Mass Observations 2010

This is the latest in a series of Mass Observations undertaken by fresh students on the BA Creative Writing Programme at Edge Hill University, Ormskirk, UK.



10:32am. Wilson Building

A fresher student stands at the two vending machines. He takes a quick
glance, takes a step back, then continues to look at the wide selection of
power drinks and crisps. He reaches into a pocket and brings out a handful
of change and a crumpled note I can't make out. He inspects the coins
in his hand and removes a two pound coin. The coin makes a loud clank as it
travels through the vending machine. The bag of crisps he has purchased
(Cheese & Onion) rattles and rustles as he takes it out of the machine. He
inspects both vendors once more before settling on the crisps he has just
purchased. He leaves. Outside a gardener revs up a pair of hedge-cutters.

Daniel Holland


Untitled

The first thing to harden your body is not the numbing wind, it is the solitude that lives in each ripple.

The lake shares its home with all living things, which I have to say is a personal bond that even us humans need.

To the left is the untold truth in dark waters. Inspiration is a friend in many forms, from laughter, whether put on or not. Comfort from a stranger makes the ferns dance and the clouds roam. I people-watch for realism. I intrude on animal conversations, never the human ones.
Here I stand, in the middle of life and death only to find I am wandering myself.

Claire Lorraine-Baker



The Running Track

I take leave against the track fence, looking for inspiration across the field. Runners pass by doing their circuit of the track. The trees rustle in the light breeze, almost like they were showing their appreciation with an encouraging applause.

The contented quietness is suddenly disturbed by a dumper truck, flashing lights, loud siren, louder engine, and even louder driver. He watches the runners pass by and calls to his mate, “You could do with joining them and losing some of that fat.” His mate replies with a hand gesture and realises his embarrassment as a group of students pass by and catch him in the act. Some amused, others disgusted.

Barriers are in place to restrict unauthorised access to the building site, and a fence is in place to restrict unfit people from the running track. And yet both barriers have been breached by the scavengers from the sky.

The builder, cigarette in hand, ironically reads the safety signs, straightening the sign ‘Danger Heavy Plant Turning’. I watch, half expecting a 2 ton geranium to start twirling past me.
The runners pass once again, developing their stamina. The dumper passes with its wares, ready to develop the building site. The students pass with books and bags in hand ready to develop their knowledge.

A friendly face greets me and offers me a hot beverage to take off the chill. I decline, hoping the sun will develop through the clouds and share some of its warmth or my deadline to approach.

Darren Hindley



Round the Lake

There’s lots of wind. There’s lots of ducks.

“What’s my name?” shouts a girl to a man as one of the ducks wander casually through my legs. The duck seems to be eating grass, which cannot taste nice at all.

“ Me mum taught me sooo much,” I hear in a thick Geordie accent, No reply comes from anywhere. While I look into the lake something disturbs it and shatters my reflection making me look monstrous, and I swear ducks don’t eat grass as another “chows down” on some greenery.

Listening to the people sat next to me I notice they are very loud. All they do is talk, drink, talk, drink, talk for a while and eat something, talk, drink, talk then eventually walk away. By which time I spent to long noting down what they were doing in general, rather than their specific actions.

The walkers on the other side of the lake appear quite quiet to me from here…

In the distance some industrial building tape ruins the lakes picturesque landscape but I guess that’s ok if it’s for the greater good. Suddenly the ducks are frightened by something beneath the water. A Fish perhaps? or maybe something else more interesting than a fish. They all fly away in any case leaving me duckless.

I see a sign post naturally curious I walk over. This is what I discovered:

The wild life around campus includes, “The Mallard”, “The Coot” this being my favourite one, “The Common Frog” and last but not least “the Canada goose. To name but a few of the exotic British creatures here.

The ducks are louder than the people here I swear, and who in spite of my disbelief in them having a diet consisting of grass continue to eat more and more grass based foods.
The waters murky and the rock pools are dry. Open grass, big lake and high up modern buildings. Kids must love it if they ever visit here it’s like a play park. There’s a shifty looking man in the car park but I’m sure he’s nice if you talk to him. Two builders walk past with brightly coloured hats; one’s hat is yellow and the others is red. “Has it been cleaned yet?” One says to the other “yea, reckon….” His voice is lost in the powerful wind that nearly pushed me on my arse.

I decide to try and make sentences out of the bits of peoples conversations I pick up
“Some people! Got to, yea, I know, sunny isn’t, boring wasn’t, can’t we, hyper?” looking back this could have never worked and doesn’t make a lot of sense. I then revise my strategy and try to listen out for interesting sentences. The most ear catching of all was, “ I love a good rumpus! I… “practised”(with the mandatory hand air quotation marks) it all last night”. The man appears to notice I have clearly heard what he just said, looks embarrassed and walks away calmly.
A blonde girl smiles at me I say hi she says hi back. I look at a big bald guy who just stared me down, fair play to him, I guess I shouldn’t stare at people

Dominic Brooks



Areas of Edge Hill

It is a cold, blustery day and the sun just cannot seem to fight its way through the fast-moving clouds. A boy in bright, white trainers, but dark trousers and T-shirt casually saunters out of his hall door and- wait, no jacket!? It is cold outside; “get wrapped up!” I feel like shouting out the window… I am turning into my Mother.

Next, a girl walks out of the same door, dressed a little more appropriately: jeans and a brown jacket, she does not want to draw too much attention to herself during her first week of University. Bag over her shoulder, she walks steadily to class, her mousey, shoulder length hair neatly brushed.

The bright sun has finally beaten the clouds, its warm rays shining off the majestic trees. A gust of wind suddenly blows and glowing leaves flutter to the ground; autumn is here.

Claire Gell



Doors of Reception

The trees chuckle under the fingertips of a cool breeze. I’m comfortable
here, pen in hand scratching away in my journal, my only thought being that
I wish I’d tied my hair up and then maybe I wouldn’t have a problem with the
wind bullying my hair onto my face. I certainly wasn’t chuckling.

A guy with a cheeky grin passes by me to reception, with five more in deep
conversation about having another haircut in Southport. It seems that
everyone has something to smile about today.

Then I realised that I wasn’t as alone as I felt.

Here stands a girl, waiting for something. Her hair waving in the wind, she
seems nervous as she checks the time on her watch. Biting into her lower lip
softly, she clutches a black file to her chest for comfort. Her face warms
when she spots him striding towards her and her smile lights up her whole
face. He smiles back with a small wave, and then they grip each other into a
long awaited hug. I know now that he was the something that she had been
waiting for; it’s nice that she didn’t have to wait very long, unlike me.

Before they turn and walk into reception they reach for each other’s hand.
Safe now, her mind relaxes and she chuckles to a remark from him as they
disappear in a swirl of green.

What am I waiting for today?

A team of burly construction site workers head off to do their job. The one
with the pencil tucked behind his ear leads the way, with the others
marching half-heartedly behind him.

Two young girls giggle uncontrollably at each other on their way to class.
No worries flood their thoughts today, they are just happy to be in each
other’s company.

I’m startled from a slow train of thought by a car horn in the distance. The
angry sound resonating around the car park a few feet away. Disturbing the
peaceful sound of the trees in a pleasurable state of happiness. Bloody
wind.

Students are hurrying from reception in different directions to get to their
destination and dry leaves dart between their feet. Everyone seems to be
going somewhere today, but where am I supposed to fit into this mass of
thought?

The stench of overused aftershave clogs up my senses, as a group of scouse
lads come snarling through the reception doors. Two girls follow close
behind them, “I hate when someone thinks it’s funny to spin the doors dead
fast as they walk through!”

This comment sets me off laughing quietly in the corner as the smallest lad
shouts back, “You’re fit!”

I’m surprised she didn’t mention the stench coming from the lads in a retort
but then again she might have thought he was ‘fit’ too.

I check the time and with five minutes of nosey scribbling left I stand and
walk after the cloud of aftershave to class.

Rachael Boczek




Creative Writing Observational Exercise: Two Locations
Friday 24th September, 2010
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Student information centre, 10.25am

As I sit down, I notice how remarkably quiet it is in here. A young brunette girl is sitting across the room, filling in some sort of forms on yellow paper. She looks uneasy and I can't figure out whether this is just her natural demeanour or that she is having difficulty with the questions on the aforementioned form. Suddenly, her mobile phone, which is positioned to her left on the table, rings loudly. She drops her pen and hastily grabs the handset, flips it open and greets the caller with a quick "Hello!” After a couple of seconds, her soft but firm Irish accent politely but assertively informs the caller that she is in no position to talk and she will call them back. She hangs up.My attention is then drawn to the two voices busily chatting away behind me. I glance around and notice two middle aged female employees, leaning on the either side of a door frame. They are discussing their holiday entitlements for this year and one of them seems determined to take some time off soon to begin her Christmas shopping exploits. She explains that her twenty year old daughter, who works, is having trouble with child care for her son and is worried that this may disrupt her routine.I hear the Irish accent again and look up to see that the brunette has completed her forms and is now asking the assistant where she needs to take the paperwork. She is directed to another sector and is told she must hand the forms in there. I get the feeling that she didn't quite grasp what she has been told as her verbal nods in acknowledgement of the directions given, seemed to be a little half-hearted. She thanks the assistant for her help, turns, then proceeds to walk in the wrong direction.

Meanwhile, the two ladies behind me are in the process of concluding their discussions. They end their chat and part company.

