Baby Steps?!

On Monday, I took my first bus journey with the intention to loosen up my creative muscles. It was a bit strange being back on the bus. In the 2 and a half years since I last journeyed, First have bought new buses and I had to re-arrange myself several times before I found a seat I liked. Keeping me company was Linkin Park. Brain set to neutral I just watched. There are quite few changes on the route. Businesses which have gone to the wall. Premises sitting empty and gathering dust. But there are lots of construction sites being done by contractors I know from my ground source heat pump days.

The pedestrians are still butt-stupid. Darting across the road when the light turns green, crossing on the bus' green and glaring when the driver bips his horn. Bus vs pedestrian has only one outcome: splat. I was waiting for a meeting and struck up a pleasant conversation with the receptionist and an other waiting bloke. The receptionist was of a certain age and went on and on about the Green Cross Code and how it's no longer taught. The problem with that, is that most of the stupid pedestrians were her age and older. Quite frankly, if I was old and knackered I would wait for the little green man before trying to get across a busy 4 lane junction. I wouldn't haul my arthritic bones into the path of a double decker bus. With that much weight and momentum, they don't stop like cars.

I would have blogged more about it but life got very busy and my energy levels have crashed again.

Yesterday, I took my car out for a run to see Dave. Bless him. He does look a shadow of his former self. He's lost weight and looks ever so pale. We had coffee and mince pies and when I needed a smoke, he showed me his garden. Even in winter it looks stunning. I'm so going to wangle an invite for the summer. We talked for a while longer and then it was clear, he'd had enough. I took myself off and considered the road ahead. To the left I could just see a national speed limit sign on a one-track road, to the right would take me back the way I came, to Norwich.

I turned left and lost myself in rural South Norfolk. It was beautiful. There is something about South Norfolk that I really love. When I was employed at the council there, I would often drive around my patch on weekends or in the middle of the night. Amazing that we have so much space and green 10 minutes out of the city. As I drove a story came to me. I made my way home and gave it some space.

It's a peculiar state of mind. One part of my brain is so very focused on the story, finding the characters, the words, the conflicts; the other deals with buying bacon from the butcher, crossing the road, reasuring Boy I'm well. And then I sat down and wrote. I wrote from 1.30 to 5 pm. In that time I produced 3, 127 words. My first short story in 3 years. I have written a couple of poems and about 3 or 4 segments of prose, but this was the first proper short story I've written since my degree. I can't judge how good, bad or indifferent it is yet. This is just the first outpouring. What comes now is the hard slog. It needs editing; to get it into the shape I have in my head. This is the cruicial part. In many ways the writing is the easy part, it's literary diahorreah. What comes now is staying with the story, going over each and every word to ensure every sentence conveys my intention. This is the hard work.

I feel properly myself now. My creativity wasn't lost, it hadn't withered. It just needed some space.

Three Part Post

Part One:

This image and about 90 others like it, is basically how I've been spending my time on the buses. It's a bit scary to think that in four weeks time, I will have completed my installation for my degree show, and so endeth my work at the College. Eeek! I'm still thinking seriously about the MA in Digital Art as a potential way forward for me as it will mean more self-generated projects like Journeying. Plus, at the end of my time I'll be able to go for better jobs than I can at the moment, specifically in the creative industries (whatever that means, I am merely repeating what the very kind careers officer told me). If I do decide to do the MA, I'll do it part-time as it will give me more breathing space to work and to grow creatively. Having said all of that, I'm not making any decisions that are set in concrete. I'm determined that I will take my time and see what opportunities present themselves. I've also been looking every week at the Guardian's Media page to see what's floating about. This indecision is unusual for me, I'm more the 'push-past-the-angels-and-bugger-the-consequences' type of girl, which has been fun, it must be said. At the moment, I'm very aware of the effect of my pending decision and I want to make the best possible one.

Part Two:

This is my Proud Mum Moment. This evening Boy and I met The Teachers at his school, to discuss his progress in the first year of high school. Our meetings with said teachers were brief. They pretty much all ran along the lines of: he's a keen student, he participates in class, he's pleasant to teach, he works hard, he's doing really well. In some cases, exceptionally well. Boy wants to be a vet, like his uncle Atlas. He's taken on board that he's going to have to be completely committed and motivated to do it and he's walking the talk. How proud am I? We went out to dinner to celebrate. He rocks!

