightly coloured recycle
bins. I’d bet rather a large amount of money on the light in his dorm room
being on right now. The odds would be shocking, though, so I won’t bother.
The word
‘at’ seems to be going rapidly out of fashion, replaced by the evermore popular
@ symbol from computer keyboards. ‘McColl’s @ Edge Hill.’ I’m sure that they
could have fit the entire word on there. Do the sign makers charge by the
letter? If so then it makes sense to use the symbol in place of the word. I
wonder if anybody else is wondering this.
A young
man who shouldn’t be trying to grow a beard has just walked past. If I were the
presumptuous type I might advise him that Gillette is the best a man can get.
The hair is inconsistent in coverage and best described as tufty rather than
bushy. It reminds me of the badger cull. Maybe I should start a petition
against the cultivating of comedy beards.
Some of
the chairs here in the Hub have comfy looking cushions on them; others do not.
I’m sat on an example of the latter that is flanked on either side by much more
comfortable looking cushion adorned types. I have made a terrible and perilous
mistake. My bottom hurts.
An
advert shown on one of the Hub televisions promotes a Sunday Times special
named: ‘The 75 best places to work in the public sector.” I’m sure that numbers
9-12 on London’s Downing Street must have the top four locked out.
Observations
In the Hub's upper floor a ring breaks the low continuous
murmur of voices. A group is gathered to my left in a circle exchanging words
and then looking back down at their phones. A laugh draws my attention to
another group made up of six and their jovial laughter makes me curious to what
event they are talking about.
Moving away from the hub through Hale Hall the noise
subsides to a lull of muttering and then silence and I feel the peace but am
interrupted by a whirring noise as I move on into reception. Here people pass
by constantly but infrequently, two girls walking past phones in hands and bags
tucked snugly into the crook of their arms. The swish of the automatic door
behind me announces the arrival of a girl who appears to be in a hurry as her
heavy footfalls reverberate in this relatively quiet space. A boy sits opposite
me texting as the whirring noise from earlier continues to try and disrupt my
thoughts. Again I hear the swish of the automatic door and a clatter as two
boys exit the revolving doors.
I rejoin the Hub's vibrant atmosphere and it is a shock to
my hearing as once again I’m assaulted by the constant chatter from the
relative quiet of reception a queue is gathered at the cash machine and the
place is in constant movement as a variety of staff and students pass by.
A mass
mess for the messy masses
'You
must read this sign! Maybe you can write about it! It could be amazing! All
your future escapades could depend on what this sign says!'... 'Library Tours'
and a list of times...Life changing. I mosey on.
Silly
sign, Disguising itself like that, how dare it?
A woman
runs past, looking like she is late for something, but still running like a
woman. You know what I mean, womanlike, hands to the side, very poised and
refined.
"Hiya!"
She says in the - I'm late but I'll acknowledge you exist- panted whisper.
'Hi' I
reply with a - no chance of conversation because of the circumstances - smile.
Standard.
What is
she late for? She reminds me of The White Rabbit, and she's blonde like
Alice... I need to stop going to Wonderland.
Aaaaand
just as Alice enters my mind, I cross to the arts centre and see hole dug into
the ground by workmen... Not helping chaps!!!
I also
edged past a car on the way, the friver was getting in while on the phone, so
didn't hear my apology. But the car did, got to rmeember your manners.
And so I
enter the performing arts centre and instantly step into a chatty bubble full
of promise. So I sit slightly away from the many legged performing centipede,
as it already seems to have a couple of writers perched on its back.
So here
I have been sat, regaling the tale of a journey. I hope I haven't bored you.
Pepsi time.
INTERMISSION
Ugh,
awkward false smiles, ah well, she seems nice enough. Ok... now I'm gonna get a
drink, be right back...
Hello
again, had to settle for Coke, cherry. I was told I could get fivers from the
cash machine... Missions. Can't spend less than a fiver on card. Coins it is!
The man
behind the counter looks like a chef, jolly looking bloke, ears perked at the
revolution that fivers can be received from uni cash machines.