Outside of the Performing Arts building, 10.37am

As I approach the building, a young man dressed in a black tight vest and jogging pants exits and briskly walks towards me. His pace quickens as the biting wind cuts through the air. I shudder just looking at him.

A group of students are huddled together outside of the entrance. They complain strongly about the temperature, using expletives to strengthen their feelings towards the cold. Despite this, three of them light cigarettes, their addiction clearly commanding the sacrifice of the warmth available indoors. I notice that one of the males of the group has no socks on. I wonder whether this was due to their being no clean ones available to him that morning or was this simply a fashion choice. I feel compelled to ask but I quickly realise that to do so would be rude and extremely inappropriate.

In my peripheral vision, I catch sight of something moving next to me. I turn quickly and spot a bee, or is it a wasp? The insect is busily travelling from flower to flower. I decide that it is a bee. It momentarily lands on my jacket. I don’t flinch. Bees and wasps don’t bother me. However, if it had been a spider, I would have bolted like a racehorse when the traps open.
I hear the noise of heels and as I raise my eyes, I spot a bearded, middle aged man, running from one of the buildings exits. He is wearing brown trousers, a sky blue shirt and a black tie. Despite the fact I readily admit that my style is nothing to admire, I can see that his clothes do not match. He looks tired as he slows to a jog and at one point, he looks like he loses his balance. I envisage an embarrassing and potentially dangerous stumble onto the concrete, when, he seemingly regains his balance and disappears around the corner.

The bee is still working hard and during my visual observation of the running fashion show, the bee has been joined by a couple of colleagues.

Two boys pass by, one of them tearing open a bag a salt and shake potato crisps. He offers some to his friend, who declines the offer. I realise that is has been many years since I came across a bag of salt and shake crisps and for a moment, I reminisce to my childhood. I think of the time, when aged seven, I used a chair to climb up to the cupboard for the vinegar bottle, in an attempt to turn a bag of ready salted crisps into homemade, salt and vinegar ones. I dropped the bottle, smashing it all over the kitchen floor and left a puddle of vinegar for my mum to clean up. I decide I will buy some salt and shake crisps later.
I decide to go for a little walk. As I walk around the side of the performing arts building, I notice that there is a dance class in progress. As I watch, it reminds me of a scene from the popular eighties movie, Fame. I suddenly realise that I am staring through the window of a room containing many scantily clad girls, almost young enough to be my daughters. I decide to move on in fear of looking creepy. Oops, “TOO LATE!” I mumble under my breath as one of them spots me.

As I head back to the main building, I am almost hit in the face by a falling leaf. As I scan the floor and wonder how many leaves have fallen from that one tree alone that morning, I ponder over how long it take one full leave to actually grow from a branch. I decide to ‘Google’ it when I get home.

Anthony Jaras


Untitled

Sat on a cold, hard bench; doodling mindlessly in my notebook, tapping my
feet as if I’m waiting impatiently at a platform.

Then it comes, speeding past. A sports lecturer kitted out in his ‘Edge Hill’
polo and shorts teamed with clean, fresh looking trainers jogging through
the double doors.

They shut slowly behind him, ch-chug ch-chug ch-chug.

Next, a couple shuffle quickly past holding hands defensively, a warning to
any straying eyes. They bustle through the doors in an awkward silence.

The doors shut slowly behind him, ch-chug ch-chug ch-chug.

Slightly slower, a shy looking mousey haired boy stumbles through,
struggling to navigate his way at the same time as reading his copy of ‘?’

The doors shut slowly behind him, ch-chug ch-chug ch-chug.

Plodding grumpily, shortly after, a grubby builder, I can only assume has no
business here except to warm up as he breaths into his palms before rubbing
them together then pulling a used tissue from his sleeve and sniffing
loudly.

The doors shut slowly behind him, ch-chug ch-chug ch-chug.

A pair of boys saunter past discussing the night before through hazy eyes
and croaky voices, pausing every few feet to stretch and yawn or pet their
alcohol-worn stomachs.

Finally, I rise from the bench, with numb cheeks and scurry off behind the
boys, stuffing my notebook in my bag. The door shuts behind me sounding like
a train leaving the station, ch-chug ch-chug ch-chug.


Rebecca Lunn



TWO LOCATIONS

The Lake

Clumsy me. The first thing I do is sit on a wet bench. I jump up cursing profusely at my inability to learn to look before I sit. I sit on the edge of the weird water fountain thing and stare at the ducks. They seem to swim in organized unison unlike the people who walk on the path. Some rushing to get to their destination and others walking casually as the wind makes its assault. I notice the ducks on the grass. I’ve never seen ducks outside the water. They are less organized, less entrancing. They are merely birds searching for something to peck on. They move ridiculously close to the people sitting on the bench and I can’t help but smile at their boldness. Silly Creatures.

The sound of the water from the fountain hitting the rocks I find somewhat soothing. This journey I begin to find tedious so I light up a cigarette and continue to observe.

Distracted I notice a fetching blonde with legs as long as a runway, she laughs with a friend whom I find less pleasing to the eye about something insignificant. “I know right! Fucking idiot!”

The cold begins to numb my hands.

Oh my goodness a duck suddenly waddles over to me. I was so distracted by the blonde girl I didn’t notice it making its way over. It’s the closest I’ve ever been to one of those birds so I take in its features. Feathers different shades of brown, eyes thin slits resting above its beak with a green outline. They are quite beautiful but I remain adamant that they are still silly creatures. Distracted by the duck a sharp hot pain lets me know I’ve reached the end of my fag so I toss it aside. The numbness of my fingers become too painful so I decide to leave the ducks be and move on.

Linda Olatunji


Around The Main Building

As I scrutinize my surroundings in the region of the main building at Edge Hill University, I notice a variety of things; some seem trivial while others seem to stand out above the rest. There are people waiting patiently at the bus stop, where the Edge Hill bus will arrive to take them to the centre of Ormskirk. A girl slightly shivers as the breeze passes through her long golden hair; she takes out a mirror and gracefully runs her fingers through her tangled mane. She then looks around, to see if anyone had seen her slight imperfection, then slightly smiles to herself as she realises that she has avoided people seeing not looking at her best.

As the bus arrives to take the students to their next destination, a bright red car tries to go past it, but does not succeed in this endeavour. The male driver has to reverse to allow the bus to complete its route. He scowls, and mutters some expletives under his breath; one can only imagine what his choice of vocabulary was.

A tall boy, wrapping his scarf tightly around his neck, settles himself on the wall at the front of the main building with a notepad and pen, looks around him and begins to write. I begin to wonder whether he is doing the same as me, taking in his surroundings and basking in the beauty that is the Edge Hill campus. The boy adjusts his scarf and raises his head slightly inclined to the left, as if something has caught his eye, he begins to swiftly move his pen across his page with look of concentration that shows his determination.

A large group of students walk towards the main building discussing what they want for breakfast. The boy with ginger hair says; “I really fancy some chips, but I’m pretty sure it’s too early to be having them.’ I laugh at this ridiculous announcement, as it is 10.30 in the morning, and most definitely too early for chips. The girl next to him replies, slapping his stomach, “You don’t need to be eating chips at this time or you’ll get even fatter!” The group erupts into laughter while the boy with ginger hair slightly blushes and changes the conversation to how the main building looks really beautiful, a statement to which they all agree on.

While standing in the freezing cold, clutching my pen and notepad, a girl with short, black hair begins to walk towards me. She is slightly nodding her head, as if to engage into conversation, until I notice that she has headphones in and is listening to some music. As she gets closer to me, she slightly tilts her head in wonderment, as if to question why someone would be standing outside in the freezing cold, writing things onto a notepad. Her face distorts into a confused look, and she raises her eyebrows at me as if to question my sanity. I begin to wonder what things she could be imagining in her head, as she walks away with a slight bounce to her step.

The sun finally decides to make a short appearance, creating some heat and allowing those who are standing waiting around sigh with relief. I begin to walk back to the entrance of the main building and take in my surroundings. Now with the sun out, I can truly appreciate how glorious the grass looks and how vivid the tree’s are with their variety of colourful leaves. I take one look back out onto the scenic view, and sigh happily to myself as I realise that this magnificent place, is now my home.





Main building

Walking down the long corridor, approaching the terrace café, herds of
sheep-like students disperse with curious eyes. The Sun beams through the
windows. A builder hands an electric drill to what I assume is his
co-worker.

There is an array of notice boards on the walls of the maze of a corridor. I
step outside. Fresh faces pass me in gusts of wind. The huge conker tree
sits undisturbed on the lawn like an ancient watcher over the University.
The numerous buses await the students to board; one of them is called ‘the
comfy bus’ but it looks anything but comfortable.

A group of students stroll pass me talking, ‘We are getting assessed’, one
of them says to his friend. ‘Are we?’ ‘No, I’m only kidding’. Laughter
ensues; I didn’t understand the ‘joke’.

A man wearing a fluorescent yellow jacket walks by holding a walkie-talkie
which is blurring in his hand; he doesn’t seem to want to reply.

Turning, I see the Reception with the doors spinning to the footsteps of the
students. On the top of the main building there stands a little green tower,
it resembles a bell tower of a church. The flowers beside me are bright pink
and white. Cars steadily enter and escape out of the University gates.

Three lonesome birds dance on the Sun lit grass and search for the day’s
scraps. A young man holding crutches hobbles by with his friend at his side,
while a pretty girl inhales a light, soothing puff of her cigarette.
Approaching me slowly is a bright yellow tractor with the engine running
rhythmically.

