Christmas Post

Many, many hours of sweating over the drawing board later, and I am pinning up my project in the corner of the L shaped room ready for the examinations board. I was already in a bad mood as once again, I had been given the worst spot in the room – tucked into a corner, with part of ‘my’ space obscured by another board set at right angles. When I arrived, loaded down with rolls of drawings, boxes of models and files, there was a pile of architectural flotsam all over the floor, right where I wanted to throw everything before sorting it out. I cleared the old chairs, bits of cardboard, newspaper, old drawings, bits of sheet steel and light bulbs out of the way (the remains of some students' 'installation') and began sorting my stuff into some semblence of order.

It was ten in the evening, and I still hadn't finished. I decided to have a break and went looking for refreshment, preferably alcoholic. Almost unbelievably, there was no late night cafe on the campus, and for some inexplicable reason, the pub was shut. I was reduced to crisps, Fanta and chocolate from a vending machine, but there is nothing like a massive dose of salt and sugar to pep you up, is there?

Finally, finally, at around midnight, I finished pinning up my drawings and arranging models. I stood back, to admire the fruit of many hours labour and unspeakably awful crits. I looked at mine, I looked at the other students' work. Suddenly, I had a terrible revelation. I did not like my project. It looked silly and dull at the same time, an unusual combination of my ideas, the tutor's ideas, the other students' ideas and every other Tom, Dick and Harry's ideas all mashed together in the mixing bowl which gets labelled 'Pigswill'. It wasn't even silly enough to emerge from the other side of crapdom as 'blob' architecture, the latest fashion and bound to get a good mark.

'Sod it', I thought, and walked back to my friend's house, who was kindly putting me up for the night. She was still up when I arrived, and even more kindly opened a couple of ice cold lagers. then another couple.

The following morning I was sat in the dismal and dirty hall with no windows, waiting to be called for the final crit, the last hurdle for my Part 2. I had a slight hangover - well, quite a large hangover, and I was sipping mint tea to try and settle my stomach. I won't regale you with the horrible experience of the final exam, and the meeting with the wretched external examiner afterwards. Dreadful, devil's spawn of a woman. Made me feel like dirt. Her parting shot as I was leaving, totally demolished, was 'Well, no-one said it would be easy...' I turned and looked her up and down (she was short, plump and yes, had squinty specs) and had an almost overwhelming urge to grab the lapels of her black Dior jacket and slam her against the wall, a la Gene Hunt. Instead, I gave her my best cat-hiss and stalked out of the room.

I was so tired from the long hours and the stress it took about a week to recover. On the 23rd December I received a letter, the envelope marked with the University crest. I opened it with a feeling of inevitable dread.

'The examiners considered most carefully.... difficult decision.... needs a little more work....

FAIL

May we wish you and your family a very Merry Christmas and hope to see you in the New Year'

I took the model I had spent so many hours making into the garden, and committed arson.

Bah, Humbug!