Are they
filling a hole or digging one? Can't tell, but they are doing something,
something is being done. Might mosey back soon.
Stop singing
you're disturbing the peace.
Pretty
women... Boots can do wonders, aaahhh that's mean. They are pretty. Sweeney
Todd
Mass
observation
There’s
a distinct cut in the skin of the sky, caused by the passing of a plane. It
disappears behind clouds, dissecting the cool blue as it passes. The gardener
snips a bush near me, the noise is repetitive, snip snip snip, a rhythm that is
refusing to relent. I’m anticipating the arrival of the infamous ducks but alas
they are nowhere to be seen, where do they hide?
People
walking by keep hushing their conversations, almost like they think I’m going
to take their words and note them in a sinister or judgmental way. I look down
and see a brown cigarette nub settled amongst the grass, even though it’s
surrounded by the grass it seems distinctly out of place and alien.
As I
walk down the path a rabbit appears, escaping some invisible threat and reminds
me of my home. Days in the emerald fields with the rich sun soaking into my
skin and rabbits darting in the long grass. The sky has suddenly taken on a
ominous form, grey and suffocating, the humidity seems to choke me. Where there
was sun there is now a monstrous cloud, dominating the light.
I’ve
spotted my first duck, floating in the reeds, it seems very neutral and
content. It does not move but simply floats along with the wind’s assistance. A
woman with loud heels walks behind me, the noise gains my ear’s attention and I
turn to see her walking. Behind her follows a stocky man, his shoes create a
low thudding noise. It’s interesting how many noises people’s feet can create,
some walk with confidence and the noise reflects that. Others walk with so
little noise so as to not draw any unwanted attention. Without warning the sun
creeps from behind the clouds, shining onto the neatly cut grass. It creates a
shine on the grass that mesmerises me, glistening like a precious jewel.
The
buildings surround the pond look almost like they’re from a sixties film,
metallic shutters, pastel green sides and long silver columns that shine in the
sun light. The rain appears just as suddenly as the sun does, I put up my hood
and cover the notebook pages from being speckled with the rain. I take this as
a sign that my quiet observation needs to come to an end, nature seems to want
me inside and for once I do not object.
Richard
Gidlow
Mass
Observation: Friday, September 28th, 2012
I stop to take in the broad view on offer as I
squat beside the Wilson
building,
at the edge of the running track. A flocculent gathering of grey
clouds
looming over the western side of a half-blue sky begin to drift
apart.
Sparse rays peek from between their flossy edges, now adorned with
golden
linings. Before long, the sun reveals itself in full, so grossly
incandescent
amongst the dull aerial brume - it bathes me and my
surroundings
in an aura of balmy yellow. The car-park situated on the
opposite
side of the annular expanse of astroturf stretched out before me
hosts a
variety of crowded vehicles shimmering in the distance, synthetic
pebbles
gleaming on the shores of an artificial lake. There is an festival
ambience
about the scene (contrary to the oppressive wintry episodes during
the last
few days) which makes me recall sentiments of summers spent with
my
closest friends.
These pleasant memories, brought to my mind’s
attention by the sun’s
warmth
and my environment’s abstract appeal, conjure up feelings I cannot
accurately
convey, feelings which immediately dwindle in intensity as I
look up
from my notepad, scan the panorama for signs of life and find that
I am,
rather surprisingly, still very much alone here. Present company
consists
solely of a lime-coloured insect no bigger than the eye of a
needle
(an aphid, maybe) which has sought a moment of respite from its
unknowable
duties by resting itself on my right hand, perched on the
knuckle
of my forefinger.
The curious little thing is clearly content to
stay where it is despite
the
motion of my continued writing; I can just about see it waving its
peculiar
antennae as if to greet me, before it is swiftly and suddenly
swept
from my skin by a gust of wind. I silently lament the loss of my tiny
green
acquaintance and ponder over our short-lived time together. How long
is a
couple of minutes in bug-years? Perhaps we were friends.
