Backfired Humeur

Week two is going well.

In general, so far, I am happy with my course choices and feeling in control of my time management.
It is Wednesday and I am in my second French Grammar class.
Our tutor, Michel, is covering demonstrative pronouns.
I know this stuff and concede I feel a little bored.
It is only when he reminds us of the exercise he handed out the previous week that I sense panic.
I have completely forgotten, not only to complete it, but also to bring it with me.
I'm annoyed with myself.
I'm the student who prepares for her classes.
I'm the one who contributes in tutorials.
I'm the one who won't shut up!
I calm myself with the thought that it's such a big group Michel probably won't ask me anything.
Especially on the basis I've been so vocal in the first session.
He picks on two of the quieter members in the room to complete sections one and two of 'l'exercice'.
So far so good.
But then he turns to me and asks me to give the answers to section three.
I attempt the school-days excuse of 'The dog ate my homework' as some sort of blasé French joke.
'Le chien a aboyé mon devoir', I laugh.
But I laugh alone.
It doesn't get the reaction I was expecting and Michel looks more than a little disappointed.
I'd even go so far as to say he looks somewhat perplexed.
And my fellow students are silent.
The whippersnappers.
It is only on my way home that evening that I realise the error of my ways.
No wonder Michel looked so confused at my 'plaisanterie'.
'The dog barked my homework' is not a plausible excuse in any language.
Oh! The shame!

©Alacoque Doyle

Sticky Situation

Today I brave the library and learn it is a far more productive environment than the Café.
Funny that.
My self-satisfaction is short-lived however, for when I uncross my legs I discover my knee has attached itself to something warm and viscous on the underside of the desk.
Something that has recently been masticated and deposited there.
On further exploration, I discover several more similar deposits, of varying vintage.
The Archaeology School could have a field day here.
Literally.
More Chuck Norris images spring to mind.

©Alacoque Doyle

Gesticulating

One of my chosen subjects of study is Linguistics.
Today I attend a lecture on non-verbal communication.
I think I make a bit of a faux pas...
The lecturer suggests there are some universal hand gestures whose meanings are clear in any language.
She stares out at her audience waiting for a glimmer of cognitive connection in her stupefied students.
We look at her blankly and she flips us the bird.
(By way of example, rather than frustration at our lack of input.)
She then invites more active participation by asking if any of us can suggest further examples.
I offer the universal 'wanker' hand gesture in return.
It's an automatic reaction. A bit like Tourette's for the deaf.
It prompts laughter from my fellow students and I can feel myself turn scarlet in response.
Unfortunately for me, the lecturer is focused on another part of the room at this precise moment and misses my valuable contribution, so, to add to my embarrassment, I am forced to repeat it for her benefit.
Which is met with even more laughter and a deeper reddening of my cheeks.
I need to exercise more caution.
I don't mind getting a laugh, but I don't want to get a reputation!

©Alacoque Doyle

Sunday

Dog walked? Check
Lawn mowed? Check
Drain unblocked? Check

©Alacoque Doyle

Vacillation

It is Saturday.
It was a planned day of study.
But the best laid plans...
I have managed to turn procrastination into a fine art.
If they gave degrees in shilly-shallying, I'd be guaranteed a first.
But they don't.
You should see my toenails. Neglected at the best of times, they've never looked so pedicured. Buffed, polished and filed...(under 'P' for 'procrastination').
MasterChef of the microwave meal, I even cooked a proper dinner. Starting with raw ingredients and everything!
That diversion exhausted 25 minutes more than the usual 'stab and ping' 5.
The house is cleaner than it's been in a very long time. And in the process I found things I do not wish to discuss here.
The lawn, which has become quite meadow-like recently, should feel optimistic for an unexpected shave tomorrow.
I may even walk the dog, who is small and doesn't need walking.
On the other hand, I could open a book or two...
In the battle of the lawn vs 'anything else', 'anything else' will normally win.
So I might actually get some study done tomorrow.
Then again, there's that drain that needs unblocking...

©Alacoque Doyle

Roundhouse Kick to the Head

I am feeling decidedly nervous about one particular module: 'Exploring Hispanic Cultures'.
It's not the subject matter that bothers me, but the study methodology.
We have been forced into small groups and have to produce our assignments as a collective.
But I am a control freak. About this I am not in denial.
As we sit in our group for the first time, I notice one of us has no pen or paper.
Not a good start.
We introduce ourselves and offer up our reasons for choosing this module.
The person devoid of writing materials informs us he's 'just winging it.'
I say nothing and try to suppress my look of utter disbelief.
But in my mind I mete out a punishment which would make Chuck Norris proud.

©Alacoque Doyle

Goodie Bag

I go to the Freshers' tent with one of my fellow mature students.
We sign up for societies with relevance to our study choices, and some not so relevant.
I decide to join the Spanish Society, partly because I fancy the Salsa lessons on offer at €2 a pop and partly because I fancy the nubile young man on the desk.
We are both accosted by a rather large and enthusiastic male student and persuaded to join the Social Society on the basis that our membership card will grant us free entry into Copperface Jack's nightclub on Tuesdays.
How could we refuse?
We leave with our goodie bags, replete with condoms and Red Bull.

©Alacoque Doyle

Keeping it Zipped

I have had to bite my lip a few times today.
I am stunned at the lackadaisical attitude of the younger students, strolling into the lecture theatre 10 and 15 minutes late; noisily seating themselves as the lecturer tries not to be disturbed.
I find such behaviour disturbing!
Maybe it's just my age...

©Alacoque Doyle

Circle of Friends

I have to count my blessings.
I am very fortunate to have had an offer of a place at any University, let alone one as prestigious as UCD.
Fortunate due to these recessionary times and a sharp increase in demand for such places.
An old bird like me.
But I know I earned my place as I achieved such a high score in their entrance exam.
So I feel a certain smugness too.
There are quite a number of us older women and we huddle together in the café in a female bonding ritual, sharing our life stories and ignoring the library.
This could be dangerous.

©Alacoque Doyle

My First Day

I feel old.
But full of excitement and anticipation.
I have honestly never seen so many Ugg boots in one place!
The ladies' toilets prove challenging as the big-haired girls fight for preening space in front of the mirrors.
The lectures were interesting - introductory in nature so not too taxing...yet.
I sense we are being lulled into a false sense of security before all academic hell breaks loose.
I shall keep an open mind.

©Alacoque Doyle