A flock of birds glide over the field adjacent to the front gates.

Christopher Macaulay



Untitled

The sharp-eared traffic attendant blocks cars from entering Car Park A. I can sense his growing irritation with the bright yellow ‘Hi-Viz’ jacket that he is sporting as he brushes the large hood out of his face again and again. His pointed, upturned nose could be considered rat-like, but placed alongside the rest of his features, I think of him to greater resemble an elf. He paces back and forth along the kerbside. The personification of boredom. It seems as if there are a thousand places he would rather be…perhaps back home on The Shire!

Darren Clifford


Untitled

The ducks quacked as they waddled towards me, looking for food. A group of students behind me laugh loudly at the expense of another student. A woman with a lizard tattoo on her foot walks past on her phone. “Ok...I still have it so were ok”, she reassures the other person. A man walks past her also on the phone. “Sorry? Yeah man that’s cool no worries”. They smile at each other and keep walking opposite ways. A bird flies over the lake just as a smartly dressed man walks out of the building and across the bridge. He gets halfway and suddenly turns back and goes back into the building. One assumes he forgot something, or forgot which building he was meant to be in. “Did you have to pay to get –“, “No I had a wristband”, the students behind me say. “It was like £7”, “But the thing was shit”. The ducks chase each other round the lake and settle to eat grass. Two women walk behind me into the building, both busy on their phones, both ignoring each other. One tries to sort her hair out but it’s impossible in the wind. Eventually she gives up and leaves it to blow around. The smartly dressed man comes back out and stops as he struggles in the wind to light a cigarette, then continues walking over the bridge and round the other side of the lake. The wind blows through the reeds and ruffles the feathers of the ducks asleep on the bank. The group of students behind me spilt, and all head in different directions in smaller groups. “Excuse me have you got a lighter?” someone asks behind e. I turn round to find them asking me, and so give them my lighter. They stand for a minute trying to light the cigarette then hand the lighter back. No thanks or anything, some people have no manners at all.


Rosie Austin



Library & Business School, 11:30 - 11:55, 24-09-2010

Two yellow ladders stood inside a makeshift tape fence like boxers in the ring. Poster for a poster sale. A workman, identifiable as such only by his day-glo vest, sat, fiddling with a mobile phone and smoking a cigarette. The phone has priority over the cigarette. More workers. One is holding a bottle upside down and sucking on the bottom. A man wearing a hard hat to sweep the ground. Girl walks past staring at me until I catch her gaze and she looks away. The only worker with a hard hat is the sweeping one. Until another appears, wearing his hard had atop another hat, a balancing act, the hard hat wobbling, threatening to topple off. People looking at me. They know that I am writing what I see and they watch me to see if I write something about them. A cackle comes from somewhere but I can’t decide where. One of those helicopter leaves from childhood comes spinning down to land on the ground in front of me. There’s a man in with the ladders. Referee? People and leaves moving here and there across the concrete. Man walks past. He’s holding his phone tightly in his hand, his arms by his side. He’s wearing jeans with a noticeable array of pockets. Yet he’s carrying his phone in his hand. A big guy with a moustache, wearing a heavy metal band’s tee shirt and playing with his hair the way a flirting girl would. The hat balancer returns. Girl with a hooded top emblazoned with the words LIFE GUARD stands aided by crutches. A man carrying a box, gritted teeth betray its weight or his weakness. His long hair styled in such a way that it covers his face. He has to jerk his head back every second or so to see what is in front of him. Plans his next five steps, casts the plan top memory, left right left right left, stop, head jerk, hair displaced, another plan quickly formulated and cast to memory. Another five steps.


Joseph Wood

Untitled

In the courtyard, three buildings surround me. The building directly ahead of me is eerily vacant; the eeriness amplified by the large number of individuals that circle it like predators of nature around the building. These predators all hold communications devices in their hands, some reporting to their masters vocally and others through the use of tapping buttons on said communication device. I notice that only a few stay for a prolonged time, most deciding to pass through the building or simply walk past it; even those who stay only stay for a few moments, deciding that no new prey will arrive and depart not long after. I sneak into this building when the coast is clear and make my way to the rendezvous point on the building’s roof. Once over the absurdity of the location for a rendezvous – a garden on top of a building – I see my comrade and we start to scout the situation. We are in one of the three scouting positions, the others being occupied in the two other buildings we neighbour. Our job is to observe what happens below whilst others obtain Intel from the other buildings. I notice construction work occurring to the west of my location and wonder what they are planning. The harsh windy conditions bite hard on both myself and the hunters below, with construction being slowed down with foliage blowing around and miniscule bits of earth drifting into people’s eye sockets faster than a blink of the eye. The individuals below decide to take shelter within their allocated areas, whilst the roaming predators put hooded material over the heads to shelter themselves from the bitter conditions. I look around and realise my comrade as vanished from her position. Realising something must be afoot, I retreat preferring to continue this mission another day.

Joshua Flint



Around The Main Building

As I scrutinize my surroundings in the region of the main building at Edge Hill University, I notice a variety of things; some seem trivial while others seem to stand out above the rest. There are people waiting patiently at the bus stop, where the Edge Hill bus will arrive to take them to the centre of Ormskirk. A girl slightly shivers as the breeze passes through her long golden hair; she takes out a mirror and gracefully runs her fingers through her tangled mane. She then looks around, to see if anyone had seen her slight imperfection, then slightly smiles to herself as she realises that she has avoided people seeing not looking at her best.

As the bus arrives to take the students to their next destination, a bright red car tries to go past it, but does not succeed in this endeavour. The male driver has to reverse to allow the bus to complete its route. He scowls, and mutters some expletives under his breath; one can only imagine what his choice of vocabulary was.

A tall boy, wrapping his scarf tightly around his neck, settles himself on the wall at the front of the main building with a notepad and pen, looks around him and begins to write. I begin to wonder whether he is doing the same as me, taking in his surroundings and basking in the beauty that is the Edge Hill campus. The boy adjusts his scarf and raises his head slightly inclined to the left, as if something has caught his eye, he begins to swiftly move his pen across his page with look of concentration that shows his determination.

A large group of students walk towards the main building discussing what they want for breakfast. The boy with ginger hair says; “I really fancy some chips, but I’m pretty sure it’s too early to be having them.’ I laugh at this ridiculous announcement, as it is 10.30 in the morning, and most definitely too early for chips. The girl next to him replies, slapping his stomach, “You don’t need to be eating chips at this time or you’ll get even fatter!” The group erupt into laughter while the boy with ginger hair slightly blushes and changes the conversation to how the main building looks really beautiful, a statement to which they all agree on.

While standing in the freezing cold, clutching my pen and notepad, a girl with short, black hair begins to walk towards me. She is slightly nodding her head, as if to engage into conversation, until I notice that she has headphones in and is listening to some music. As she gets closer to me, she slightly tilts her head in wonderment, as if to question why someone would be standing outside in the freezing cold, writing things onto a notepad. Her face distorts into a confused look, and she raises her eyebrows at me as if to question my sanity. I begin to wonder what things she could be imagining in her head, as she walks away with a slight bounce to her step.

The sun finally decides to make a short appearance, creating some heat and allowing those who are standing waiting around sigh with relief. I begin to walk back to the entrance of the main building and take in my surroundings. Now with the sun out, I can truly appreciate how glorious the grass looks and how vivid the tree’s are with their variety of colourful leaves. I take one look back out onto the scenic view, and sigh happily to myself as I realise that this magnificent place, is now my home.

Megan Shuttleworth



Diary Entries.

24.9.2010

Inside a cafe in the University, there’s not many customers at this time the breakfast rush has gone and dinner is a good two hours away, because of this it is unusually easy to find a seat. Whilst paying for my food the cashier complains of a headache, ‘Out last night?’ I ask. ‘No, we stayed in but my cousin has just had a baby’, she explained. I didn’t say anything else but wondered if it was the best way to celebrate a new born baby?

Sat down at a table a man, a mature student, sits across from me. He also looks like he has been out on the ale and the bags under his eyes reveal that he is immensely tired. He only has two slices toast. It might be all he can stomach. I know that feeling. As he goes to butter his toast he realises he has forgotten his knife so with a huff of frustration goes to get one.

In the long corridor of the main building, a place of former glory, I feel strangely at home. To this literary student the building seems romantic for reasons I can’t find the words to explain. Several students walk past in the ongoing hustle and bustle that is the main building. One catches my eye a very thin boy walks past wearing a superman t-shirt. I do like irony.

Samuel Tyler



Observation within the Campus Library

The autumn sunshine was welcoming, but the sudden breeze sent a shudder over my skin and gave me goose bumps as I opened the wooden doors from the main corridor out onto the avenue in the campus grounds. Students were walking in pairs across the small roadway, attempting to keep to the pavement, heels slipping off and into the gutter making girls laugh out loud. The dried leaves skipped round their ankles, the sound of chatter and laughter filled the air.

The doors to the Campus Library, painted green, reminded me of old corporation houses, all painted in green, street after street, row upon row, all the same. The bi-fold doors opened almost silently with a whispered swoosh and folded back neatly against themselves as I walked inside. The internal doors however, grated and ground against the runners, noisily exclaiming their industrial heritage.

I sat “people watching”; observing their comings and goings, in and out through the Library doors, a distant heavy clunking sound merged into the background amongst the general melee and the constant opening and closing of the doors became instantly annoying, and yet, within minutes the repetition seemed to become common place.

