On fate's aching wings
Hearts sailing over the trees
Oh take me there...
First, a disclaimer regarding the infamous Floor 4 Party. You may remember in the last blog I described seeing live footage of top class golf on the TV in the Floor 4 kitchen. Upon asking where the action was taking place, a colleague (now named Caerphilly) told me it was the US Masters. In an act of ill-formed stupidity, I told him he was talking nonsense. Ladies and gentlemen, it turns out Caerphilly was right. You see, the TV rights for sporting action are so lucrative across the pond that the practice rounds are broadcast live all week, in the prelude to the tournament itself. As Caerphilly has now made me aware of this heinous oversight, I would like to offer my unreserved apologies. Never again will I assume the truth is on my side. Um, unless I'm actually right, of course.
Lucrative: US Masters
7:00am. To business. I clamber out of bed and open the windows to their optimum width/height. In the fridge, I still have a quarter of a can of Carlsberg I was given in the Floor 3 gathering of Sunday night by Cardiff. Good Lord. it's frozen. Maybe if I leave it outside the fridge today it will return to ts natural state, in much the same way as freeze-thaw movement revolutionises fluviglaical landscapes.
I'm outside the door. Time for a peek at the Floor 4 kitchen. Messy is the word, I think. Out in the corridor, I'm heading to the stairs when I stop dead in my tracks. what the frig is that smell? Rats? Fish? Did the Osbournes show up at the party? Whatever the reasons, this isn't an area I'll be frequenting with much regularity. Betws-y-Coed passes me in the 'stairwell' and says Hi. I hope he doesn't think I was an accessory to any illegal happenings last night. The last I remember, people were sitting on the floor singing the Runrig classic, 'Loch Lomond', but I left when they switched over to a hip-hop "song" instead.
Revolutionary: Freeze-thaw
7:30am. I am attempting to find Newport during breakfast, to apologise for my absence at the poker tournament. Unfortunately, I can't find her. I can't really find anyone. Due to the drunken stupour the campus found itself in last night, people are arriving at the dining rooms more slowly than a David Weir marathon attempt. Luckily for the Red Group, our much-anticipated trip to Carmarthen is kicking off at 9am, allowing the likes of Aberystwyth, Welshpool and Talgarth an extra half hour to prepare. In addition, Prestatyn will be leaving at 8:30. Thats good. Prestatyn scares me. Gradually people begin to stagger in, with a hungover but ultimately calm look on their faces. Last night was one for the ages, for a variety of reasons, and the forecast now looks great for the week ahead, Met Office-style. But what the heck is with this chef? She's maurauding around the dining rooms like Roy Keane at a Saipan training pitch, bellowing at petrified students to "pick up your packed lunch then MOVE ON!!!" Yikes, we get the message. As a member of catering she's quite unnerving, but she'd make a formidable WWE Women's Champion.
9:00am. Everyone is ready to "get some" of Carmarthen, so off we go. I take it upon myself to listen to the greatest hits compilation of the Manic Street Preachers, before realising the tremendous irony of listening to a Welsh band in Wales. That doesn't mean I'd gladly listen to Bjork in Iceland or Dana International in Israel, I'm merely confirming the greatness of the MSPs. Not the Scottish MSPs. Well, most of them are alright actually.
10:00am. After taking a break from my I-Pod (some call it an MP3, but I prefer to sponge off the popularity of the Apple brand name), I discover that the driver is playing a compilation of recent hits, including "U and Ur Hand" by Pink, "Since U Been Gone" by Kelly Clarkson, and the great "When You Were Young" from The Killers. Interestingly, every song seems to contain a variation of the word "you". No-one could ever accuse this driver of being self-centred. But what the heck is this? That sign. It's...no, it can't be. It's falling apart! Deconstructing before our very eyes!!!
This roadsign will self-destruct in five seconds
10:15am. Carmarthen at last. It's a nice place, retaining much of its character despite the out-of-town shopping centres on the periphery. Anglesey and Holyhead agree to meet us outside the bus in just under three hours. Hopefully we won't replicate the mistake of yesterday and stand outside an LDV van or something.
