From Public Pools to the Royal Treatment

Everything suddenly came to a screeching halt. No new blog posts, no new Youtube videos, my nails are a disaster and I can barely remember what my friends look like. Over the past month all of my time has been sucked into some kind of vortex and I'm not entirely sure what I've even been doing other than looking for jobs and mourning the loss of my footless and fancy free student days.

Maybe I haven't adjusted to living with my parents again yet. I'm used to waking up to a plan I made the night before or a totally blank canvas ("What's the plan for the day? Four hours of Netflix followed by cocktails and the Sex and the City drinking game with my housemates? Why not?") Last week I woke up to the sound of Lauren scampering into my room.
"We're going swimming!"
I broached the subject with my mother. Admittedly, rather tactlessly.
"Swimming? Nobody consulted me. I could have had plans for all you knew."
"You don't though, do you?" She said, knowingly.

She was right. It was meant to be one of those blank canvas days. Maybe I'd have gone to pilates. Maybe I'd have gone to the pub. Maybe I'd even have finally gotten around to writing my new blog post. But my blank canvas day was snatched away and instead I was heading to the swimming pool with two small children. Still, my soul was, as of yet, uncrushed.

That quickly changed.

We drove all the way over the Swansea, only to find out the gym we're a member of wasn't open to children for another hour. Try explaining that to a four year old diva. So we ended up on the road again, heading towards the public pool in Neath, which, as it turns out (the lady on the phone failed to mention this little gem) is free for all school children after 2pm. Wonderful if you're a ten year old, but not so great if you arrive at quarter to 2 with a small child in a wheelchair and a tiny loon with no patience and find yourself in a queue that winds itself around the building. Especially as my mother had phoned ahead to make sure we could go straight over with the wheelchair with no problems.

Lost adrift in a turbulent sea of scores of screeching children with a worrying lack of manners, I started to lose it. To cut a long story short, the staff at reception made me despair at the state of humanity (and the education system) and I ended up wandering around in a towel looking for change for the locker. This is why I pay a monthly membership for the Village. That and the Village has ample room to do hair and make up when you're done working out.

Anyway, that's the kind of thing I have to put up with now that I'm no longer living the glorified student life. One small mercy is that I had to come back to Exeter for today's exam and I stayed overnight on campus. It was like being a fresher again, brushing my teeth in my little en-suit, collapsing into bed safe in the knowledge that there was nothing to wake me except an alarm I personally controlled. No one tried to make morning conversation. No one asked me to do the dishes. It was bliss.

The red line is the ridiculous route I took

What made it even better was that I was staying in Holland Hall, which will mean nothing to you if you didn't go to the University of Exeter and will mean everything to you if you did. Back when we lived on campus, hearing someone say, "I live in Holland Hall" was like hearing someone say, "My father wears tweed and shoots pheasant...which the servants then cook." At £6988.80 for a 32 week contract, it's officially like the Mecca of Exeter rah culture. Oh the rumours I've heard about that place...

After searching for it for 20 minutes and seeing no sign of it, I was concerned. I'd lived down that end of the campus two years ago. It isn't a big place. I took the most obscure route possible, finding myself lost more than once. ("Wait...why is there a children's park here? Where am I?" And so forth.) I started to worry there was some kind of Hogwarts-style enchantment over the place so that peasants couldn't see it.

And then I found it. Perched on the perfect spot for stunning panoramic views, close enough to campus to crawl there in the mornings with the least amount of uphill walking (a big problem in Exeter), courtyards, an outdoor dining area, a bar, full English breakfast with a selection of cereals and juices on the side...it lived up to all my expectations. Still, a girl like me with a valleys accent and an aversion to gilets would have burned upon crossing the threshold if it hadn't been during the summer vacation.

So call me a loser, but my trip to Exeter to sit my exam has been like a mini holiday. I got to have fried bread with breakfast, didn't have to share my bathroom, and no one ordered me to go swimming. In reality, I'm not really all that hard to please...

Graduation Day: Stupid Hats, Free Champagne and Floella Benjamin

I am now officially Aimee Wellington BA. I've graduated from one of the best universities in the country and have an excessive amount of photos of me in a stupid hat to prove it. It hasn't been easy. Over the past three years I've dealt with grimy student housing, cried at my dissertation supervisor on at least three occasions, threatened to drop out, threatened to never come home, overcome the torture that is first year Approaches to Criticism, and have faced a world of people who wear Jack Wills and say things like "ciao ciao darlings" on a daily basis. On the flip side I've also befriended some fellow loons, learned some excellent drinking games, had some of the best and most ridiculous memories of my life so far, and survived freshers week three years in a row. But where did the time go?