There was a hubbub within the Library, people standing waiting to be seen, groups in idle chatter near bookshelves, students posting returned books through the hole in the wall and others scanning books ready to use. A man in a dark jacket stepped forward towards the reception desk, then stepped back again mumbling his apologies. He thought it was his turn to be seen then realised, it wasn’t.

A delivery man with a yellow sack truck barged his way in through the entrance. He set off the alarm system that occupied the space just inside the internal sliding doors. The Perspex screen lit up in red lines that could be clearly seen glowing like neon rays within the structure and a beeper noise went off. Nobody took any notice – except me.

The delivery man went straight through to the back of the building with a set look upon his face; it was apparent that he had done this type of delivery before. The fact that the beeper had gone off didn’t deter him from achieving his mission. He simply ignored the beeping and the red flashing lights and continued purposefully to the rear of the building. He appeared again several minutes later – he neither looked left nor right just concentrated on pushing his now empty sack truck. His head was lowered aiming straight for the noisy, grinding, sliding door then out into the autumn sunshine.

The sound of a woman’s voice not English but speaking English drifted across the empty space between the Foyer doors and the Reception Desk. People quietened to listen, but didn’t turn their heads so as to make it obvious they were being nosy. Her musical tones and the intonation in her spoken words were almost tuneful and it made you want to listen more. After a few moments she stopped talking and the general hubbub began again. People had gone back to what they were previously doing or saying, no longer needing to eaves drop.

The man in the black jacket attempted to be seen again, he bowed his head in an apologetic stance almost in reverence to the Desk Assistant. He was fidgety and unsure what to do. His face looked sweaty and his hand constantly went into a pocket of his jacket fumbling with his keys.

One lone woman stood nearby, she held her thermos mug close to her chest and occasionally looked down into it. She didn’t seem to want anything in particular, just a spot to take a break.
She watched the delivery man arrive; allowing her eyes to follow him, her head turning in his direction as he walked passed her. When he was out of sight she went back to concentrating on the steam that slowly wafted from the mug. She took a sip, grimaced then placed the top back on the mug. Was the coffee not to her taste or was it simply too hot?

Students filtered through the doors in two’s and three’s talking, laughing, pushing. Others left singularly, books under their arm, bags slung over their shoulders. When both exterior and internal doors opened almost in unison, you could hear the thud and clunk of the bulldozers. Their mechanical herculean jaws on the building site in the near distance created noise as they worked. The exhausts bellowed diesel fumes and engine noise and dust wafted through the air and into the Library Foyer. As the doors whooshed and closed the noise faded and became muffled amongst the general chatter inside.

Outside the huge dozers continued to lift and sift huge chunks of concrete and rusty steel reinforcement bars, placing them in mounds forming hills of rubble. I watched machine operators trained for the purpose manipulating these vehicles, shoving the gears and throttles with long thrusting movements, the men forcing the levers into place. The mechanical jaws opening and closing reminded me of prehistoric creatures, dinosaurs ready to fight to the death. The dust they created lay on the carpet in the entrance. A grey powder where people had trodden had concentrated into a grimy slick. The smattering of fine gravel scattered over the heather flecked blue of the floor covering had petered out the further you walked into the empty space. The green plastic plants were covered in a fine grey powder that spoiled their appearance.

The man in the black jacket finally got seen to. He asked where the gent’s toilets were and the desk assistant gestured over towards the wall. The man in black hurried across the empty space, he didn't walk in an upright manner; rather, he tilted and leaned towards the gent’s toilet door like a bull in a Spanish bull ring ready to charge. I never noticed if he ventured out… maybe he is still in there.

Elaine Ormand



Untitled

Builders. Someone on a Yamaha rides past. The hall of the Business Building is deserted, not a soul about. A guy walks past, vividly talking on the phone. Another one, but he’s got a red shirt on. There is a man in a hard-hat, sweeping up the mess the builders left behind. Yet another guy on his phone. The man who was sweeping a minute ago has now pulled the barrier back and blocked the building site off again. They’ve all disappeared with their hard-hats and cigarettes. Next to me on the bench there is a woman. Helen her name is, I overhear from a woman walking up to her. I see Steve. And that guy with the glasses I met yesterday – he seems confused. A woman walks past with a bunch of keys loudly clinging in her hand. Two blonde girls with cups of coffee. A girl with bright red hair – for a minute she looks hesitant as to where to go, but then she looks like she has figured it out. A sign informs me that today is in fact the last day of the ‘Massive Poster & Print Sale’.

Don’t miss out.

I walk into the library: there are four girls trying to figure out how to get books out; I think they’ve succeeded. A sign is showing where to return your books – how useful. All I can hear is echoes of snippets of speech, mainly spoken in the Liverpool accent. An old woman comes in and walks up the stairs. Three builders come through one door, then walk out the other. They don’t look very happy. I go back out.

Back on the bench outside, Helen is still sitting. She is gazing at her phone. The building site has been opened up again, more hi-viz jackets and hard-hats. One of them is on the phone, one has a folder, the other, pliers. Everyone I see is squinty eyed and their hairdos are all over the place. Sun and wind. Awful combination if you ask me. There is a guy with a red hard hat that stands out as all the others have yellow ones. It’s the builder’s time for another smoke.

Janka Theisler


Untitled

The wind picks up, making it hard to write anything, so I move quickly into the Wilson Centre. The strong smell of coffee hits my senses immediately. Students hurry by me in groups of two or three, chatting eagerly. They are all dressed in sporting attire; Grey hoodies, tracksuit bottoms or shorts and trainers. Some pass by me with their arms folded close to their chests to keep warm. Some students occasionally glance over at me out of curiosity, as I scribble all this down. They screw up their faces in confusion and continue onwards. Those who rush past me with their iPods on don’t notice me at all. In fact, they don’t notice anything for that matter. They hurry along with their heads down, completely lost in a world of their own. A woman approaches me and asks where the toilets are. I politely point her in the right direction and continue my writing.
I glance out of the window for a moment. The running track is deserted. A pile of brown leaves swirl over the lanes and covers them. No sports activities are taking place. I catch a glimpse of one or two students’ crossing over the track as a shortcut, strolling over the rugby pitch which is also completely empty. Workmen sit idly by the scaffolding, which covers a small section of the centre’s exterior. One worker takes out a sandwich from his Tupperware box and begins to eat it slowly, whilst another shouts something inaudible to him. The sound of construction work can be heard in the distance, a mixed melody of buzzing and banging, men shouting and giving orders.

A few construction men pass the centre, dressed in their fluorescent green jackets and hard hats, talking amongst themselves. Their hands are buried deep in their pockets, their arms held firmly by their sides, a sure sign that the cold wind is getting to them too. I can just make out two men trimming and cutting down hedges outside, barely visible behind the lengthy branches and swirling dust. Neither of the men are speaking to one another. They appear to be too focused on their work. I move out of the Wilson Centre, paper and pen in hand. The sun has come out now, taking a bit of the autumn chill away.

Sarah Hull



Segments from a Studio

The round of laughter is broken as one of the groups asks a question.
“Are we going to do it?”
“If you two start.” Another one insists.
The talking becomes incoherent momentarily, as they rapidly discuss whatever they intend to do, one of them says something that gets an incredulous response out of the rest of the group in between giggles.
“Are you still drunk?”
The response is instant, as the girl this is directed at giggles also. Whilst observing this group I noticed one thing – they laughed an awful lot.
“No.”
The laughter and discussion continues for a while, the group agree and disagreeing with how they should conduct themselves. Eventually, one of the group members makes a suggestion which they all follow.
“If we go outside,”
That generally stops them from procrastinating. As they all give signs of agreement. Still the giggling continues in sporadic bursts. “…we’re trying to get that girl to look in see explained.
They walk out of the building, giggling loudly; to complete whatever drama exercise or activity they’ve been set.

Silence.
Wonderful silence
Broken only by the occasional opening of the far door – it opens with a very surreal sound. With hindsight no door, especially if it is automatic, can sound like a whale. Yet this door did.

The silence is shattered, by the same group of four girls and two boys coming back in. That opened the flood gates. Everyone seemed to pile out for everywhere and the noise level got incredibly high. I have no clue if the group had completed whatever it was they set out to do, it didn’t appear so.

Silence once more.
I really like peace and quiet.
I kept help groaning in annoyance when its disrupted.

Two girls walk out of the drama studio – the door is stiff and difficult to open and is in need of oil for it creeps slowly shut once it’s opened.
“Who’s Simon?” asks one of the girls they walk out.

A girlish scream is heard is synchronised harmony with something that goes off like a kettle but is most definitely not a kettle - it was too high pitched to possibly be a kettle. Unsurprisingly I am struck with a paranoid and worrying though and debate what to do for a while. I decide to do nothing. This was, after all a drama studio. Such things are to be expected.

Two guys walk past me and I notice something. Anyone walking in to the performing art studio was either wearing grey or black, if they were male.
One of them sighs, sifting his bag ever so slightly.
“I’m still organising,” the other says – either they haven’t got their loans yet or they are still waiting on accommodations.
“It’s so heavy,” the other complains about his bag.
“Move it onto your other shoulder,” the other responds
“I think I might,” he agrees.
The bag doesn’t switch shoulders.

Margaret Forsyth approaches me, which was unexpected. She then engages me in conversation, forcing me to close my notebook and respond. I miss more stuff than I already have in this exercise. I forget really how the conversation goes, in terms of specifics – but generally I know what was discussed.
Pleasantries were exchanged
I was asked how I was coping – I most likely mentioned something about getting lost.
She reminded me that if I needed any help to contact that I should contact SIC.