Ryan
Wetherby
MO - The Rose and
the Woods
I decide to make my way towards the Rose Theatre, and my
first observation is of the clouds blowing over from their morning rain,
standing their ground, refusing to be routed in the wake of the sun. My second
observation is of the flowers outside of the SIC. They seem relaxed, as most
flowers do, not giving a shit really. I would say I would like to have it as
easy as they do but they must be bored out of their minds.
I take a mental note of some people in front of me and
their current behaviour. Wishing to write it down, I turn the corner around the
SIC and look for somewhere dry to sit so that my scribble will be at least
eligible by me. I spy a dry step on the bottom of the fire escape of the SIC
and sit down. There were four people before. Three of them were using a mobile,
and the fourth simply travelling to her destination. The first was a girl
standing still, transfixed with her mobile, looking around periodically, possibly
waiting for someone, cautious of the impending rain. The second was a guy
walking towards me. He was walking so slow whilst on his mobile that he may as
well have prioritised one or the other to speed up the completion of both
tasks. Finally, another guy was seemingly managing what the previous guy
hadn't, though I suspect he simply
prioritised walking whilst allocating what little attention he had left to
completing the task he desired on his mobile.
Footsteps and vibration.
A woman, wishing simply to be known as "Jackie from
SIC", finds me on the fire escape huddling the side of the step which is
in fact still dry. In an act of generosity which would not, and so far is not,
out of place at Edge Hill University, she offers to show me a better place to sit.
I accept, and continue to explain as requested the task that I was set, and how
my current approach to it is to explore the Rose Theatre and the surrounding
area, and how I was taking a minute to write down some notes. Jackie takes me into the Rose Theatre
building (which was as good a time as any to start exploring it) and takes me
past numerous rooms both left and right, some toilets half way through, and
finally to a pair of doors at the end which open up into a spacey, what I'm
going to call, lounge, with a small shop for buying hot drinks and possibly
other things. Had I been focused on the exploration rather than the recordation
of my observational mental notes, I would have discovered more.
I take a seat in one of the many modern and comfy seats
they have in there. Before I could look out at the woods as I had planned upon
entering, seeking to find some sort of wildlife to observe, I find on the floor
by my feet a fairly large spider (well larger than usual). Though nothing a
shoe could not solve, for today, it would not. I am no expert on spiders, so I
could not confidently identify it, however from memory I would guess that it
was a harvester spider. I blow at the spider, to keep it away from me, and in
doing so find it travels quite a distance when doing so. It has long legs and a
small body and seems to excel in
camouflaging with wood, especially the kind found by the windows in the Rose
Theatre lounge, resulting in me losing track of it a few times when it stayed
still. This realisation introduced a paranoia common with people who are scared
of, or just don't like, spiders. I check around me once more and continue
observing. The spider walks with a kind of jig, almost in synch with the music
which is playing in the background from some unknown source.
As I observe this spider (partly to observe it as part of
the task and partly to make sure it doesn't get anywhere near me) I look up and
out of the windows onto the woods and the backs of the SIC and the Library.
Here I can see the odd person here and there walking past, going about their
own business, though I suspect some at least were other creative writers
looking for something to observe.
A flurry of leaves fall from either the trees or the
grasp of the wind, announcing the arrival of autumn as they join their already
fallen brethren. The spider is too close for comfort. I blow it away, fully
aware that I may seem to others to be blowing air at the floor.
A small group of between 10 and 20 students have gathered
and sat down a small distance away from me. It isn't so quiet that I can hear
clearly, but they seem to be discussing their first activities on their course
this year, at which point it comes to my attention that their lecturer or tutor
is amongst them as he is discussing some sort of enrolment or registration
problem with one of his students. Somehow this moves onto praising someone's
recent work, and I become distracted once more.
The spider has come around the bottom of the table this
time, and from my current angle I can't effectively blow it away. It walks
around my chair, and I make a mental note of its location and continue with my
notes.