Part Three:

This is a Big-Up for Gertie. If you have been clicking on my link, you will no doubt know that Gertie has been having a bit of a rough time lately. We first met working with NHSD, where she wasn't only working silly shifts, but also doing supply teaching around Norfolk. She had just qualified and thanks to a surplus of teachers in Norfolk, was without a permanent teaching position. So, she would finish at NHSD at 2am, go to bed for a few hours and then be up in time to teach a bunch of reception year kids numeracy and literacy at 8am. She had to move to Kent to a less-than-ideal temporary job and has had to deal with unruly kids (and I'm being kind in my description) as well as piss poor management.

I'm asking you to give Gertie a Big-Up because although life is being generally shite to her at the moment, she is still committed 100% to teaching. I'm just amazed by her fortitude and strength of purpose. Teaching is her dream job and as hard as it is now, I just know that she'll land that fab teaching job. In my skewed view of reality, success is The Outcome for that much determination and hard work. I'm so chuffed she's my friend. Go Gertie. Go Gertie.

journeying

Now the spectre of the dissertation has been exorcised, all of the things that I've been putting off are jumping up and down. They can jump by themselves for a bit. I've not got the energy or the inclination to start dealing with them yet.

The dissertation dealt with one of the questions that I first posed when I started this blog...what is it about travel/journey that has the power to bring about personal change? I think I can answer it now. My suggestion if you are the kind of person who loathes academia and bullshitese or personal stuff, to click on one of the links next to this, visit one of my mates, and pop back for a coffee tomorrow.

Everyone travels in one way, shape or form. Whether commuting by car, bus, or train and then there's the planet-killing airplane. Getting into your metal transportation method enables you to switch off your job description for the moment i.e. parent, worker etc and allows you to fill your brain with something else.

When I've been travelling round on the 25 bus, it has amazed me how people make the bus their own personal space: have intimate conversations, pick their noses, cry. This is despite the 30-70 other people sitting/standing next to them. In a bus, everyone is equal. Doesn't matter if you're employed, a student, a mum, an OAP, you've still got to buy your ticket and grab a seat next to someone else. You're essentially sharing your space with 30 other peoples' daydreams.

If you walk, or use a car, the experience changes again, and I like that transient feeling of community that a bus creates. It's social, and I guess I'm a social person. Oh, I realised I left out the bullshitese. In academic speak: a bus creates a liminal space i.e. a space between states, where normal rules don't apply and as Alix said 'it's a space pregnant with possibilites'. Most people just switch off, and given the frantic pace of modern life, that's not necesarily a bad thing.

I use the bus journey to work out plots for stories, personal issues and day dream. Since June when I actively charted my journeys and started this blog, I've been able to deal with some major stuff which has been cluttering up my life. I've made some new friends, strengthened older friendships and I no longer feel like I've got to be in control of life. I'm far more relaxed and hopeful about my future.

I've got a question for you: what did you think about on today's journey? I'm just interested. Be anonymous if it helps, but I'd just like to know what other people think about while they're travelling about.

100th Post!

To celebrate I thought I would share one of my pickies with you. It's part of the University in the pouring rain. It is unenhanced. I love the camera that I've borrowed. It's FujiFinePix and it'll take 9m pixles!

My butt is getting well and truly kicked and I am panicking. I have no idea how I'm going to work and produce this wretched dissertation and keep my household going and still keep my boy happy. Work is still fun, but I come home knackered and grumpy. I resorted to takeaway last night, having missed the 18.11 bus. I had to wait half an hour in the cold for the next one. After about 10 mins I was joined at the stop by a woman in a white woolly hat, lugging a pet carrier.

Things to do While Waiting at a Bus Stop.

• sing/ mutter along with MP3 player, even if it means admitting that you like cheesey music


• flex and rotate hips


• try not to stare at the woman who is singing along in her KA stopped opposite


• rotate ankles in time with Donna Summer


• stare into oncoming traffic


• practise footwork for body jabs


• smile at woman with pet carrier

Is it any wonder that the woman with the pet carrier stayed as far away from me? Anyone would think I'm a bit odd.

Commuting

Did I tell you I caught an honest to goodness commuting bus? I actually got up before 7am and was on a bus going into town at 7.15! You read right. I was up and running at 7.15 (am). For those of you who haven't guessed. I am a student first and foremost, albeit a mature one. I go to an art school which means that morning lectures are scheduled to start at 10am, and most of the students turn up at 11am. I'm fond of my bed; it often has a black cat curled up on it. It's a warm, restful place, whose peace is only disturbed by my boy insisting I have to get up to do his lunch. Little Hitler that he is.

