The Countdown to University: Eight Days to Go

As the final countdown to the City of Dreaming Spires verges on a solitary week, summer has decided that it is going to officially take its leave – just prior to my first days at Oxford. Of course, once the final fireworks had flashed and fizzed over the Olympic Stadium and Andy Murray had lifted the US Open trophy at Flushing Meadows, any lingering feeling of ‘summer’ was likely to be only too transient, but just in case the sense of an ending wasn’t quite strong enough, the heavens opened this morning and haven’t yet looked close to shutting.

I refused to let this deter me, however: these are my final days in London and I’m determined to enjoy them. I went out running at nine, with a view to doing a half-marathon – that is to say, twenty-one-point-one kilometres, but then remembered as I was warming up that I have four days of intensive training ahead of me, as well as a 5K race and a 10K race, all in the coming seven days. As such, I was wary of the potential to sustain injuries through overworking myself, so only did two repetitions of two kilometres – one at 7:50 and one at 6:49. A light session, yes, but I do feel no small amount of trepidation at the amount of mileage to come between now and next Sunday.

After that, the monsoons commenced, leaving my poor beleaguered brothers to play football for three hours between them (and my poor beleaguered parents to spend the aforementioned three hours watching them). I had a preferable afternoon ahead of me: I was spending the time from one o’clock onwards with two friends of mine, one of whom is probably my oldest friend. Unfortunately the time I’m able to spend with said friend has been severely limited, due to her still remaining at school (she’s currently in Upper Sixth, as is the other friend I met today). The friendship (s) were made over many an early-morning bus journey to my old school, and thankfully we’ve remained in contact since my departure. Given that I’m a sucker for nostalgically poignant moments, getting on the old bus to meet only strengthened the already-mentioned sense of an ending. It was lovely to meet once more prior to my leaving, and  the sense of nostalgia was made all the more powerful upon discussion of their UCAS travails. Blondie (as my Significant Other calls her, with perhaps a hint of deprecation) is applying to the Other Place for Psychology, which of course causes me extreme disquiet: I may have to disown her should she get in. (I jest. Perhaps.) Arsenal Fan is also applying to do Psychology, though with Maths, and I can’t help but feel glad that I don’t have to partake in those shenanigans again. Perhaps my readiness to look over not only their Personal Statements, but also those of my sister and my mother’s friend, betrays more than a subtle vestige of masochism…)

I left the afternoon with a not inconsequential sense of regret, a wonderfully pithy card that will take a place on my noticeboard in my room at the top of Kelly Building, and mutual promises to keep in touch. My old Head of Sixth Form informed us, on our final day, that we were likely to stay in touch with no more than five of our current friends and acquaintances. Suffice to say,  should this prove true, Blondie and Arsenal Fan are at the forefront of the list of people I greatly desire to retain a friendship with.

Of course, spending too long enmeshed in memories of the past is never too healthy, so I intended to look forward upon getting home; this took the form of finally beginning my packing. I am aiming to get all of my requisites (and indulgences) for university into one holdall, two suitcases of moderate size and one laptop bag. Given my impending four-day sojourn in Northamptonshire, I’ve only got as far as packing my holdall with all the books I want – and need – to take. As I’m reading English Language and Literature, the number of books in question is no small amount. Suffice to say the holdall weighs a considerable amount, and lugging it up the Ninety-One (as they shall be known from hereon in) is going to be a fun start to Oxford life. DISCLAIMER: Perceived sarcasm is all too real.

I felt like I should be doing something pertaining to starting university, though, so wrote a far-too-detailed list of everything I need to take with me to Oxford in my academic diary. For the sake of my future readership, the aforementioned list shan’t be recreated here. Aside from this, most of my preparation has essentially been done. Now is a strange time, and it is conducive to my feeling rather listless. I’m not quite in the pre-university frenzy that shall no doubt ensue next Saturday and Sunday, but I’m close enough that I feel like doing something relevant is necessary. The problem is that I’ve done the colossal majority of necessary tasks: I’ve purchased my subfusc; I’ve sent off all my forms (though not the health forms as quite frankly I see no real need to register with the college doctor); I’ve seen my room; I’ve said goodbye to all but one of my friends (unfortunately said friend can’t meet me on Monday 1st due to Prefect Duties, which of course is a huge disappointment); I’ve purchased all of my books; I’ve sent emails to the relevant people involved in football and running…so little remains to be done. Sitting supine on my sofa watching football just doesn’t feel right at this stage, however.

I did sit fairly supine on my sofa watching Manchester City v Arsenal, though, which was entertaining enough (I would write a full match report, and perhaps I shall yet) and then continued my battle with Bleak House. I’ve currently managed two-hundred-and-twenty of the seven-hundred-and-thirty pages, and hopefully I’ll finish it by Friday, leaving me the final weekend to look over the final two necessary critical texts prior to coming up. Quite frankly I don’t feel like I’ve done enough reading, given my intention to read so much more, but my college parent has ensured me that what I’ve done thus far will more than suffice. I hope that’s true, as I live in perpetual fear of a dreadful first tutorial in which my critical and analytic faculties desert me and I leave my tutors wondering what on earth they saw in me.

That, however, remains to be seen. The rain falls on my living-room roof; the final goodbyes have all but been said, and autumn – and the final week’s countdown – beckons.

Regards,

Jack