This is a whirlwind summary of the first week here. I do this mostly for posterity, not for literary value. Z and I learned that the Merton crowd is a little younger, a little ‘posher’ and a little less welcoming than the Trinity Hall MCR. Now, there are plenty of exceptions but it is a different mix and I am feeling particularly old and out of place in this crowd. The staff in the College are all very good and that’s nice.
My abdominal butterflies, heavily medicated with Gravol, are packing the last of their belongings and have placed all the liquids in those transparent bags for security. All the diligent office workers upstairs have set ‘out-of-office’ messages on their phones and e-mail. The stylish European designers who continue to renovate the old ‘Language’ floor into a strange collection of three-wall sets following the blueprints of an arcane bargain-bin version of a memory palace have bogged off to wherever it was they came from. And I, slightly shaky with nerves and possibly fending off a pre-trip mugging by the common cold, fight to keep my figurative ‘sh*t’ together and get through this. Monday morning I fly out to Heathrow and on to Oxford. Thursday and Friday I take That Test.
If I’m lucky, one or two readers will actually relate to this problem. For the rest, you are treated here to a brief tour through the brain offices of a visual-spatial learner and his troublesome memory.
A recent entry on a blog I follow has driven me to overcome my natural reluctance to overtly discuss the covert sub-text in some of my entries… the learning disorder (emphasis is added to help readers adopt the suitable narrative voice of a 1950s era monster movie, possibly featuring rampaging radioactive ants or Communists).