Anyway, on Wednesday morning grey and early, I caught the Number 15 and changed for the Number 28 to get me to Hellesdon by 8.15. Up until now, I've been catching buses outside of rush hour. I never realised there was such a difference in atmosphere.

The bus driver was the only one awake (thank goodness). Everyone else seemed fast asleep, the bus was dead silent. Now, the Number 15 comes in from Silfield and is usually a really noisy trip, with kids and OAPs and mums chattering to their seat partner, or to the person behind. No one spoke throughout the whole trip. I was amazed when we got into town, that the bus driver didn't shout "Norwich City Centre! Wakey, wakey!" People got off the bus at half speed. I was half expecting paramedics waiting for us at the bus stop with caffeine IV drips at the ready. How these zombies would be turned into the Productive, I have no idea. I just looked at the bus driver, but he didn't act like it was out of the ordinary. I had to wait half an hour before the Number 28 rocked up in the grey and cold, but I did get to hear about Karen's great night out. She turned up at 7.30, wide awake and chirpy. She told her friend on the other end of her super-slim phone, and all of us waiting for the Number 28 about her non-excitement in her local pub. After awhile, I could see that silence that early in the morning is actually a virtue. Fortunately she ended her conversation before the bus arrived and I think we all enjoyed the completely silent trip.

I have to confess I'm glad I've got a lift organised for the rest of next weeks training. It means I get half an hour longer in bed. I'm not sure I've really got the stamina to do more runs on commuting buses. I'm not sure I'm prepared to suffer that much for my art.

Bloody Stoopit

"We're here. You can get off now."

"That's fine, I'm not intending to get off."

"What do you mean? This is the last stop."

"I'm doing an art project on bus travel, this is my bus pass for this month, so I can travel your circuit."

"I can see what it is."

"Do you want me to get off?"

"I don't mind what you do, I think you're bloody stoopit. Don't know why you'd bother."

I got off anyway.

Return of the Students

Riding around on the Number 25 as I do, I was slightly taken aback at the difference that students make.

No longer do I sit in quiet contemplation of 42. Instead I have to breathe and count to 10 when I see someone sitting in MY seat. Yes, I have a seat. Actually, I have two. All summer, I've pretty much had the top deck to myself. I sit on the right side of the bus going to the university 5 rows back from the stairs. There's a place where I can put my right leg and then lean on it with my elbow as I stare out the window. When I get to the last stop at the university I switch to the left side, but back another row, so I can adopt a similar position out of the sun (yes there was sun). Now the top deck is almost full. Not only that, people hover over me and look pointedly at the seat my bag rests on. They want to sit next to me! It's just not on.

The city has woken up from it's summer slumber. The streets are packed; not only do I have to dodge the elderly, the infirm and the mums with double buggies, I have to dodge lost students as well. That's fine, but the students arrival heralds the dreaded 'C'word.

I hate the run-up to Christmas. The streets and lanes get packed. It becomes impossible to pop in to do a 'quick' bit of shopping. But more than that, I hate the anxiety and aggression that Christmas brings. The way people treat each other is appalling. Shoppers barge into each other, bags swinging; children fight and wail to stressed parents who bicker with each other. Last Christmas boy and I waded our way through the throng, between us we counted 4 altercations in 20 mins, including a fist fight between a teenage boy and girl. Is this really the season of good will?

Suicidal Cyclists

What do you reckon: who would win - a cyclist, or a bus?

This morning I hopped onto the 15 into town and was happily listening to Men at Work on my MP3 player when a cyclist shot out in front of the bus from a side road. The bus managed to brake and didn't hit him.

In My Reality there are 3 types of road users: pedestrians, cyclists and drivers (of various sizes and persuasions). It is possible to belong to all 3 groups: but generally speaking, when belonging to one group, the other groups have to be loathed and detested.

Pedestrians live in a world of their own. They are completely oblivious to the world around them (unless an attractive member of the lusted after sex is on the other side of the road). They are plugged into their headphones and suffer from a Superman complex. They think they are invincible. They walk out in front of oncoming traffic without a worry or frown. I have seen a few stop and eat chips in the middle of a busy road in a sea-side town. I kid you not.