I listen to my surroundings, and notice the sound of the
staff at the shop at work, talking about something or the other whilst they
work, their words clashing in the background with those from the group. The
lounge works effectively, providing a casual and relaxing environment, that is at least, in
the absence of spiders.
Speaking of which, the spider has since been lost. I
check carefully around me on the floor; where I had last seen it; on the chair;
on my shoes; on my legs. My failure to find it leads me to the hope that it has
camouflaged itself somewhere further away.
The sun returns, making a bold statement through the
windows and onto the floor, refusing to give up the fight with the recent
weather, the grandeur of which only lacks an epic fanfare. I still can't see
that spider. The sun shines on the woods, reminding me of my wish to explore
them as well, rather than looking upon the muddy, waterlogged area right
outside the windows of the Rose Theatre lounge expecting to see some sort of
spectacle to note down. I gather my things, and make my way.
And here, in the woods, where the water has gathered
under the shade of the trees, we can see one of Edge Hill's most popular and
revered creatures: the duck. Making use of what water they can find, and making
as much noise as they wish, possibly protesting against the lack of an old
woman, or a young child, or both, throwing bread at them. The ducks enjoy a new
pond created at the bottom of a grassy slope by the recent rain, adding to
their original pond, separated only by a path. But enough about ducks.
As expected, the woods are more developed further away
from the Rose Theatre. A girl, I suspect another creative writer, writes notes
whilst sitting under the shade of a tree on a stone wall. A man, amongst the
scenery, rakes away at something, possibly leaves or preparing an area for more
development. The rain begins its counter attack, but the sun holds it off.
Within the woods are small, open grass areas, and areas shaded by the trees
which must be popular in spring and early summer. There are other areas, areas
hidden amongst carefully planted trees, bushes and flowers. They create hidden areas
that call for exploration and offer a world of adventure for children. As I
leave, a memorial plaque: "Jackie Glynn-Jones/We love you/We miss
you/Family and friends". A reminder to live for those who cannot.
Ryan Sheasby
punishment
as I step out into the crisp, cold air. My cold feet covered by
nothing
but a pair of worn, wet vans slosh through the unavoidable puddles
as I
stuff my hands into my pockets and follow my friend across campus; she
seems
irritated –I try not to antagonise her.
The
thick, grey clouds part for the first time in days, only to reveal an
equally
grey sky. The icy wind, however, seems like a permanent fixture
here
–one that some students clearly don’t seem to be too vulnerable to.
One boy
walks past me; his extremely hairy legs burn into my soul as I
stare in
horror at his bright, pastel-coloured denim shorts. As I sit in
the
freezing cold with my long, green army coat buttoned up to my chin, I
can’t
help but question if he feels that by wearing a knitted jumper, it
compensates
for his serious lack of pants. Similarly, I begin to wonder if
the
young girl sauntering past in a pair of thin leggings, patent t-bar
shoes
and a thin three-quarter sleeved top really believes that the thick,
woolly
hat she is wearing makes up for her forgetting to put on acceptable
clothes
this morning.
-‘I’m
going to wear a bikini to university today. But hey, it’s fine
because
look- I’m wearing gloves.’
A large
group of, what looks like third year students, are sitting behind
me. For
a bunch of older, more mature individuals, it seems the ability to
act
sensibly has escaped them; they are loud and rather obnoxious; enjoying
this cold,
dreary Friday morning far too much for my liking.
I move
away in an attempt to relieve my easily distracted mind from the
tiring
competition for attention taking place behind me. I pull my bag onto
my
shoulder and trudge along the waterlogged grass, past the well-behaved
ducks
that seem utterly un-phased by the crowds of people around them –I
wish I
knew their secret. ‘How do you become so desensitised to humans,
little
ducks? Teach me how’.
As I’m
walking away in irritation, I realise that today I seem extremely
susceptible
to the negative qualities surrounding me. It is with this
thought
that I close my notebook and decide to wait until my mood lifts to
continue
observing my usually very positive surroundings.
Leigh
Goodall
I stand near
the top of the lake and see other people writing in their notebooks, I wonder
if they are on the same course as me?, and what their writing is about?.