Holyhead directs us to the local Tourist Information Centre, where our in-depth investigation begins. If I knew where I was, I probably would have led the way - TICs are must-see landmarks in my opinion. Newport is here, but now is hardly the time to mention the poker/pool/kitchen triple-booking. There is blatantly work to be done. The staff at the TIC are extremely helpful, unlike the people of Swansea yesterday. Maybe as paid members of staff, they have more of an obligation to be friendly. A T-shirt is spotted on the shelf, with a quite unique message. Newport points out that the chances of seeing a similar shirt in Scotland are thinner than a Milan fashion parade. Ok, I made up the last part.
11:00am. After succesfully getting lost and found (we could have performed with Feeder), we returned to the town centre armed with some interesting stats and facts. Firstly, the Welsh flags in Carmarthen outnumbered their Swanseaic counterparts by 5 to 1. In addition, the natives regularly spoke Welsh to each other, even alternating between Welsh and English at points. There was one incident at a Klicks Photopoint (TM) where a Welsh family bantered with us about the digital system, before speaking among themselves in the local tongue. Also, the roadsigns were obviously bilingual, but local streets were translated when there was no overt need for it. Want the proof? I give you Exhibit A, helpfully provided from Talgarth's digital camera. Regardez, as Russell Brand would screech.
11:10am. Out of nowhere, there appears to be a castle in the centre of the town. We take a look around, and discover a scintillating view over the town and flood plain behind. I wish I had a picture to show you here, but my camera is not really compatible with long-range views due to the restricted pixel range. In a sense, you could call it short-sighted. But that would be discriminatory.
12:00pm. Welshpool and Talgarth suggest visiting a local coffee shop. The packed lunches are satisfactory but not earth-shattering, so we stop at an independently-run coffee house with lower prices than the national chains would charge [*cough* Beanscene *uncough*]. Good lord, this is a tasty chocolate chip muffin. A song by INXS is playing on the in-house TV. I pretend I know the American rock scene by discussing that reality show starring the lead singer.
12:30pm. The project now moves into its investigative stage, as we attempt to delve deeper into the psyche of Carmarthen. We must interview local residents with relevant questions about Welshness, national pride and the differences between Carmarthen and Swansea. After yesterday's social mishap on the Millenium Bridge (let me remind you - "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!") Talgarth decides to play it safe by asking shop assistants instead. Wise words indeed. It would be a wholly unneccesary risk to perpectuate antagonism with the locals (some of the new Race Hate laws go way over the top, so you've got to be careful guys), and the employees of the local businesses will be a safer bet.
12:35pm. In we go. Talgarth takes the lead by asking the assistant if we can chat to them about Welshness. After an easy question to begin with, or a 'Starter for 10' as Jeremy Paxman calls it, I suddenly start chiming in with another of the questions we had prepared. I'm no Michael Parkinson (although I bet I would have got a better interview out of Meg Ryan), but the interrogation process goes reasonably well. A heck of a lot better than it would have gone a year ago, that's for sure. The staff were friendly and easy to talk to, and the remainder of the interviews passed off in a similar style. Some of the answers were a bit wacky ("I'd like a statue of our most famous son, Merlin"), but it was an informative look at life in a more remote Welsh town. Nationalistic pride runs through these guys' veins, Alex Salmond-style. But unlike Alex Salmond, they aren't bitter, desperate or suffering from inferiority complexes. I'm sorry, that was malicious. And since he's my 'leader' now, I suppose I have to respect him *sighs*. But yes, all in all it was a very productive stage of the project. There was one guy, though, who was a bit too arrogant for his own good. He looked like two-time WWE Champion, Edge. He couldn't seem to give a proper answer to the question, "who would you like to commission a statue of?", and gave a bizarre speech about attractive American celebrities. But then, when you've had a real-life affair with a woman like Lita, you clearly have a thing for attractive American celebrities.
