My final week as a student: Tuesday

Day two of my last ‘normal’ week of university started off better than expected. The last time I went out on a Monday night I paid for it during my Tuesday AM lecture, but this time the sensible side of my alter ego had kicked in and told me to switch to water for the latter part of the evening. It made dancing a little more uncomfortable than usual, but it meant I got my seminar reading done at least (note to employers who may be reading this: see, I really am a sensible student!).

Despite having done the reading, this didn’t propel me with the confidence to lead a discussion on it with nowhere to hide in a lecture of five students. Yes, five. What is it about the last week of term that students pay roughly £90 in tuition fees for that makes them want to skip it? It’s the last EVER week for goodness sakes. Almost pain-free lecture over with however and I got to one of the parts of the week I’m going to miss the most: Tuesday Hullfire lunch.

The last few weeks have accidentally turned into an unofficial lunch date each Tuesday with various members of the Hullfire crew and this week’s was done nicely with an extra nostalgic taste of rubber cheese from the union. Ah student food, who’d have thought this is where my blog was going to go?

To get past this redundant point however, came one of my other favourite things about university: guest lectures. They’re badly advertised so when you hear of someone like a best-selling author making an appearance for the English department it’s not a bad thing. The Philosophy department had Luce Irigaray attend from Paris earlier in the semester, it seems the humanities admin team can do some things right after all.

The guest tonight was Kate Mosse, author of Labyrinth, a book I’m ashamed to say I didn’t know what was about until now. I’m still not convinced it’s my type of thing, but then again I haven’t given it that much of a chance yet, but if there’s one thing authors do well (other than write books) it’s giving that inspirational speech of finding your perfect writing place. Kate Mosse’s happened to be in a small medieval French village her husband impulsively bought a house in while she was at home, pregnant 21 years ago. Mine it seems, for now is a wobbly desk from Argos in the spare room with numerous textbooks piled around me. Still, aspirations huh?


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