The sun is
peeking out of the clouds now, but the grey clouds overhanging suggest it might
rain again soon.
I watch as the
wind makes the foliage in the lake sway.
I can hear
people laughing, and the water rushing from the water feature into the lake.
I can smell
the rain from this morning, and people's strong deodorants as they walk by.
A board stands
in front of me, saying what wildlife I can expect to see around the lake. I
wonder if I will see all of them this year?.
A flock of
birds shoot across the sky, and I wonder where they’re going?, I wonder if they
notice the woman in the red coat writing about them, below them?.
I walk into
the The faculty of education building and the warmth envelopes me - it's cold
outside: winter is coming, but in here the weather does not affect me, neither
does the season.
Coming to the
lake again I see the sun reflecting of it, making me want to capture the sight
on camera so I can show my family what my campus is like.
On one side of
the bridge there is a waterfall: and I gaze at it for quite a while, and listen
to it. Will frogs jump across the rocks
here? will other wildlife?.
On the other
side of the bridge I see the lake again, and buildings: a blue building in
particular captures my interest. Will some of my lectures be taught in there?.
I come back to
where I started from - my journey: for now is at its end.
The
rushing of the pale stream that mirrors our forlorn, grey sky and the gentle
breeze that rustles the weeds upon the bank is oddly tranquil. The wind guides
the rippling waves of the lake and the outstretched plant life all in one
direction, enigmatically, the passing students seem to follow the winds
beckoning call too. Same direction, different reasons.
Three
painters in full, traditional white overalls that were stained with jet black
paint were gazing and closely inspecting a parked motorcycle, inspecting VERY
closely. I doubt its theirs, looks like it bears a considerable amount of value
to its name, perhaps it is one of the health tutors or students? I find myself
staring and becoming entranced at its vehicular majesty also…
Upon
closer observation of the lake, I see that the bank actually bore lavenders
amongst the forest of elongated weeds that devoured most of the lakes edges.
I'd be able to appreciate more of the intoxicating beauty of the lake if the
sun would pierce through the relentless and persistent clouds of Britain for
five damn minutes!
Funnily
enough, as I finished writing my previous entry, the sun actually shone for a
brief but humorously enjoyable moment of irony. But irony has betrayed me, it
is now raining slightly, mocking me as it cruelly spits raindrops upon these
pages.
As I
have come to almost completely circle the lakes edges, I have noticed that an
ominous stone totem overlooks the lake from the northern shoreline, on the
field surrounded by park benches. It appears ancient yet sentient, and looks as
if it is staring out to the lake, but also staring at me with its enigmatic
radiance.The sound of the gardeners clippers sitting through the branches
nearby snap me out of my observational trance, his hard labour bring me back to
reality and I realise that I'm stood here in the bitter cold writing about a
damn rock that probably is just there to look nice amongst the scenery. Still,
it is eerie, if not a little bit interesting.
My pages
are becoming drenched! I have now retreated inside for now, greeted with the
silence of indoors and its warmth.
Ryan
Bolderston
Unknown
Stalker
I am surrounded by green scenery that is forced into a
powerful waltz by the ever so elegant northern breeze. Plants are thrown from left to right, back and
forth, whilst tinted by the reflecting dew that trickles its way towards freedom.
They have created my boundary, from which I am to stalk unprepared foe.
A guy contained in leather bounces past, glancing over at
me as my eyes remained fixated upon his every move. Like a bird of prey I didn’t lose focus until
I was prepared to jolt at him with enormous flight. However, my attention is stolen by the
movements of an older gentleman whose patience had finally given in which
resulted in him braking the rules of the waiting game and went to sort himself
out, as he so, he disappeared behind a blank white wall. Once again my eyes are focused on one thing
but my ears begin to zone in on another type of movement passed from another
life form. The clicking of heels
pounding against the floor became hurried and frantic as the heels of authority
shot passed much like a bullet to ensure that she made it to her pupils on
time, as she went further into the distance the clanging and jingling of keys
could be heard as they fell to slap themselves against the floor.