Two students are talking to a teacher, trying to find props. There was none in the drama department or the art department suitable. They didn’t give any insight in what they were doing, I got the feeling they were all doing their own thing, each individual group that is. They disappear round a corner and when they come back the subject matter has changed – the member of staff the students were with was talking about her baby.

Someone passes in front of me singing a little ditty to herself, off key and noisy - but then what do I know about holding a note.
She only sings it once.
A blessing.

Two more people walk past, discussing whether work is up on Blackboard yet.

The group that I have paid most attention to, it helps that they stand in a circle just in front of me in the middle of the space inside the performing arts building come back and I pick up the following snippets.

“Your turn to do the waiting,”
“I forgot” One of them forgot their work.
“and then…”
“Hmm?”
“I saw someone else”

I checked the time and swore, before pocketing my book and heading outside. I saw three guys; one was dressed in a white lab coat, goggles and blue latex gloves. Hindsight tells me they were drama students but as I went up to them intrigued, the only thing I knew for sure was that they were sitting on the bench outside of the building. They could have been studying science for all I know. I didn’t really believe that.
The second they admitted they were studying drama they had failed as actors.
When the one dressed up explained what they were going to do, they spoilt my afternoon. It could have been full of disbelief and panic.
Still I wonder how many people they got to believe that there had been a cyanide leak.

I did spend the rest of the day bursting spontaneously into fits of uncontrollable laughter.

Not a total loss.

Christopher Deller



The journey. The lake.

The stalls have opened – the starter gun, a drowned voice; “Off you go, begin.” The groans of chairs moulding the carpet, rustling of belongings, jackets bags et al. Mute words, as in tandem everyone anticipates the suggestion made motion for the door. In an active movement bodies bolt, ping ponging through the narrow corridor like dancing atoms. I too bounce, my left shoulder hugs the walls as my tatterdemalion blue rucksack spindles me left.

I brave the onslaught of human traffic in my wake, the perilous catacombs of corridors deceptive, yet enticing. A large gentleman sporting a tight Batman logo t-shirt surges past me, his long ebony hair matted below the crown from when he last slept. Hands bulging out of his denim-jean pockets, I halt immediately. Pondering whether to disembark on my quest and stalk this fellow through the myriad of faces. Intrigued that he may adopt the persona of his shirt and pursue a crime in action. I foresaw a future, becoming the newshound fated to document the deeds of the protagonist. Until, when slowly swallowed by bitterness and envy… I eventually become the evildoer.

After brief deliberation and deciding against a fate of villainy, I decide to fulfil my quest. Though, I decide firstly to empty my bladder before approaching the destination of streaming water. Therefore I apply my verbal indicator of; ‘excuse me, coming through.’ I U-turn left, almost tipple topping like a Reliant Robin braving a sharp corner at high speed, as I home-in on the stick figured door…

My quest for ‘the lake’ resumes. I pass the maze of oak herrings to find a varnished chestnut coloured door leading outside hidden by a veranda glass gateway. Outside is typically where a lake should be… yes. Now in desire to find the location scrawling upon my notepad as thoughts are projected upon the page like a technicolour yawn of ink. I clasped tightly in my palm a pen and a tattered crumpled map. This reaffirms to me that the bunker of water my desired location. “Yes” I mumble to myself, “It is time to complete this orienteering task,” as I place my finger upon the sky-blue filled ‘b’ image hoping that I have the latent ability of teleportation… “Alas!”

Approaching my intended flag, I pass an’ abstract statue of what is. Well, what seems to be a hybrid of a female cow sheep-pig? The modest statue grazing upon the concrete cinderblock of which it rested upon, surrounded by a blanket of grass and a balcony of plants. A wayward plastic shopping bag with the elevated view peered down. Dancing to and fro with the wind as it waves to the passersby, all of which seemingly unaware of the greeting.

The sign to the right of the statue, the text barely legible as the chilling wind freezes all concentration, ‘For your safety…’ the rest hidden from sight by overgrown grass, the inscription cryptic unless enquired by those brave enough to wrestle the small jungle of ten centimetre grass, ‘For your safety…’ The grass patrolled by vertical grey plastic totem poles shooting from the ground. I Fear to brave past them, for they would surely release a deadly sonar signal emitter to perforate my ears and liquefy my brain. Though, on reflection they were most likely lights…

In sight of the basin now, filled from a perpetual flowing staircase of water, traverses down leading to a waterfall streaming below. A violent drop within the tub, the noise of groans resonate a soothing tenor of water migrating to the lake. The liquid again reunited, edging out the droplets clinging on. Reluctant yet inevitably destined to retrace the journey…

My gaze traced down the concrete staircase to the source. Rectangular brick cinderblocks protruding out of the ground brimmed with: that’s right! Water, as it migrates calmly, orderly across the staircase of concrete. The Sky Bulb shoots down its abduction beam in attempt to scan the aquatic intruder, as it slowly vacates the manufactured coffer. The light creates a shimmer on the water’s surface, creating a sparkle, a bouquet of bright opaque crystallites. Molecules of light explode on the surface to create the glimmer like a silver disco ball, twirling within the light. Light, my eyes follow the light. My eyes hypnotised by the water strokes, strokes. It Moves, moves, constant…

Success! I finally arrive to the man-made basin, a sink of water catering various nomadic species of bird – predominantly duck. My vantage point leaned up against the wooden guardrail that is incidentally the right height to comfortably rest my notebook upon. My exposed fingers at mercy to the fist clenching cold, hands longing for the sweet release of the pocket’s warmth as the wind attacked in pulses. The frost bites at my fingertips in intervals, like a school of piranha gnawing at flesh leaving behind the scraps, red blisters.

My ears occupied by a passing siren. I thought to myself, perhaps the police to round-up the indisposed villains the Batman sporting t-shirt fellow had defeated. The noise slowly easing into the backdrop, drowned out by the whispers of the wind showering the lake with a confetti of leaves. The sudden quack! A guffaw threw my attention instantly to two Mallards, one male with his viridian head and straw coloured beak. The second a female, auburn filigreed with speckles of white and black. Both ducks wing in wing braved the comfort of the sheltering trees and plants pass me, teetering to and fro as they walk aside me circling the giant rectangular cinderblock.

My eyes move wayward. Broken by movement above, in the distance a building sporting the acronym; ‘FOH.’ On the rooftop, lay a regiment of birds lined up peering downwards at the lake – in attack formation. The lake, currently occupied by two Canada geese, with a community of Mallard swimming across the circumference and occupying the grass around seemed unaware or uninterested to the rooftop threat from above. Collections of birds swoon down scouting the dominion of the ducks skimming the reeds that shot out of the fringe of water, fireworks of green strands. Distant voices unheard, passers-by unseen. I was transfixed. The lake pulled me closer, a magnetic force to spare me from the tooth-marks of ice.

Until halted by the rail, the whispers now audible, “For our safety…”

Aaron Stewart



Rose Theatre Box Office

Faint sound of sirens in the distance, getting gradually louder…louder and then a sudden stop.

People leaving the performing arts building in sporadic sets of 2 and 3
“See you mate”
“Yeah pal im here all day”

6 more people enter the building as if against the tide
“Are we late?”
“For what?”
“Our lecture” replies a longhaired male
“We haven’t a lecture this morning, your thinking of tomorrow”
“Tomorrow is Saturday you Gobshite”

A man dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans drags a trolley past, the wheels rattling incessantly.

Suddenly another group of students 6 to be exact exit the building and stand directly in the middle of the path to discuss the finer points of purple hair!!
It appears as if they have been sent out on an observational exercise although they appear to be observing very little.

They leave, and with them the noise leaving nought but the gentle sound of the breeze and the faint murmuring of an aeroplane.
In the distance as if in a faint murmur the voice of a girl
“Where has today gone…”

Dave Sherriff

Untitled

‘Hi, thank you, thank you’ the man said as a woman let him through the door. Both exchanging smiles as they pass in a courteous way. Everything is happening so fast, I am struggling to capture it all that’s going on.

A group of rowdy builders stomp through the doors, one of them greets a lady in a Liverpudlian accent ‘Hi love, you alright?’ ‘Yes, thank you.’ The sound of my phone vibrating interrupts my observations. I answer ‘hello’, no reply, they hang up. Prank caller I assume. I resume my task. The double doors to my left seem to be causing a nuisance to some people, failing to observe that they are pull, not push. Providing much amusement for me.

Something is happening in Hale Hall in front of me, people keep changing seats; it could either be a meeting or musical chairs without the music.

Three of my lecturers pass, speaking loudly to each other in a talkative manner. They enter a room to my left. Meanwhile, a guy from my class approaches the other side of the double doors, stands and proceeds to take notes. We both laugh as we know that we have to write about this now. Sounds of heels getting louder echoed off into the distance as a smartly dressed lady passed by.

From my left, a door opens and my three lecturers enter the corridor; this time, holding cups of tea, one of them says to me ‘taking this in.’ I nod and laugh and carry on writing.

My lecturer Ailsa holds the door for her colleagues, but then some smartly dressed men approach, so out of politeness, she is forced to hold the door for them too. I laughed, because I can relate to having done the same and being stuck with the door because I couldn’t quite get away fast enough.

