by Samuel J Steers – first-year journalism student
Leaving school is a bit strange. Suddenly, after two years of extremely hard work and lots of exams have finished, you’ve become an adult, and it’s time to enjoy the summer by lazing around in a dressing gown all day, not getting out of bed until tea time.
But obviously, this doesn’t last forever, and pretty soon, the summer will end and you have to make a decision. A big decision. A decision that will decide how you spend the rest of your life: go to University or get a job?
Ever since I was old enough to understand how a pen worked, I have loved writing, so, of course, I chose University to study a Journalism degree, and as soon as I’d decided on that, I started to imagine what University might be like.
A million questions whizzed around my head: “How will I pay for everything? Will my lecturers be kind? Do I need to wear a suit? And are the lecture theatres really the size of Latvia?”
The biggest problem, however, was not the lecture theatres or trying not to spend my entire student budget within the first week, but cooking. You see, because I have the cooking ability of a seal with no taste buds, I’ve had to rely on my mum for the past seventeen years to do all cooking.
So when I arrived at University, I really was a fish out of water. Or Gordon Ramsey out of the kitchen.
Happily, though, my other expectations of University were completely different. As it turned out, and thanks to my very kind parents, my bank account still has money in it, my lecturers are extremely helpful, and you don’t have to turn to up to every lecture looking like the owner of Giorgio Armani.
And the expectations don’t end there because I haven’t even mentioned my course yet. Truth be told, I thought journalism was just writing and standing in front of a camera, but I was wrong. As well as that, there is a lot of editing to do, which is something, as I discovered today, is a lot harder than it looks.
Which brings me on to another part of University life. But surprisingly my expectations of it were pretty accurate. I am, of course, talking about parties. We’ve all heard the stories.
You go to a party on the weekend, dance with your course mates to Mr Brightside, and then wobble with aching legs all the way back home again.
That, in essence, is pretty much the first thing that would come to everyone’s mind when you say you’re off to university. And I can assure you that I am having the best time in the world here.
In short, I simply wouldn’t want to do anything else or be anywhere else. I am loving it.