So how went the day? Well...
Inauspicious start, as my part of Dumfriesshire was a little wild at 8.30am. That is, gales and horizontal rain. At Sanquhar (pronounced Sanker) Station a rather disturbing number of people huddled in the shelter made for 8, and seriously discussed whether it was the safest place to be. It did not creak, it shuddered and screamed, and we had a joint vision of the 13 of us headlining the Standard on Friday "Tragic Rail Passengers Killed In Plexiglas Disaster". Luckily, the train was only five minutes late.
As we moved North, however, I fell asleep, and upon my waking at Dunlop (I always wake up at Dunlop - no idea why) the gales had abated and the sun was out. Glasgow was my blue and concrete and stone heaven.
Then had to take the subway to Hillhead. Glasgow's underground is great, being just a big Circle Line. There is an outer circle and an inner circle, and if you get on the wrong side it's OK, the journey is just a bit longer. I got on the right side, and got out to a part of Glasgow I have never frequented very much - I haunt the city centre for shopping, work meetings and onward train journeys to the North from Queen Street.
University Land is a very nice land, and I had a vision of myself strolling around Clifton in Bristol on my decades-ago registration day. The architecture and tree count were not dissimilar and Bristol, like Glasgow, is not a campus university but scattered through one area of the city.
I can remember exactly what I wearing way back then: rust cropped narrow cord trousers with a matching sleeveless jacket, and an exquisite yellow viyella shirt with a huntsman and hounds repeating design on it. I thought I still owned the shirt, but having just gone in search of it I can only assume it got mothed a while back. Sigh. I was an incredibly well-dressed student.
Yesterday, I opted for Avoca jeans, white T-shirt, pinky-orangey-browny knitted shrug cardigan and fine white rubberised swing-coat (inherited from my rapidly shrinking mother). And no ridiculous heels, which I used to do a lot of. I felt severely under dressed.
For the first big change with students I noticed was not the obvious how young they all were (hardly unexpected), but how well-dressed they all were. Some really beautiful outfits.
Now, my eventual gang of close friends at Bristol included not only Arts students but a good smattering of Engineers and Medics (oh, Ian and Andy, the original It's Grim Up North boys, I still miss you) who genuinely owned one pair of jeans and two T-shirts - one for the week, and one for the weekend. Times have changed, and I'm obviously going to have to up my game. I saw designer labels, for goodness' sake! And such style! Plus I am certain that I was the only person at Bristol who viewed shorts as a day wear option, but there were shorts everywhere yesterday. With opaques, admittedly, which had yet to be invented back then.
Next big surprise was the number of international students. I can remember one international student at Bristol, but yesterday there was a true rainbow nation on the streets. I suspect this is largely due to economic reasons, but it was brilliant to both see and hear.
I had to register, a rather convoluted process that involved four different queues, as I was paying by instalments and my first instalment was by cheque (short queue compared to the pay-by-card one - huzzah for outmoded methods of payment!). Then I had time to wander the main university block, which looked brilliantly like the university of one's imagination.
I immediately considered switching course to Midwifery, as that department gets its own turret.
Also ventured into the tents where the Student Societies were promoting themselves, and left my e-mail with the very nice knitting and painting and crafty girls and with the very nice burlesque girls. I had to stop myself laughing up at the far end, because the Anarchy Society were wonderfully placed diagonally opposite the Officer Training Corps (Army, statesiders).
Next, I had to find the School of Anatomy, which is where the Creative Writing Induction was to be held. Got there early (old habits... like to establish the geographical lay-out should any incident occur) and it was deserted. Marion was right, the Museum is fantastic. When I got home Craig told me they had a cast of "Lucy", and I kicked myself for not locating it.
Once inducted (in the Large Lecture Theatre, the rising rows of which had been designed with the same thought for legroom that Ryanair would give if designing aeroplanes for eight-year-olds) I had time to locate food. Man, have things changed. At Bristol, eating at either The Refectory or the Union Building was, quite frankly, dicing with death. Only Medics and Engineers actually did it, the first because they could save themselves if it all went pear-shaped and the second because... well, who ever understood the Engineers?
At Glasgow, the choice of student fine-dining appears unlimited. I found this building, the name of which eludes me but which also houses the John Smith Bookshop (be still, my beating heart) and look, just look, at the cafe. And the food on offer!
Plus this absolutely groovy-licious detail at the big, beautiful, wooden bench tables. Different height stools to suit your stature! Beyond.
And on leaving, the Catholic Chaplaincy band were laying down some rather good God-Rock outside.
Had a touch of the sads before the College of Arts PGT Induction (I am one - Post Graduate Taught, as Wigeon so kindly informed me) because on my last first day of University it was my father who dropped me off, and his parting words were the only sexual advice he ever gave me, couched in gloriously mercantile terms along the lines of, "It's alright to let them see the goods, but never let anyone touch them before buying." Ah Dad.
Finally, the PGT Induction, which took place in the kind of slick glass cyber-centre you imagine DEF COM lives in. If DEF COM actually exists outside of the movies. Actually, I have no idea what DEF COM is at all. But - get this - as a postgraduate student you have access to this place 24 hours a day. Ponder the possibilities - get the late train up and work all night when that essay is due! Set up base-camp for a weekend study-thon! Oh, the appeal to my inner (and outer) insomniac.
And what is it you've all been waiting for? The Reading Party!
None the wiser, guys. It was cancelled.
Spoke to three people doing the same course, and they were nice, and one person doing the same course who only gave me three of her bloody grapes out of the whole Marks and Spencer packet she had. She gets a quarter of my worldly goods upon my demise. And all the jewellery. There will be blood.
In conclusion, there are a lot of sacrifices being made in order for me to arse around like this. Financial, obviously; emotional (three nights a fortnight I definitely won't see the small ones, and bear in mind I am away working sometimes as well); recreational - we won't be having a family holiday for two years because the majority of Mr T's annual leave will be taken up by giving me the afternoon and evening free to get up to Glasgow. Is it going to be worth it? On the strength of what I heard and saw yesterday, that's an affirmative Captain.
Dreaming Spire
This is all about me
But today it's back to beds and dog and washing and school pick-up and helping Brown Owl tonight and Scrabble Club at school tomorrow (I've just founded it). Normal service mostly, then.
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