Arrogant: Edge
1:15pm. We're heading back to Swansea, where Anglesley and Holyhead have agreed to give us a rest after our work in Carmarthen. Looking back, it was probably the longest rest I had the whole week, and it was a ruddy good idea to kick back and relax in the middle of the organised chaos around me. It gave me the chance to reflect on events thus far, and the progress made since the start of Year II. A few months ago I'd probably have been really paranoid about Newport misinterpreting my absence at the poker as some kind of high-profile snub, but recently I've come to the understanding that most people just aren't like that. Sure, there are always bumps on the road (as anyone who's been on a bus down Wellington Street past the West Regent St stop will testify), but generally I think people just want to get along and have a good time in life. They certainly do on this trip. Back in Prestwick, there were a few people who seemed to be motivated by hurt rather than happiness, and I think that clouded my judgment of the world as a whole. But being in Glasgow every day for 6 months, and spending over 50 hours straight with such a friendly lot of people has completely changed my outlook on life, in a stunning 180-degree turnaround. Instead of expecting to be hated, I'm almost expecting to be liked now. That may sound borderline arrogant, but a couple of years ago, I almost couldn't move for the sea of pondlife surrounding me. Now, there isn't a single person in this city who wants to hurt me. And for the first time in my life, I'll actually have the social fortitude to return the favour by joining them in a week-long communal booze-up. Why did it take so long to work all this out? Some people seem to go through their whole life asking about "the meaning of life", as if it's in some sort of elusive document hidden in Area 51, complete with an unknown username and password. But I've worked it out. It's all about not being a twat, that simple. And if you ever feel yourself getting close to a twat, manouvre your way out of there. Isn't that right, Miss Spears?
Twat
4:00pm. A mid-afternoon summit has been called by Anglesey and Holyhead, as final preparations begin for tonight's presentation. "You've all done really well", ponders Holyhead, "but we just need to round things up with a good presentation." I'm still chuffed I'm not having to speak tonight. Swansea may well be the week that 'makes' me, but nothing in life is a magic wand. To take such a gamble with 15 people's Honours progression on the line would be wrecklessness of the first degree. Like when Sir Bob Geldof booked Pete Doherty on Live8 to get "a proper rock star" on the show, then watched him commit an act of affray to 'Children of the Revolution'. Um, in my humble opinion.
4:20pm. Anglesey and Holyhead are rounding up their pep talk, when Anglesey asks if anyone wants to get some fresh air. "Feel free to leave the room for a few minutes", she decrees. Almost immediately I stumble out the door, fleeing the searing heat of the tutorial room for the corridor outside. I really don't feel well. I don't know if it's the constant work since yesterday morning, or the aforementioned bus-lag from Sunday, or just exhaustion from everything that's happened recently. Or maybe, just maybe, it's the Floor 4 Party getting to me. Either way, I feel more ill than the holidaymakers on a Meditteranean cruise ship, and need to unwind for a bit. Newport passes me in the corridor and greets me with a smile, saying, "Alright Craig?" That's a relief. I musn't look like I'm about to be sick, otherwise she'd be running a mile.
4:30pm. After a fair bit of physical soul-searching, I returned to the Tutorial Room - I believe it was call Room L, but that is, of course, largely irrelevant by now. This lethargy had gone on longer than Hibs run without the Scottish Cup, so I felt obliged to go back in and assist Welshpool and Talgarth in completing their part of the presentation. Talgarth volunteered to describe our part of the project, and by a twist of fate, Welshpool was lined up to give the Introduction AND Conclusion, meaning that I would be the only one from my sub-group to sit it out. Ever alert, Holyhead noted that I could serve a valuable role as the "co-ordinator", and said something about handing out the photos and switching the acetate slides. Hmmmm, not sure about the acetate part - I mean, I'm not allergic to it (or not that I know), but it would be difficult to perform such a task while handing out the photos instantaneously. I'm not David Tennant or something. I think I'll just focus on the handing out photos part for now.
Instantaneous: Tennant
5:30pm. Anglesey and Holyhead have gathered us in Tutorial Room L for one last time, to have a proper run-through of tonight's big-time presentation. Laid back and calm as ever, Welshpool kicks things off by introducing the themes of the study. I doubt I have to go through this yet again, as in the style of P Diddy (or just Diddy now), it's all about 'da Welshness. Next, it's Talgarth's turn, as she goes over our intriguing finds on Welsh public spaces. It's about now that I begin to understand the need for rehearsals (I was going to say 'dress rehearsal', but that's neither appropriate nor ironic in this case). While waiting for my cue to hand out the photos, I must have almost risen from the chair half a dozen times, and when I finally decided it was time to hand them out, I still stalled momentarily. If it's like this in front of 15, thank frig I'm not talking to 61 tonight.