A man with a yellow rucksack, and bald head stops to speak with a guy with dark hair and a suit. This situation is familiar too, where people stand in the most obstructing place and decide to have a conversation or business meeting. This also amuses e as they dodge to each side when a person comes passed. They say ‘nice to see you’; ‘nice to meet you’ then part with a smile.
I move to go upstairs and sit on a window ledge: I can see the bright, dazzling sun through the white criss-cross windows. Light seeps through the blood coloured tree and the wind forces it to sway sideways like a ship in a storm.

Jessica Hewitt


Untitled

A library is usually imagined as a quiet place, but the first thing you notice is how loud the bloody doors are. All you hear is the opening and closing of the doors, but it doesn't seem to bother anyone else though. Not a lot does bother people here, for example, a delivery man walks in and sets off the alarm. He doesn't slow down, nor does he show any sign of actually noticing he's set it off. No one in the room bats an eyelid either at the sudden interruption of the alarm.

There is a woman sat not far away from me. She is drinking from a flask with her eyes fixed upon the entrance. Clearly, this woman is expecting someone or something to happen. She doesn't notice me watching her. She has quite an angry look on her face, which makes me wonder what she's waiting for. I look away from her when I realise that the low hum of chatter of everyone talking at the same time dies at exactly the same time. I look around, wondering what made everyone stop talking, but instantly, the chatter starts up again, and my eyes are drawn to the woman with the flask. She is now surrounded by women, and I instantly notice each of the women are speaking with different accents.

I turn to see what else I can see from where I am sat. There is a woman stood outside smoking a cigarette, wrapping her arms around herself because she is cold. I watch her for a few seconds, thinking how much I would like a cigarette right now, when suddenly, she disappears. I watch the space where she was stood, wondering why I never noticed her leave. I glance around outside to see where she has gone, but I can't see her. I glance back at where she was before, and somehow, she is stood there again, in the exact same place she started with. I frown in confusion. I watch her for a little while longer, and she disappears again. I have no idea where she's going, but upon observation, I realise that the place she's stood vanishes when the doors open and close, and there is a reflection where she is stood, which mirrors and similar but different space to where she is stood. I laugh quietly to myself before getting up and leaving the library.

I've made my way to the top floor of the business building and stand beside a window that overlooks the roof garden. Despite how beautiful the garden looks in the sunlight, the only thing I notice is how cold and windy it is outside, and despite the open window I'm stood beside, I cannot feel the weather from outside. Looking down, I notice a girl breaking a brownie in half and offering it to a girl stood beside her. Judging by the conversation they're having, they've only just met. Even lower then these two girls are a further two girls reading a map, and pointing in various directions.

My attention is drawn to the windowledge just below me. There is a broken wine glass there, with some form of dried liquid staining both the broken shards of glass and the windowledge itself. I frown as I wonder how it could have gotten there, and how it might have broken. I also am intrigued to know why it is still there, because if it should have happened to fall, it may have landed on a student, which could result in a nasty injury.

Dan Conmara



Observations: Wilson building. 26/09/2010

A trampled poster, “I love vodka! Last day!” drifts ominously across the discoloured concrete between two groups of pale students. Inside three students exchange identical information, all trying to delay the irresistible onslaught of awkward silence. The jangle of keys echoes through the long corridor. A small woman supporting a large clipboard stares at nothing. Two more students amble past, discussing their hopes for the future, “two hundred pound! Do Blackwell’s only sell books?” Outside the building, one of them picks a poster up and scours the page for a Blackwell’s logo. Back inside; a small woman supporting a large clipboard stares at nothing. A well fed man sits down opposite me to finish his pie. After achieving this goal he indulges in a drawn out display of public flatulence. Mass exodus follows. “How long does this enrolment last mate?” “About 20 minutes.” “Piss take.” Just outside the door a small women supporting a large clipboard stares at nothing.


Ryan Hawkins


Untitled

The wispy clouds are blown apart by the breeze. Someone shivers, wearing shorts.
‘Alex could have a cloth, it could look like …’ Group of girls, group of boys.
‘It’s fucking dead.’ Walking out of the building, a group of students stop to stare at something in the sky. Someone points and they laugh.
‘Wankers’ someone shouts, maybe at whatever is in the sky.
‘Do you see dead people?’
‘No.’
‘There’s a group over there … dead people … can you see them?’
‘Erm … yeah.” They walk away. They don’t look like dead people to me.
Only one of the windows opposite has diamond decoration, as though somebody got bored. A big blue lorry reverses slowly, and somebody moves out of the way. A man’s head looks out of the glass of a yellow JCB, like the song, from where it is floating, looking proud of himself. One piece of lavender hovers over the others. Bits of trees dance, and sand lands on black leggings, and a pile of leather rides a bike labelled Ninja. A long, long line, like primary school children, walking in pairs, holding hands. ‘Any spare change?’ They laugh.
Leaves are scattered, scratching at the floor. People are still wearing shorts and shivering: The North.

Leah Burton




Paper Jungle

They scurry around me, desperately searching for material objects to calm
their subconscious mind. The sound of quiet pitter-patter folds perfectly
into a delicate balance with the turning of pages. They are bright and
fresh-faced. An array of colour and vibrancy, similar to that of an African
sunrise, eager to face the day ahead.

Robot-like technology seems somewhat inferior. The lonely, dark screens are
a mere shadow upon the nearby jungle of words. The chairs bow in admiration,
pending the opportunity to experience the splendour of the ‘masterpiece’ they
call a book.


Sarah Batty

Mass Observation: Edge Hill University Creative Writing Students 2009

The turning of paper leaves bathed the room in a soothing sound. An odd
murmur was muttered every so often from the small group in the far corner -
breaking the silence. A man, arms clenched behind his back, strode the
'Literature and History' aisle sternly; his steel blue eyes peering atop the
rim of low slung spectacles. A sudden guffaw shook the room into life, as an
off-task student inhaled her daily feed of gossip. Myriads of scholars,
young and old, milled up and down every set of sturdy shelves. Pens and
books strewn athwart the table - a young man violently scribed upon tired
paper. The ink infected its' sheets - blotching and running, twisting and
twirling. In glided a girl. Swaying her hips to impossible degrees and
sporting nothing but the latest fashion to come off of the Milan catwalk. A
rhythmical clip-clop of her heels turned many heads as her rumbling, crimson
curls rose and fell to the orchestrating whip of the wind that rushed
through the door of that which she left.

Their wings flapped irritably in the winding Ormskirk breeze. Gliding and
drifting erratically, their minds wandered as did their wings. Each one
taking their turn to plunge into the icy water. Rear end vertical for only
moments, before surfacing. Droplets chased and weaved from their feathers in
a hurried fashion as the taunting gale persisted to heave leisurely clouds
away.

Jonathan Clarke



Sat on a dull, grey table, next to a light blue wall. The uncomfortable seat I am sat on is a dark pink colour. The material has a texture that when stared at long enough starts to look like the seat has scales. The library has a constant noisy chatter. One may wonder how a building with so loud with so little books could be referred to as a library at all. On the table adjacent to the one i am sat is a young woman. She is writing with a red pen, rubbing her head as if she is in pain. Sat under a clock as dull as the rest of the furniture filling the room, she also begins to look dull. Rubbing her head and playing with her glasses, with a secretary hair cut and plain beige jumper.

Sat on the couches near her are two people sat next to each other . Both are using laptops of the same make and model. They have a look so similar, you have to wonder if they are sitting next to one another using the laptops to communicate with one another. No use for human speech, simply euphemisms for the cold internet dependant age in which we live. I myself also sadly part of this techno age as not five minutes previous my phone received a text. Vibrating across the desk I fought an urge to see who had disturbed my thoughts.

Viewing the room looking for observations the fire exit catches my interest. The man drawn on the fire exit is running from a fire, through a door outside. The doorway casts light inwards. Surely if there was a fire blazing, the fire would cast a shadow away from its angry blaze, not towards itself. Although if it was so light outside the fiery building, one may ask himself how there could be such a noticeable shadow at all.

In looking for something else to write about my attention is cast to the noisy chatter around me. Eventually with eavesdropping the noisy dribble blurs into one foreign sound i cannot make sense of.

Joe Bolton



Approaching the faculty of health, I glance at the corner room and an image of the late, great Liverpool manager Bill Shankly stares at me through the window. Upon pondering what the class inside is discussing I light a smoke and stand next to a bin overflowing with coffee cups and cigarette ends. An image of nervousness and trepidation all freshers must relate to. Emotions Bill Shankly never endured building my football club into the great institute it became.
I contemplate what to write about while I enjoy my smoke while listening to the din of the construction site, a world behind me both physically and metaphorically. This academic surrounding seems alien to me, the clean, hospitable looking buildings, covered in glass in front of me run in stark contrast to the dirty old town of boarded windows I left behind.
Before my eyes there lies friendly faces, smiling chatting casually with nothing but optimism for the future. It’s as if this place reaffirms in people that their lives are improving, that they are here to better themselves.

But behind my ears there is the stark reminder of what I am leaving behind. The gruelling manual labour the work requires, with little prospects other than sustaining oneself. A world I was born to but never quite accepted.

This campus with its duck pond and varied accents represents to me the chance to progress, to experience something other than the dole queues and drunks fighting.



The siren from the workmen's digger
pervades the calling of the ducks
who splash in the pond leaving ripples
that catch my eye

Another digger drives past, disturbing the peace
I've lost my focus as I observe a group of freshers trying to find
their lecture rooms

People from all walks of life wander around the campus
Their searching set to the music of a diesel engine

I'm stirred by the chatter of new arrivals
I wonder if they feel as I do
As I scrawl with this pen against the Linc
These leafy surroundings can't but help one think

Jake Zywek



A boy sits in the corner with his pen in his mouth, slowly turning it
between his lips as he stares intently at the computer screen. While his
body movements are slow, his eyes flit frantically over the words. Suddenly
he jolts to life; the wet pen dropping out of his mouth and his fingers tap
the keys. When his eyes raise to the screen again, he smiles.

