University Days

I finally made it into university. The last refuge before going on into the real world, that dreaded place where I have to fight monsters, earn money and pay bills. 

Studies were good, no exams in the first two years, only had to pass one set of exams in the final third year. That meant I could have fun and postpone all the hard work until the very end. Rather than doing a three-year marathon, I could do a last minute sprint. 

I met a lady (actually, it was the other way round, she found me, lost during one of the student society dances). We were both virgins and I remember our first time, there were so many first times. It was the first time I was in love, really in love, the first time I had someone to care for and care about, the first time I felt jealousy, the first time we fought. We made promises and talked marriage.

Sex was wonderful, doing odd things, at odd times, in odd places. We experimented and learnt. I was a very quick learner!

She was smart, studying law, me an economics dropout. After graduation, I stayed on in the little country town and found a job, she went to London to be a barrister. 

She was, after all the smart and ambitious one.

Pen Pal

 

Wonder if anyone knows what a pen pal is? There was a time before the internet became all pervasive, before emails, before FB, WhatsApp or social media, people actually wrote letters to each other. 

I had a pen pal. Threw my name and address into a pen pal introduction service (think sanitised Tinder via mail) run by some UN agency. She was a girl residing in the US, which was on the other side of the world.

A letter arrived, I was excited. Her handwriting was immaculate, all those curves, commas and full stops. We exchanged letters, then photos and I got even more excited. This was a time before Nigerian scams and fake profiles. 

When I moved to the UK for schooling, the distance between us halved. I made plans to attend FAU and even took the SAT exams. For years, we continued writing, sharing laughter, how much of a pain parents are, our teachers and our lives. 

What happened? I broke her heart, but that is a story for another time.

Stupefy

There was this belief in my family about getting a good education. 

“….whatever happens, just make sure the kids received the best education the parents can afford”. 

So, I was sent to a public school in the UK. Public schools are in fact very expensive private schools.

The school buildings were so very Harry Potterish, tall turrets, dark gloomy halls, gay teachers in gowns, house colours, tweed jackets and no girls. What I meant by saying "no girls" was the school being single sex. Girls, there were plenty, the village lasses hoping to snare a rich public school kid. We didn't play Quidditch but rugby, cricket and fives. What is fives you may wonder. Instead of a racquet, players wear leather gloves to smack a ball against a wall.

We were twinned with another private all-girls school down the road. Whenever there were balls, girls from that school were invited. The girls were, hmmm.. snobbish (think Hermione). I’d rather sneak off down the village green for a quiet smoke than attempt to seduce them. 

Spent two celibate years there, lower sixth and upper sixth. Most of the kids sat the Oxbridge exams (for entrance into Oxford or Cambridge) but not I. I applied, got the required A-Level grades and entered a working class university in England’s north.