On Tuesday afternoon my mother, father, brother and I packed into the car to head down to Exeter. Of course Rob got shotgun because he's the golden child. My mother claimed it was because he's significantly taller than me, but I'm not convinced. We stayed in a hotel overnight. Graduation was starting at 9am on Wednesday and my butt had to be in my seat at 8:30am so alarm clocks were set (with heavy hearts) for 5:45am. Perhaps it wouldn't have been so bad, but a certain someone (I won't name names) snored all night long so loudly that even with my sound-proof earphones in and iphone turned up to full volume, the hideous snorting noises kept me up most of the night.

So Wednesday morning I was back on campus, being pinned into my robes (I will never understand why the robes and the hood come separately when it would save a lot of time and safety-pin related injuries if they were attached) and trying to keep my hat on properly. It felt surreal. Surely it wasn't time to graduate and leave Exeter already? It felt like I'd only just started university and here I was about to finish. But, on the grand scale of things it could have been worse. Because the people graduating from masters courses had hats even more ridiculous than mine.

The ceremony itself was fantastic. That was mostly down to the fact that the chancellor of the university is Floella Benjamin, ex-children's TV star and all round just an entirely amazing and highly flamboyant lady. Plus, the woman is sixty five and clearly has not aged a day since her days singing nursery rhymes on the BBC back in the 70s.

Whereas in a lot of graduation ceremonies, graduands are called up in groups of three of four, shake hands with the chancellor and scurry back off stage, in Exeter we get called up one by one, get embraced by Floella who then looks lovingly into each students' eyes and gives some words of wisdom. Rumour has it she whispers something different to every person, but I can't see how that can possibly be true. Either way, when it was my turn to go up on stage I all but threw myself into Floella's arms. She is simply a legend. And her hugs are amazing.

When the ceremony was over and everyone had managed to walk across the stage and hug Floella without falling, the brass band started up and we got clapped out of the Great Hall, which was unexpected. Then I met up with my parents and Rob. My dad was actually a little teary-eyed and, wonder of wonders, to the surprise of all, my mother shooed Rob out of the way so she could get a picture of me. If I'd known all I needed was a BA to knock him off the golden child pedestal, I wouldn't have bothered with my gap year before uni. 

Photos were followed by an abundance of free champagne and cupcakes at the reception. Every time a glass started to look empty someone would appear to top it up, which my mother highly appreciated.

It was at this point that my brother opened the envelope I'd been presented with in the ceremony.
"This is empty." He said.
It's really annoying, but I missed an exam in January and have to take it in August so I can't get my hands on my actual degree until then. Still, it seems a bit random that they'd just give me the empty envelope.

Then, when we'd consumed more than enough champagne, we took a stroll around campus to take even more photos. At some point my mother got hold of the camera and seemed to genuinely believe she was a professional photographer. 
"Ok, tip your head at an angle slightly."
"Oooh, go and lean up against that wall. No, the other way."
"Go and stand behind that tree and kind of peak around from behind it."
"Now lay across that boulder."
I was, during this whole performance, weighed down by the weight of my robes and trudging around in the heat of the sunshine in a black cloak.

But once several hundred photos had been taken in various places with my head tipped at various angles, we headed to Chaucer's, my absolute favourite restaurant in Exeter where I ate so much cheesy chicken with bacon I thought I was going to explode out of my graduation dress. They had a deal on. Buy two classes of wine and get the rest of the bottle free. So my mother and brother got a bottle of wine...each. It made for an interesting mealtime. It was 2pm.

On the way back to the car Rob suddenly stopped in front of the Body Shop.
"Do they sell £1 candles here?" He asked and wandered inside.
"...It's a cosmetics shop." I told him. "Wilkinsons is just around the corner."
"No, no. The moment has passed."
I still have no idea what that moment actually was.

Then, when it was time for my family to leave, they dropped me off at my student house and told me again how proud they were of me because I'm the first Wellington to get a degree. And from the University of Exeter of all places. My mother was particularly enthusiastic. In fact, she kind of squished my face...in a loving way.

"I've never told you this, but before you were born, I went to a physic. She told me not to have you because you'd bring me misery and regret. But look at you! You haven't!"
...Thanks?

And then they drove off into the sunset, returning fifteen minutes later because I'd left my dress for the graduation ball in the back of the car. They loved me slightly less then.

Since then I've spent the last two days trying to cram three years worth of rubbish into boxes and tomorrow I leave behind student life for good. It's gone so quickly. Too quickly. I'm not ready to leave! That said, I'm bored of living off microwavable rice so maybe it's for the best.