Two people sit on the hard backed army green sofa, identical laptops on each
of their laps to match their identical posture. Whilst the girl is typing
constantly, yet still talking, the boy never moves a finger. His long black
hair covers one eye and a small smile creeps onto his face each time he
looks at the girl.

Laura Klein



A rough accent catches my ear; he’s sat on a bench talking while he slurps his drink of pure sugar. The slurps blend into the sound of the silhouettes behind me tapping their heels on the harsh concrete.

Girls pull their jackets round them.

Over the way a new romance blossoms as affectionate cuddles of warmth shield a girl from the icy breeze. Laughter from across the lake drown out their smiles as a man throws bread to the flocking ducks and watches them fight like addicts over drugs.

Lisa Jayne Hannam



Reception

A handful of people wait and smile at each other anxiously in the visiting area as though expecting something terrible to happen. Meanwhile, the smell of cooked lunches wafts through into the reception area, beckoning hungry stomachs within the area into its abode.

A woman’s black, nail-polished fingers fidget nervously with her purse between her small, pale hands. Eventually she looks up as though she recognizes someone, but then her eyes glaze over in disappointment and she looks back down, abandoned and crestfallen.
By the entrance to the reception, the bright green doors spin continuously as more people enter the building. Two people meet by the desk, a middle aged man and a woman, both wearing expensive suits. They kiss each other on the cheek and loudly, as though to make some kind of point, but it sounds over expressed and sloppy.

A heard of students pass by the visiting area, a rainbow of different styles and outfits of personal expression on legs. They are all talking to the people with them, some almost at the same time as others that they are with, like animals making continuous noises at the zoo.

A blonde lady sits as still as a statue, her expression doesn’t change from neutral the whole time she is seated, she simply remains there until the magic happens, a familiar face brings her out of her trance and she finally smiled and left, chatting away absent-mindedly.

Rachael Norton



The Courtyard was almost silent. The trickle of the water fountain ran
elegantly from the cherub like ornament. Noises in the distance rang out, a
social gathering or perhaps a lesson taking place in hale hall.
The Breeze tugged at the plants and bushes, the perfectly cut grass
lay motionless; an military standard hair cut.
Swiftly, a man in builders boots and high visibility jacket had
swept past me without my notice and climbs to the top of the building, his
scaffold clinging to the wall like vines. He stands at the top and looks
out across the buildings like a centurian guard on a castle wall.
A voice calls out "Mike!". Again it calls "Mike! I'm coming up
now, wait for me." Another man, a stockier man came across the courtyard in
the same clothing as 'Mike' and began to scale the steel spire. The clang
and thud of tools, metal tools echoed out across the courtyard and in to the
distance
Here there is a sweet smell, like cakes evanescent on the breeze.

Dominic Boyle



A wind tickles the autumn tree leaves, a constant catalogue of cars chug from place to place, the sky beams. Close groups of three and four wander with time, making laughter and noise.



A boy sits alone, skimming thru a handbook lowering his head and straining to read the words on a page. His sports bag lay discarded on his right, a steady stream of indiscernible music blurs from somewhere.

Brown, tattered, curled leaves lay scattered on the freshly cut and slightly damp green grass. The trees sometimes sway to a invisible beat and every so often a gentle but steady stream of people bumble across the open pavement. Faces of fear, content, worry and excitement all shine and a flash of varied emotion, each has their own quarrel or delay, their eyes darting from sky to ground.

Black, white, blue and green cars scatter for exits and spaces, the heavy groan of engines, constant and heavy, rumbles thru the grounds suffocating the wind that splits through the trees and the chaotic chatter echoing.

Groups of bright and explosive coloured flowers lay neatly sectioned and squared off around the grass, too far for people to reach but close enough for them to notice. Aside a pair of revolving doors stands a tall woman and her group of non assuming friends, all dim in enthusiasm and spark but chatting with absolute certainty on every subject.

She brings a fresh cigarette upon her lips and frantically searches herself for a lighter, she finds it and the world breathes a sigh of relief, after taking two long drags she lowers the smoking stick from her face proclaiming “I hate looking for spaces, its always packed” Her group don’t respond, but simply hum in agreement.

A collection of boys in various sports wear gaggle and flap and holler at each other, each with bigger sports bags than the next, boasting a even bigger name with a even bigger slogan. Aside them stands a small woman talking to a tall, obviously uninterested gentleman who began kicking leaves at his feet.

“Joanne was saying stuff to Jackie and Jackie was saying stuff to Pat” she didn’t speak to him, but simply spoke the words into the air, nothing could stop her.

Behind and in front a constant and varied sculpture of people and a overcast sky, muted with clouds and bemused by it all.

Adam Tarry



Western Campus and the Faculty of Health

A grim faced builder holding a screwdriver glances up at students who are leaving the faculty of education. I hear the monotonous drone of construction work, though the source of the sound is completely snut out of sight by a row of crooked pine trees, which rustle in the passing breeze. Seagulls on the lake scatter into flight as the back door of a delivery van clangs shut. A little further down the path a dark haired girl smoking withdraws a cigarette from her lips and smiles. Unwavering ducks sit on the path as we pass by.

Meals are hastily served to students who are enticed in conversation. Some eat on the benches outside admiring the lake. Two freshers look through the windows inquisitively, one asking the other what they were going to buy.

White dummies lie on steel stretchers, each with default vacant expressions. A concession of laughter erupts in the corridor. A trio of staff members head towards the stairs.
Liam Jochems



Three students laughing and playing on a large stone square embedded in the
middle of the floor, pretending it is a chess board. One girl gracefully
moves around the bored showing the other two how cretin pieces can move,
taking on the role of the Queen, Castle and Pawn. I think she is Irish or
pretending to be, . . . . . not quite sure.

They are gone now, within the blink of an eye they have vanished. A workman
in his blue overalls walks over the chess board, tools hanging from his
pocket, clinking to the beat of his steps. . . Clink . . . . Clink . . .
Clink.

A lady in a red stripy top is eating crisps, a few at a time . . . I watch
her. She barley swallows them then more go in. Clearly in a rush as she
stuffs them in her bag and hurries of, enjoying the last few chews and
savouring the taste.

‘Alright Sam’ says another builder. I hear his boots scrapping against the
floor before I see him. ‘Alright’ says another man in response. They make
brief pleasantries before departing in different directions. I listen to
the sound of his boots slowly fading into the distance. . . . . Plastic
tubes in his arms.


Nevean Riley-Mohamed



Observations

A delivery man loads his van and then waits impatiently as the dull hum of nearby construction work disrupts the otherwise tranquil scene by the lake.
Birds try in vain to make themselves heard above the repetitive droning.
The van drives past me and meanders its way out of the campus.
The unusual sight of a duck leaping on to a bin catches my attention just as another gets too close for comfort.
Cigarette ends are all that litter the ground. No luck for the ducks today.

Chris Crawford



Terrace cafe, 26.09.09

He carries his tray to the fridge, and chooses some drinks.

Wanders the cafe, then returns to the fridge, and does the same as before.

He repeats this until the tray is almost full.

At which point he decides that it’s time for some food.


Terrace cafe, also 26.09.09

Appearing calm, the man sits patiently at the table.

The queue is long, and a laborious process.

The man still sits.

The queue begins to shrink.

The man still sits.

The queue empties.

The man makes his move.


James Shafi



The first thing I notice when I sit on the hard, unkept grass is the icy chill in the air. I look into the dull, grey sky and hope to
catch a glimmer of sun that could heat the earth around me. A woman in a dull
purple jumper sits nearby and lights a cigarette. As I watch the smoke rising
around her it dawns on me that a cigarette would make this dull, cold day
bearable.

Nicholas Fischer



Outside Observations....


The piercing light corrupts the nature of the milky complexion of the otherwise peaceful sky, illuminating a scene set serene by the reflective tones of aquamarine.

A blind shudders in the breeze lifting its veil on the hidden beauty of that witch lurks behind the glass.

The teak stained wood gives a hint of warmth to the cold nature of the steel encasing it, holding it back from its freedom giving an unparalleled opposite to the forces of gravity defied with a whimsical silence.

A cool breeze alarms the senses, shuddering the reeds like hair on the neck taken aback by its silent power, all the while conveying the appearance of something sheltered within.

Nearby the ripples conjured by the same force disturb the peace of the water like the wake of a pebble tossed carelessly by a child in the spring of their youth.

Tarron Sheppard





Observations from outside the LINC Building by the duck pond:



Sitting on the bench by the duck pond, as soon as we sit down the ducks
make a beeline for us to see if we have any scraps of food for them.

Watching some students walking towards us from the direction of the DoE
building and listening to them talking about what Rob said and them not
knowing what to think about it.

There is a guy in black joggers and a fleece jacket running towards the
LINC building, his mass of black curly hair is bouncing with each stride of
his run. His hair does look rather impressive.

There is a police siren somewhere in the distance, the sound is gradually
getting louder and moving across the horizon from left to right, I wonder
where it's going too.

There are two girls purposefully walking towards the LINC building. They
walk behind us and they are discussing about "storming in" to talk to the
woman who sorts the placements. I think to myself how I doubt they would
storm in, they would probably just knock on the door politely and walk in.