Abersytwyth then takes over, revealing the pride (or lack thereof) in local architecture. He explains that, aside from internationally renowned buildings like the Millenium Stadium, local residents struggled to name a place that instilled Welsh pride. However, he pondered, it would be much the same story in Scotland, as the places that fill us with pride would include Edinburgh Castle, the Wallace Monument and, of course, the Highlands. Not Whittletts in Ayr. I apologise to anyone from Whittletts, except for the drugged-up, knife-wielding, gun-toting lot (naturally), but the words of the lovely Nerina Pallot spring to mind - "I've been to Damascus, it's hell..." Paraphrase that at your own free will.
The task then falls to Newport to describe her groups's poll on famous Welsh icons. Catherine Zeta Jones and Charlotte Church are both positioned firmly at the bottom (steady), while Tom Jones is out in front, winning at a canter. The "housewive's favourite" does it again. For the record, I think his collaboration album 'Reload' was top quality, and the man is a living legend. Why Geldof didn't book him for Live8, I'll never know. Perhaps they could organise another sequel in the Millenium Stadium with Jones and the MSPreachers. The obvious name jumping out is Live9. Anyway, Ruthin then rounds off the investigation with a clear and concise argument, before Welshpool draws everything together in the conclusion. Holyhead and Anglesey are confident we'll pass with flying colours, but I'd rather not use that phrase, as I've never properly understood it. I'd rather say that we plan to bitchslap the other groups.
Bottom: Church
6:00pm. Dinner. The queue for the hot meals is long, so I head over to the salad section. Wow, red onions. The cakes look nice as well, as I remark to Aberdare, but due to the dearth of numbers, I shall leave them for fellow students to partake of. Aberdare is looking forward to tonight's Man Utd vs. Roma game, which reminds me that there is a world existing in real time outside Wales. Perhaps I'll be in SUSU later to catch some of the live action, and banter with Pembroke Bay about the gloriousness of the smoking ban. The queue for the main meals is now so long it has bent into an acute angle.
6:20pm. Aberdare is a quick eater, and is already heading off to get some rest before tonight's presentations. Cardiff and Newport are nearby, and invite me over in due course, allowing me to FINALLY apologise for my non-attendance at the anticipated Poker Knockout Cup (brought to you by coral.co.uk). As I exclusively predicted, Newport is fully understanding as usual, explaining that "it ended before 11". Ouch, I really missed the boat time-wise on that one. But no harm done, as I continue to dicuss the physical presentations with Cardiff, who is cleaning house in the Blue Group. I more or less cornered him in the Kilvey reception last night to ask him the burning questions (or is it burning issues), and he remains very helpful in describing the Blue Groups's adventures. It appears that, like in Human, only 5 from a group of 15-16 are scheduled to speak, but unlike with Human, all group members have to take to the stage afterwards to answer a bunch of slippery questions. But will they single particular people out for scutiny, passenger profiling-style? "Not sure yet Wilson, but they didn't last night." Phew. Some mild relief for the time being. The most relief I've felt in recent times was when I learned that Nerina Pallot didnt hate Christians, as I had originally feared. Turns out she's a Christian herself. I wonder if she ever hums hymns (alliteration).
Christian: Nerina
6:40pm. The bench outside Kilvey was always a place of communal gatherings and good Geography-related banter. Whether it was in the cold morning air, as the sun was setting or well after midnight, there was consistently someone there to chat to. Tonight Llanelli is having a cigarette and admiring the still evening air. However, Prestatyn is also smoking. Prestatyn scares me. And cigarettes make my eyes sting. I dive for the stairwell.
6:50pm. The calm before the storm, I guess you could say. There were about a dozen or so students already in Lecture Theatre B when I arrived, finding myself in the midst of a surprisingly calm atmosphere. Maybe this presentation shabang wouldn't have been too bad after all, I think. Gradually more and more people fill the room, and the size of the operation begins to dawn on me. Hmmmm, 61 would have been too much of a risk. But no need to panic - Welshpool, Talgarth, Aberystwyth, Newport and Ruthin will clean house, as they form something of a dream team with their cumulative knowledge and general integrity. Here comes Wrexham. Uh-oh. The mood is about to change. From here, I dost paraphrase mucheth.