Cyclists are the righteous. They aren't polluting the planet and therefore red lights and the highway code do not apply to them. Pavements are another word for cycle lane. Pedestrians and drivers beware. It won't be long before my boy starts telling me off for embarrassing him in public. I have been known to shout after cyclists who don't stop at red lights when I'm trying to cross.

Drivers believe might is right; and lets face it, who wants to get into an argument with an articulated lorry. Chances are you will lose. They are selfish (how many cars do you see on a daily commute with 1 passenger), they are using up valuable fossil fuels and they have compensation issues. How else do you explain souped up Vauxhall Novas, painted bright purple, with a massive spoiler and gold-painted fake alloy wheels?

This cyclist (male) didn't even pause when joining the main road, he actually undertook a waiting car to do so (they don't recommend that in the highway code). Not only that, he gave the bus driver a mouthful. Apparently as he was joining a cycle lane (actually it's both a bus and cycle lane), he had right of way. The fact that users of said side road have to 'give way' did not apply to him.

The bus driver didn't say it. So I'll say it for him:

Pillock.

Elderly Customers

Yesterday, justajob talked about his Almost Embarrassing Moment involving a little old lady. Today, waiting patiently for the Number 25, I witnessed another driver dealing with a very frustrating little old couple.

They had been waiting on the bench at the bus shelter, and when the 25 pulled up, they lept up all sprightly-like until they got to the wide open doors. There they stopped; they talked to each other; one peered at the front of the bus, while the other did likewise at the side; they then looked at the 22 bus which was coming along side of the 25. All of which would have been fine, except that took a good minute and there was a queue behind them. They refused to get out of the way so that other people could get on.

In the end the bus driver called "is there anyone who want this 25 service to the university?" At which point the dotty pair glanced back and saw the members of the queue looking impatient. They tutted and muttered as they moved out of the way. In the end they chose the other bus. Our bus driver did not look heartbroken.

On being Serenaded

The Number 25 route attracts all sorts of people, from different walks of life and different countries. You never really know who will get on. Will it be a granny, will it be a professor, a clerk, a mum and babies?

This time it was a pack of foreign students. You need to understand that my grasp of languages is tenuous at best. I can order pizza in Italian, beer in Spanish, turn anything down in Russian and kiss in French. When people from 'over there' speak their native tongues at native speed, I'm hard pressed to tell whether they're speaking Spanish or Portuguese. This pack of foreign students took over the top deck. They must have been all of 16 if that. They were lively and chatty and laughed often. When they got on they said a barely understandable 'thank you' to the driver. When we got over the St Stephens roundabout and headed up Chapelfield, they all burst into song.

They covered Christina Aguilera, her new single and then they launched into a note and accent perfect rendition of 'Unfaithful' - by a luscious black singer, but buggered if I can remember her name - I was gobsmacked. None of these girls could barely say hello and here they were serenading in British R&B. Amazing. I was really sorry when they got off at Eaton Park.

Bus Groupie

Yesterday I made contact with a bus driver who's just passed his test and has been blogging throughout the process. He's very kindly agreed to put a link to my site, which is just great. Thanks Jimmy. We had a brief exchange of e-mails and he wrote:

I was introduced to a woman who spends all day on various buses, she's known as a bus groupie, we dropped her off and low and behold, we pick her up again half an hour later, bless her, totally harmless, just lonely.

I'm a bus groupie! So all the bus drivers on the Number 25 think I'm sad and lonely. Excellent. The next time I go around the route, I'll have to flash my student ID with a letter from my CP tutor. Think they'll believe me?

Me neither.

Bus Blogs

Today epitomised everything I love about travelling on the 25 Route. The bus driver was lovely, we had a quick chat at the Railway Station and at the University. He seemed perplexed that anyone would want to do a tour of Norwich on his bus, but took it all in his stride. As I got off he asked whether I had enjoyed it. It made me sorry I didn't talk to him some more. Note to self: start preparing interview questions for bus drivers and passengers.

Which brings me to the next point...I found bus blogs! Excellent. It's not just me who finds riding around on a bus great fun. So in the next few days I'll be introducing myself, linking their sites and asking them to return the favour. Wow. An internet community of bus enthusiasts. How cool is that?