There are two seagulls swooping over the pond, they look very graceful
considering they're seagulls.

Whilst the four of us are sat on the bench Lisa and Phil discuss rebel
ducks, and whether the duck that has been stalking us for the past 10
minutes is the rebel duck of the bunch. Somehow, I don't think it is.

Wendy Gillett



It’s a cold September afternoon and as we sadly come to the end of a fun filled fresher’s week still I notice there are people wondering around the campus some of whom look a little bit lost and confused by which direction they should be heading in. I am in my group by the faculty of health building in one of the four areas each of the groups were sent to, to observe what is going on.
There is a lot going on around this building, in front of the building there is a loading van parked outside, two delivery men come out of the building carrying by the expressions on their faces a very heavy piece of furniture, they walk successfully to the van and step up on to the stair lift as soon as they are level with the loading area they quickly put the chair to the floor and slide it in to the back of the lorry. A few minutes later they re appear red faced and exhausted, but they carry back into the building and bring another piece of furniture out, they do this two times more before making sure everything was loaded safe and secure. They at last close and lock the back of the lorry up before getting in to the front of the vehicle and slowly and extra careful as not to knock any confused students over.
A few minutes later there is a loud noise as if bricks are being moved or something is being knocked down, it’s the sound of work being done behind the Faculty of Health building, interrupting that noise was the loud quacks of ducks on the pond swimming about quite happily and care free, suddenly I notice a duck wondering over to me and the rest of my group no guesses he was in search of food! He is making cute quacking noises as if to say “feed me” now and again he pecks on the floor for bits of food that have been dropped from passes by, the duck is now parading up and down the path trying to guilt us into giving him food “ but sorry duck we haven’t got any”. The duck must have became bored because he turns away and heads for the bin in front of us, I am presuming that he thinks he will have more luck there but unfortunately for us he had no luck at all and is now once more parading up and down looking for food and making us feel more guilty than ever.
The wind is starting to pick up now and the branches on the trees are swaying more, there are girls now walking round clutching on to their cardigans that they at first loosely draped over a summer top and a pair of leggings, I can imagine how they feel because I am one of those girls, they pick up their speed as they walk and hurry up into the building. It’s gone quiet! No students no workmen no noise! Its silent except for the occasional quack from the ducks on the pond all is calm!

Michelle Rutter


The trees sway silently beyond panes of glass.
A door bangs shut behind me.
A man stands, staring out the window.
Crutches click rhythmically against the tile floor.
The Mechanical whir of a vending machine is constant behind me.
A man sighs in frustration.
Many footsteps and rustling clothes.
Keys jangle merrily together.
Cars stand in formation.
Glimpses of figures behind dense trees.
Small birds chase each other across the sombre grey sky.
Insects dance in the air, before landing on delicate leaves.
Dead leaves tossed around by the wind.
A group of people discuss lecture dates and times.

Yasmin Titterton.


The Wilson Building

The vending machine hums behind me and the sound of footsteps circulates the
air as students walk past laughing hysterically, rushing to lessons and
slamming doors behind them. As i step outside and sit there and watch i see
the trees blowing wildly in the wind and flocks of birds flying past. The
tractor drives past noisily on the car park with cars trailing behind in
desperate search for a car parking space. On the running track there is a
girl panting as she is running, her face is glowing red as the blood
rushes to her head. She holds her white jumper in her hand as the sweat is
dripping off her. A man strolls by slowly, walking heavily with a can of
coke in his hand and wearing a blue tracksuit. As he listens carefully to
the music on his ipod he seems obliviously to what’s happening around him
and the fact I am sat there writing about him.

Leanne Wrightson




Casual Observations

It rumbled and chuckled and stuttered and coughed, but somehow this old man of a coach was determined to pull twenty or more students from the hotel to our university at semi-regular times each day. Sat on the frayed, graffiti covered back seats, there was little to do other than stare out at the monotonous landscape, the same repetitive tree whizzing by against a backdrop of dull and grey. I could recount each detail and landmark we passed; they were the same as yesterday, and the day before that.
What interested me far more were the people around me, as people I assure you are far more interesting than trees. Such happy, smiling faces the previous evening, now almost all were quiet and still. Throats were cleared, and nails neatly trimmed with teeth, all against a rhythm of coughs and apologies. Without alcohol to grease the rusted gears of modern social interaction, many of these young people simply did not know what to say to one another. Is this, I thought, what has become of the art of conversation?

Stephen Brewis



A smartly dressed man wanders quizzically around, looking for any signs of help he can before finally speaking a few words with the receptionist and sitting down on the soft chairs in the reception area. However, he only waits a few moments before looking to his watch, standing up, and walking around once more.

Two students walk through the revolving door only to be cut off by a large, purple dressed woman cutting through the disabled entrance. Their only response is to blink at this and let the woman barge past before continuing through the area.

Two friends meet briefly and exchange words before parting, moments later, several more students arrive clustering the thin walkway and seemingly reading every notice o the ever present TV screen which flashes lazily through the events on campus.

Footsteps land loudly as they pass the reception area, pairs sounding like crowds within the small space between the inviting red chairs and the open glass doors.

A square jawed woman waits patiently, her pink fashionable bag sitting on the chair beside her. She shakes her knees softly in boredom and her eyes move constantly to the corridor and back, perhaps looking for any sign of the person she is waiting so patiently for. Beside her bag, a much more garnish and worn looking green bag sits, and besides that, an older woman waiting in the same manner.

The younger woman suddenly turns and chats idly to the older woman, who replies in kind, the immediate contrast between the two weakened by the friendliness of strangers.

Antony Murphy


Initially very quiet. The only thing making a noise was the window full of
colourful Freshers’ week posters. Caught the farewell of a pair of people (man
and woman) to another man and some monosyllabic exchange between two plump
women, "Right", "Yeah."
The only life on the track has ceased to be. They haven't died,
they've probably just gone inside for showers. A grey car, the same dull
colour as the sky, pulls out of the car park. Apart from the one
blue-hooded man twirling his keys on a chain, I can't see anyone outside.
There's a solitary bird in the sky, struggling to fly against the wind.
Maybe it should get in training.
A pack of lads shuffle through,
"What do you reckon we're gonna be doing today? Just a game?"
"Just a game."
Then a pair of lasses, looking lost,
"That's not really a way to get back at somebody."
"Unhealthy."
Then they try to figure out which door they came through between them.
A laughing 'team manager' jingles his keys as he walks through a door,
apparently without a care in the world. No rushing necessary.
More laughter from the hall, and a comment from a Liverpudlian lass,
something to the effect of, "Look at them there, writing," as if writing
were a very strange thing to do. Well, we are near a sports centre I
suppose.
Back to the trees gently moving, the red-berried one adding a touch of
flair to the surrounding greenery.
A track suited man 'swishes' past, takes a swig of his drink, and
that's it.
Three men and a lass walk by outside and I hear laughter inside that I
can't locate. It didn't sound very hearty.
A fly hits the window- possibly because of the wind, possibly because
they are so dumb.
Now a trio of Liverpudlian lads, not speaking very loudly so I just
catch something about Burger King. Another trio follows soon after, with a
lass this time. I catch the awful, "You know what I mean though? At the end
of the day..." What a waste of words.


Martin Palmer

One More Guerilla Out There

29/9/08. Creative writing: Phillip Kelly.
Observation outside.

As I sit outside near the student union diner and college shop , on a bench that must be as old as time itself , I take a while to relax and reflect upon the new surroundings and new situations that await me on my new adventure. While I sit , quite comfortably , all my troubles seem to be drifting away on the warm , whispering wind of autumn.
There are different people passing by me every minute , most of them unfamiliar with each other. A young man and woman just walked by linking hands with each other , engaged happily in deep conversation. The young man is wearing black , baggy pants and a black T-shirt with a rock music image on the front in white print ; his thick , rough , wild hair is as black as coal. In contrast the young woman is wearing a denim skirt and a pink T-shirt with a white cardigan over the top that has a flower design on it ; she has the most beautiful short , blonde hair. Here are two friendly people so different in looks and personality yet so agreeable and at ease in each others company ; it is like watching a pantomime of the epic fairy tale ‘Beauty and the Beast’.
All around me I hear the pleasant chattering of students ; the melodic twittering of birds as they bustle about in the tall , towering trees ; the rustling of leaves , themselves about to change as autumn commands each year. These trees are my guardians ; they surround me as if they are watching over and protecting me. The rhythmic and soothing melody of easy listening music can be heard playing in the background. I feel a strange tranquillity and contentment from the noises that reach my ear. From within the diner I smell the wonderful aromas of cooked food , a smell that tries to lure and entice me to enter and devour all the contents within. Of these smells I can distinctly distinguish that of chips and coffee. I feel as though I have lost all sense of reality and have entered a fantasy world that is a paradise to me!
Could this really be a fantasy world ? Am I really in a place of paradise ?
All at once my tranquillity is shattered , my paradise lost as reality starts fighting back and begins to overcome the fantasy. BANG ! BOOM ! the bass blasts out as rock music drowns out the peaceful sounds from earlier. The wonderful aromas are consumed and smothered by the foul smell of cigarette smoke as students begin smoking and invite the grim reaper to come and take them away to the land of the dead. Shortly after the area is empty , but still noisy. A feeling of emptiness and loneliness comes over me. I wait a few moments. Then I leave.

Guerilla Writing First Year Writing Students 2008

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