Doors behind me swung into action as they release a class
of numerous amounts of males and females within the depths of the Faculty of
Health and Social Care. A few characters
blinded by technology and walk at snail’s pace whilst desperately trying to
‘hook up’ with other friends. Shortly a group of girls flood out of the room,
all lead by one loud mouthed girl, bitching about the happenings of the
previous night. Other groups debating
between which nights, ‘so far’, has been the best whilst on the binge. On the other hand a group of older men, who
had red, white and blue stained aprons, spoke words of joy as they discussed
the matter within the weather. They had
seemed to then congregate outside around a discarded motorbike. I began to think about which one of them might
have owned it, but none of them seemed to the ‘biker type’, as it were. I focused on their faces and how they looked
to get a clear understanding of which one might actually own this piece of
machinery. Then they noticed me staring,
at first I wasn’t too sure on whether I should stop or carry on, so I carried
on, and they left with a fast pace
behind their steps.
As I gazed out of the window, from which I was using as a
see-through barrier to the open world of wonders, I noticed the storm clouds
gathering above the institution. People
retreated for shelter under the porch ways and slipped through the double
electronic doors. A couple of girls
huddled under one umbrella shuffled their way into the buildings where their
hair would not become frizzy and their make-up would not be smudged… safety. They had brought the umbrellas capacity to
well over its limit. As the rain eased I saw another of my own kind. Perched on
a wooden bridge, writing down exactly what he witnessed and I wonder how
different it was to mine. So, I moved.
Outside the puddles polka-dotted floor on top of the
various bricks that were laid. I crept
past a flock of windows in which a room was engulfed with clutter and
technology. Only selected people were
able to be in this room. A group of specialised
people in their specialised subjects occupied the confined space which was
being used to prepare themselves for the day ahead of them. Then they began to spy on me as I was spying
on them, so this time I fled. Through
another window I could witness a class of pupils filter their way into a room
that read ‘Lecture Theatre’ which they flooded with their presence and battle
to succeed the upcoming year of challenges.
Down the pathway a group of four were huddled together,
puffing and sucking on a stick of tar and poison. Their faces became clouded by the smoke that
was being exhaled from more than one mouth… passing it on… disgusting if you
ask me. The air became smoggy and horrid
as the smoke curled its way into the atmosphere and into passer byers mouths
and lungs. Whilst choking on this death
smog I noticed another one like me. This
time he was more secluded as he camouflaged himself in with the jungle of
plants he was swamped in.
The lake ripples and flows majestically whilst reflecting
the very faint, very few beams of sunlight that had rebelled against the dismal
clouds wishes of casting flood warnings and hell all over the country. Unfortunately the battle was lost and the
beams of hope, warmth and leisure were pushed back into isolation away from the
humans that longed for it the most. On
my left a babbling brook casts a strangely relaxing sound as it crashed and
tears its way through the rocks, stones and pebbles which was accompanied by
the rustling of bushes.
My concentration was stolen again as footsteps were heard
on the opposite side of the bushes. I
felt the need to investigate these peculiar footsteps that caused many queries’
within my mind. A security guard strolls
past with clear pride and authority. He
slithers his way through the gathering of metal monsters that are parked in an
order of demand next to one another waiting for their master to return to
deliver the key which provides convoluting waves of extreme power to get the
revs going and the machine moving. He
greets a man who is stood trimming the hedges to make them look impressive to
the ducks and to visitors.
In the distance, knowledge hungry, students file out of
the Faculty of Education in vast amounts, chatting about what they had just
learnt and what they will be doing now after receiving the amounts needed to
cease their hunger. I know this because it’s what always happens after a class.
It starts to rain again, and as the rain drops crash into
the pavement I take one last glance over the picture that is imprinted into my
mind, then, with one simultaneous movement pupils and teachers alike withdraw
their umbrellas like weapons and raise hoods like assassins. So I head indoors to remain dry to end my
unknown stalker streak.
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