Number 25 Route

Now Boy is back at school I am once again free to ride around the buses. Which I have been doing pretty much every day this week. I was trying to discover what exactly it was about the 25 bus route that I found so fascinating. Like all of the routes that run through Norwich it links opposite sides of the city. The buses are usually double decker in pretty good repair. No screaming breaks or banging clutches for the university runs. In fact, some of them are so new they still have that plasticky upholstery smell.

I decided today that the reason I love the route is because it shows off the different sides of Norwich. The leafy village feel of Unthank Road and the University against the bustling, urban, business side found in Prince of Wales Road and the relatively new Riverside development. The city centre holds these two opposites apart with oven gloves, chrome and glass Chapelfield shopping centre butted up against the old cobbled city walls. The greenery of the wealthy, studenty part of town, against the night clubs and kebab takeaways. It's not an entirely comfortable fit, but there's an energy in the opposition which makes Norwich compelling.

Scorchio

Sorry about yesterday, it was a slow-blog day. I'm struggling to think if I managed to achieve anything constructive; I probably did, but can't remember. I looked at my dirty dishes for a bit; actually, I'm still looking at them. But they'll keep for another half an hour as I blog and catch my breath.

I braved Magdalen Street for some tins of coconut milk and cheap rice. Magdalen Street has some of the best curry houses in Norwich, some fabulous ethnic grocery shops and one of the worst reputations in the city. After dark it can be quite dodgy as the little brown stains keeping the chewing gum company on the pavements can attest. I visit Miah's, where you buy Indian Basmati rice in 10 kilo bags, not to mention the most amazing selection of exotic spices for not much money. They have pepper sauce from Barbados, tinned bread fruit from Jamaica and tinned pigeon peas.

After I bought my groceries, I grabbed a bus and did a half-circuit on the 25 route. The summer is making it's presence felt in the brown grass and drooping leaves. I'm amazed by the state of undress of some people. Don't get me wrong, I'm not what you'd call prudish. I think the human body in it's natural state is a beautiful thing, whatever the size or shape. But, my grandmother was a good West Indian woman who believed that men did not go without a shirt unless they were digging a hole, and even then a string vest was preferable.

So, I've been on tummy watch today. There were flat ones, hairy ones, bulging ones, ones with shiny rings and sparkly studs. Then I started looking at footwear. I am gobsmacked at the acute discomfort which women endure in the name of fashion. High, high heels with straps you could use to floss your teeth. From afar they look attractive until you notice the slightly swollen ankles and the mis-shapen toes. Give me boring trainers any day, they might not be sexy, but at least I can run for the bus in them.

Life on the Buses

One of the things I've noticed when travelling round Norwich, is that the bus users are generally quite polite. When the bus stops and passengers get off, most say 'cheers' or 'thanks'. Which I never thought about it particularly until I got on a bus in London. Not only do people ignore each other completely, staring fixedly at the chewing gum splodged on the floor, and avoiding all eye contact, but when someone acts courteously, like giving up a seat for an elderly, or pregnant woman, there is a round of tuts of disapproval.

This week, I saw a harrassed mother to a small child trying to manage said child, collapsable and unwieldy buggy, plus three large bags of shopping. Two other passengers got up, one lifted the buggy out, the other grabbed her shopping, while she convinced her small child that they really needed to get OFF now. The bus driver joked with her as she tried to get to grips with everything; no one looked grumpy, or put off by the small delay. Only when she finally got small child strapped into the re-assembled buggy and drapped her shopping over the handles, did the bus driver pull away. He had wanted to make sure she had got everything. I like living in Norwich.

Technology and Hot Days

It's official. I'm technologically inept. I was going to test drive the camera today and I couldn't even turn the damn thing on. D'oh! However, the boy came home, rolled his eyes and he couldn't make it go either, so I no longer feel quite so stupid.

Today, is a three shower day. It's really, really hot. What's even better is that my hayfever is behaving itself, I am no longer a woman of mucus and goo! Which I'm sure the cat appreciates, she hates being woken up by my coughing and spluttering.

I did make it out the flat today and went on another trip round the town on a double decker 25 route. Today, the bus driver popped up to see if I was lost. He seemed a bit bemused at my explanation and his parting words were 'do you get on with it then, you'd have been better off in November, my beauty'. I do like Norfolk endearment 'my beauty'. When I worked behind the bar I got called a lot of things, it took me quite awhile to get to grips with 'duck' and 'luv' from complete strangers, but it sure as hell beat 'oi'. I digress.