7:00pm. "Ok folks, um, before we get started with the presentations, there's an issue that needs addressing regarding last night......um, to put it bluntly, some of the behaviour was completely unacceptable. I'm referring to the events in the Floor 4 kitchen, where the cleaners this morning told me they lost some spray from last night. That's not much of a big deal in itself - spray can be replaced. But they said that some of the spray had been released during the course of the night. Folks - this stuff is dangerous. If it was sprayed last night, then it could have caused serious damage to people, so that was bad enough......the cleaners also told me that alcohol was spilt all over the floor outside the lifts on Floor 4, and if you walk past there you can still smell the stench of it. I think I made myself clear at the start of the week - you are here representing the University of Glasgow. So if this stunt - either of these stunts - are pulled again, then everybody on the 4th Floor will be sent home. It's as simple as that. Furthermore, I want an apology IN WRITING to the cleaning staff handed to me by tomorrow morning from everyone who stays on the 4th Floor. if I don't get that letter by tomorrow, then everyone on Floor 4 will be getting sent home, which means they won't be completing the field trip......which means they won't get into Honours Geography. And you won't be jumping on a bus paid for by the department - you'll have to make your own way back. I sent two guys back last year who behaved appallingly, so don't think I won't do it again......
......Right - the Mumbles group are first."
You could cut the atmosphere with a pin. Sorry, you could hear a knife drop. Oh frig, done it again......
I almost needed some of those travelsick pills again, and this time I was nowhere near a bus. Althought National Express could have been hearing from me later that night. I tell you - I was this close *indicates small space* THIS CLOSE to getting ejected from Swansea and the Honours course because of the wrecklessness of others. I'll not pull any punches - I was livid. For the first time in the week, I saw imperfection in the actions of others. I don't care if you're more drunk than Liza Minelli on the pull, you don't pour alcohol on the carpet. That's downright disrespectful to Swansea Uni, and it almost resulted in my Floor 4 colleagues and I getting screwed out of our degrees for no damn reason. As for the toxic hell, it was what it was. I wasn't happy when it reached my lungs, but I'm sure no-one in the room understood the danger involved in a bit of cleaner's spray. That was stupid; but the alcohol incident was appalling, a slap in the face to the Uni that had treated us so well since Sunday.
*hrmph*
My immediate worry was for my blood pressure. I hadn't really been spoken to like that at an educational institute since the living hell of 2nd Year at Prestwick Academy, or as I like to call it, P*******k A*****y. But here was Wrexham threatening to kick us out of Wales like an invading Viking (did they ever reach Wales, anyway?), and it was through no fault of my own. And now I had to stand up and disperse pictures around the class, with my legs trembling more than a Kent household (topical). And there was another problem. When we came in, we noticed that the overhead projector was a country mile from the platform, meaning that the speakers couldn't change slides. Thing is, we all noticed this to ourselves, and didn't tell each other. But hold on a minute - didn't Holyhead say earlier that I could change the slides? I thought she was joking!?!?! And in a tense situation like this, I need directions from other people due to my unfortunate bouts of twattiness. The Mumbles group are finishing. I feel like mumbling to the Lord above for help.
Pull: Minelli
Newport leaps up to take to the stage. Aberystwyth climbs the miniscule stairs - there must have been a couple at most - and takes his place in front of the adoring public. Thankfully for my heartrate, Talgarth is offering guidance at this most testing of times. Who's going to move the slides? Someone immediately replies, "You were gonna do it, Craig." I turn round, and in a flash, point at the Klicks Photopoint (TM) folder of pictures that are glued to my hand like an endangered koala. Or am I the endangered one? To my immense relief, someone offers to switch the slides while I hand out the pictures. I think it was Llandudno, and Port Talbot may have been involved as well. Heck, it could have been Prestatyn for all I cared. The situation was sorted quickly and accurately, and the Welshpool-led talk was a roaring success. Not literally - that would be hideous. I handed the photos out right on cue, to onlookers including an increasingly jocular Wrexham. I almost felt like saying as I headed up there, "I was next door but I had nothing to do with it......your honour."
