Master of the Arts

It's been a while since I posted, but then I've had a lot of celebrating to do...

On Saturday I graduated as a Master of the art of writing - which sounds very clever, but I nearly didn't make it at all. To recap, I spent the previous week in Bristol, working as a volunteer at Encounters Short Film Festival at the Watershed. Met lots of lovely people, watched a ton of extremely descent films (for free), drank lots of (free) wine, and fully exhausted myself in the fuggy haze that is the film industry.

The Film Council hosted a closing party on the Friday night, and as predicted one was suitably inebriated by the time they kicked us out. I staggered back to bed in Bedminsted with my newly acquainted friend, Kerry. As my phone battery was thoroughly dead, Kerry kindly offered to set an alarm for me. 6.00 am, fine I thought, not much earlier than I'd been getting up the past three days...

The next time I opened my eyes, it was light outside, and I knew something was horribly wrong... I was supposed to be back at home by 8.00 am, ready to get my bits together for the important day ahead. It was already 8.15, and I was still in Bedminster. Shit. I launched out of bed, chucked everything in my bag, didn't even look at the sprawling lines of running makeup clogging up my eyes and wild hair that had taken on a life of its own, but hey - it didn't matter, because if I didn't get a train in the next hour, I'd miss the big event.

I ran (like an absolute nutter) all the way to Bristol Temple Meads - thank god there weren't too many people around to witness that! Got to the station and waited (mildly) patiently for my turn at the kiosk, whilst utterly embarrassed about the steam that appeared to be rising from the top of my head (not joking, it was frosty outside and I was like Xmas roast turkey). My only lucky break came when I realised I could get on a Virgin express and it was leaving in 5 minutes. Perfect, surely? But then I still had to phone the rents to tell them my huge cock-up, ask them to pick me up en-route and furnish me with fresh (smart) clothes and shoes.

But I didn't have any change for a pay phone.

There wasn't time before the train left to find change, so I boarded the train and almost cried. Not because the ceremony was one of the most important dates of my life, but it was the fact that EVERYTHING had gone wrong from the moment I woke up.

Onboard, I borrowed a phone from a fellow passenger, got the message across to mum, and tried to scrape off last night's makeup. Feeling a little fresher, I began to calm down a little inch. Suddenly I was in Taunton, off the train - half an hour earlier than I'll told the rents. Brilliant! I'll go to Morrisions and get some tights, coz I know mum'll forget those!

Got the tights, got some water, headed back to find the Wicks clan pulling into the car park. We were in Falmouth in double quick time, had enough time to change, rearrange hair and makeup before up to Tremough campus for the day's events. Us MA Prof. Writers certainly stood out from the rest of the conforming students in gowns (the main reason being that conforming in the black get-up costs £50.) The moment of handover was less gratifying than I'd thought it would be, but we jazzed up the hour of (mostly boring) speeches and relentless clapping by randomly whooping, shrieking and whistling at people we didn't know going up on stage to collect their fake certificate.

The college funded 'after party' was a bit cheesy, cheap sparkling Chardonnay and cardboard pastries a-go-go. At least they gave us something for free I guess... Things got considerably better off campus, when we all congregated at my favourite cocktail bar The Taproom. The rents and my sister joined us and we pretty much took over the whole place, with the smokers sprawling outside onto the terrace with blue blankets provided by the management. (I personally wouldn't encourage such privileges, but hey...) Most of us went back to Frea and Andy's house, after a quick stop at Bayside Kebabs. (The floor outside used to be soooo greasy that the council have forbidden them from letting their customers eat their goods outside the establishment!)

At Frea's we sat in the cozy living room and played Sing Star till about 4.00 am. Not exactly my cup of tea, but it's funny to watch the quieter members of the group come out of their shells a bit in front of a mic. Miles walked my sister and I back to Kellie's empty house and I slept solidly until 11.00 am. Didn't really get a chance to properly say goodbye to everyone, so in that respect it felt strange to leave so soon, but R&R was a little more pressing at that moment.

Since then, I've had a host of ideas for shorts, which I am going to write up tonight, organised a few freelance jobs, interviewed Lucinda Mellor (Joe Strummer's widow and organiser of Strummerville), and booked myself onto a two day film event at the Engine Room for the end of next week. Phewwwwww.... and breath!