As the bus rumbled along, I thought through the heart of this project. After a complete circuit, I'm still missing it. If I can get the technology to work, I should be able to provide a link to the pictures I take along the way. I'll try and put them in date and route order. Also, I was thinking about taking routes outside of the city, but that will obviously depend on what's happening with boy.

It also occurred to me that I might aproach First, to ask permission to take pictures on their buses and also for financial help with the travel costs. But as I'm not sure where I'm going with this yet, I'd rather do a few runs, get the images up and see what my avid readers suggest. A bit of research might not be a bad thing either.

Wednesday - phew!

Today, as I rode around on the bus, I continued to contemplate the concept of journeys and their allure for me. I came to the conclusion that I love travelling about the countryside in cars, buses and trains. The more I thought about it, the more I realised why I hate flying. If you are lucky enough to have a window seat in an aircraft, you basically see clouds and sea, or at least you do on the transatlantic flights that I take. You don't see brief snapshots of other people's lives as you creep/whiz by, and the atmosphere on a plane is quite different to that on a bus, or train. Far more muted and considered. There's less space and people are grumpy and uncomfortable for most of the time. By the way, I suspect this only applies in Economy. People in First and Business have absolutely no cause to complain, their knees don't need to be removed from their ears with the help of an osteopath at the end of a flight. Their food doesn't taste like reconsituted plastic. Oh the envy!

Travelling on the ground, your journey becomes a series of snapshots. It then occurred to me that most forms of narrative are in effect, journeys. We travel with the main characters as they journey through their story. We are with them as they cope with, and are changed by conflict. How many slushy e-mails tell you that life is journey, and friends your companions, and that it's not the ending that's important? Very Zen. But I suspect there's a truth in there somewhere. Actually, that's at the heart of this blog: it's an electronic record of my journey through the final year of my Creative Writing degree.

It may be possible for me to borrow a digital camera, and I wonder if I will be able to capture these moments visually? I've got the summer to experiment and then my pass runs out in September (boo hiss), and it's not going to be possible for me to renew it. But it's an idea worth running with in the meantime. It might be something I could film. Don't know. I'll talk to my CP tutor, see what he says. He is, as they say, the man.

Journeys

Last week I was asked what was about bus journeys that I liked so much. I contemplated this question as I rode around the complete 25 route this afternoon. I think the truth of the answer lies in martial arts practice, in movement, there is stillness. Riding around on a bus, preferably a double decker, gives me a different perspective on life. I observe it from a different elevation, which gives me space. Space to think, day dream, problem solve, listen to music.

I like the bus drivers. In the main they are polite and cheerful. I like the fact that they stand up for one another and will block a roundabout to let another bus, even from a different company, through. People on a bus are fascinating to watch. They have intimate conversations on their mobile phones, they pick their noses, kiss their boyfriends, sometimes quietly cry. I'm a shameless voyeur. People outside are equally interesting. I remember the bus passing a hard chav man, in a dirty white track suit, baseball cap, laden down with gold jewelry, leading a tiny black puppy no bigger than his brand-name trainer. It made me smile; and when I looked over to a young woman in front of me, she was smilling too.

I've got my results back. My grades have slipped. My dreams of a fabulous first are still possible, but I'm going to have to do a hell of a lot of work to make it happen. My CL suggested I might want to give up poetry, as it remains a variable. I write some good poems and then some so-so poems. I suspect he's right. If I'm to get the fabulous first, I need to be writing excellent poems. It is the sensible thing to do, and I can continue to audit the classes. Since when have I ever been known to be sensible? I don't have to make my mind up now, I'll continue to write over the summer and see what the autumn brings.

I was feeling a touch low last night and then it occurred to me. When I was doing my DEV degree, I would have given my eye teeth for a 2:i. Now it's clear I can achieve a very respectable 2:i, I'm not only hankering after a first, I want a fabulous first! No pleasing me, is there?

Nevertheless, it made me think about the realities of my future. I know I want to lecture. I'm not going to be able to lecture without an MA or a Post Graduate Certificate in Education (PGCE). The PGCE is funded through the Local Education Authority and there are bursaries available. If I don't get the funding, I can do the PGCE first and then go on to do the MA. The PGCE will mean I can pick up part-time lecturing either through the college or adult education. As a fall-back position it could be worse. So, we'll see.