8:30pm. The talks conclude and the inmates scarper. A next door neighbour of mine, Pentyrch, seeks out Wrexham to offer his most sincere apologies for the carnage of the Floor 4 Party. "Hey", says Wrexham, "I'm not out to play the blame game. I'm sure it wasn't you who did it......or you." He looks at me, acknowledging me with a nod. Oh lord. It wasn't me, your honour. It wasn't me. It wasnt......oh, right, he's moved on.
"As long as I get that written apology by tomorrow morning, we can get on with the field trip." "Excellent, thanks a lot", beams Pentyrch. It is with a sense of calm light-headedness that I leave the room to get back to Kilvey, and I'd be willing to bet that Pentyrch feels the same. I mean, he's almost twice my size, but everyone bricks it now and again.
Carnage: Floor 4 Party
9:30pm. Everyone is running on empty by now, but somehow I have invited myself to a kickabout outside Kilvey involving Cardiff and others. The action is progressing well, although my skills have slipped somewhat since my days in the Glenburn Primary football team. I never got picked, of course. Senior management (ie. my Primary 7 teacher) was about to pick me out of sympathy but I opted out, joining another venture of similar stature. Um, the art club.
But who's this guy swaggering over like he owns the place? What's that? Oh, he does own the place. He's the local janitor for this part of campus, and he doesn't want us playing football at this time of night, with windows and doors around. Fair enough. I guess he just didn't want to play ball. I'm sorry, that was one of the worst puns I have ever attempted.
9:45pm. Cardiff has the 'brainwave' of playing in the reception instead. This doesn't work, you may be surprised to hear. The janitor finds us again and effectively sends us to our rooms like naughty schoolkids. He was pleasant enough about it, though. As were we. Until he was far enough away.
10:00pm. After giving up with the football, we seem to be gravitating towards the local Brewers' Fayre. Unfortunately, as I never took a photo of the front-facing facade (alliteration), I can't remember the name of this particular branch. But I know it was two different animals, so for argument's sake let's call it the Fox and Hound. Cardiff seems insistent on heading down a particularly seedy lane to reach the premises. I maintain that the safest way is to leave by the official Main Exit, and that the lane will save an inconsequential period of time. I don't think I worded it exactly like that, choosing instead to say, "Can we not go the lit way? Please?" But Cardiff is hearing none of it.
Seedy: A dark lane
Down we go then. In an attempt to shed some light on the situation, literally, I utilise the light on my mobile camera to great effect. "Are you a pussy Wilson?", protests Cardiff. I think he's just joshing with me. He was there at P*******k A*****y, back when I really WAS a pussy, and I hope that after bearing witness to my relative normality at Swansea, he sees the progress I've made. But as I said earlier, it's ok if he doesn't. I owe everyone in Prestwick the mother of all apologies for my almost complete lack of friendship over those six long, long, long years.
10:15pm. Over at the pub......um, what's it called - the Dog and Horse - the pints cost more than a night with Jamie Theakston. I think I still went for the full pint, so as not to not look utterly ridiculous amongst the array of pints surrounding me. The pub itself is like another mini-village of Geography students, with Talgarth and the unique LLanelli sipping their drinks with lecturers including Wrexham and Colwyn Bay. Oh no. Prestatyn is playing pool over in the corner. Don't you come at me with that pool cue. Cause I'll...I'll...I'll alert a member of staff, so I will.
11:30pm. Last orders at the Cat and Mouse, so we drink up and head back up the lane. The lane *shivers*. Cardiff and the others head up to Kilvey, but I can't help noticing a crowd of people at the side entrance to SUSU. I say my goodbyes to Cardiff et al (1987: published in Scotland), and head straight for the ensuing melee. Newport is there, along with a few fellow students, and rather bizarrely, a load of men in suits. What the frig is going on here? Have we organised an 'officer workers' fancy dress party, where the only costume allowed is a shirt and tie? No, Newport informs me that the men in question have been at a banquet in the dining rooms (oi - that's our patch), and have merely become a tad tipsy afterwards. Ruddy inebriated, I'd say. Get out of my way, guys. I've got a pub to drink moderately in.
12:00am. I loved the Union. People can say what they want, but it won't change my feelings (I feel the sa-a-ame; about SU-SU). I wound up there every night at some point, and it was an intergral part of my day to reflect on the day's events and chew the fat with Pembroke Dock. Yet another pool tournament was taking place with veterans including Abersytwyth and Lanfair PG, while Aberdare was involved in birthday celebrations for a co-student. I wish I could remember who, but the weight of trying to meet 122 people meant I often got confused. If someone informs me via e-mail or the comments page, I can wish them a happy belated birthday in the next entry. Using a Welsh code-name, of course.
Banquet: Office workers
12:15am. Aberdare was discussing the Roma-Man U game from earlier, when he informed me of rioting in the stands and a controversial ending. I had managed to catch the last 2 minutes in SUSU before heading to the Squirrel and Goat, but had been unaware of such shameful scenes erupting. Since he also looks like a famous footballer, much like Conwy, I joke that his performance in this Champion's League has been second to none. The joke goes nowhere. Anyway, speaking of shameful scenes, there was a familiar face at the bar. Ordering a drink from Pembroke Dock was none other than......Colwyn Bay! One of the focal points of the controversy from last night. Aberdare, ever alert, leapt from his seat and power-walked over to Colwyn to ask the big questions. I followed, because I know the journalism business well enough to know that you don't run from a good story.
Colwyn confirmed that a letter was required from the Floor 4 occupants with immediate effect. He then stated that he had given the same speech to the Blue Group as Wrexham had to our Human project. Interestingly, though, he seemed to give the impression that he was acting on orders from above. Oh well, I guess Wrexham is the official head of the trip, as confirmed by the in-depth and detailed Swansea Handbook. But Aberdare asks one more thing before leaving Colwyn: was Wrexham angry at you for your part in the Party?
"Well, a bit."
With a wry smirk, Colwyn was off to his seat armed with a pint. I wondered if there would be a fallout from the events in the Floor 4 kitchen, but never on this scale. A stench in the carpet? The toxic panic? Lecturers reading the riot act? Signatures of apology? The blame game? It was a highly dramatic and unstable 24 hours at the time. But looking back, I guess it was all just part of the fun. Uncomfortable fun, but fun nonetheless.
Dramatic: 24 hours
12:30am. We're now in the wee small hours of Wednesday morning. The pool tournament has concluded for another night, and Aberdare has left with his priceless finds from the Colwyn Bay interview, but Newport is still here. We're in that semi-drunk mode where we talk about life and deep and meaningful stuff, saying it in an extremely alcohol-affected manner, but meaning every word of it. I'm telling her that this has already become the best time of my life, and she seems genuinely happy for me. I just have to be careful not to fall from the chair I am presently perched on, and make a complete twat of myself. Then she says she's 28. Eh? What the frig? She looks 19. Immediately I inform her of this statistic, before realising that my intended compliment may very well look like an attempted flirting. Oh lord. Luckily she doesn't seem to be overtly outraged, replying, "aw, that's very nice of you". Phew. Well, I do speak the truth. Much like when Sir Bob Geldof told the world's leading politicians to "f**k off" if they wouldn't support Make Poverty History. But my truth was much more conducive to a good night out.
Truth: Geldof
And there you have it. Tuesday 3rd April 2007 was pencilled in as my worst nightmare and in the end it was...well, still one of my worst nightmares. The prospect of getting thrown out of Swansea was about as appealing as a John Prescott sex tape featuring Louis Walsh, but I think danger was more or less averted by sunset. The atmosphere was not tarnished, despite the fallout from the Floor 4 Party, and things were still getting better and better in amongst a quite astonishingly good group of people. As I left SUSU for the night, I spotted Llandudno at a table, showing ridiculously high levels of charisma as usual. This guy was a main-event star in the making, but I'd yet to introduce myself to him.
"Hi, (Llandudno), I'm Craig, I believe we're in the same group for the Physical project tomorrow. I'm looking forward to it."
I shook his hand. He smirked. Maybe he knew what was lined up for tomorrow.........
*to de drawn out*
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