I'm on campus today - a meeting with The Supervisor to talk about progress and the way ahead, which went very well. She smoothed my ruffled academic brow, and we planned how we're going to proceed in the near future. I'm feeling better about the thesis, I must say, and it shows exactly how good she is as a Supervisor. Yes, she may be difficult to run to ground. Yes, sometimes she doesn't read my work and give feedback quite as quickly as I'd like. What she does do is to understand why I'm panicking, and knows how to re-focus all that nervous energy on to what I need to do next.
The sun has been out today, and the campus is looking particularly fine. The views over Unitown draw the eye, and the few students and members of staff that remain are enjoying their lunchtime break on the sweeping lawns stretching out over the university campus.
It's also really quiet. The undergrads have gone home, and the language schools and conferences are yet to arrive. There are no queues in the college dining room, and the library is, well, bliss. I've been able to focus, and I think that I've got a good way ahead with my work.
Fabulous.
Tuesday, 18 June 2013
Monday, 17 June 2013
It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
I had a wonderful, and in some ways very moving, weekend. I left Seasidetown and this part of the South East, and headed westward to Bristol, to spend the weekend with my Glamorous Friend (GF). We were at boarding school together from 1979-1981, and we shared a dorm, secrets, boyfriends, and confidences. In some ways we were very different - me a tomboy, playing sports and avoiding school work wherever I could, and she growing into a glamorous young lady, skilled with mascara, hairdryer and hairspray and with focus on her future - but we shared a number of important things.
First, our parents were no longer together, and we both understood intimately the effect that this can have on your life as a teenager. Secondly, we shared a dormitory with two other girls; our beds were side by side, which helped with the transmission of secrets and confidences after lights out, sometimes we would have to combine our resources against the others. Thirdly, and probably most importantly, I think that we both shared a sense of not being part of the general melee of boarding house life. The GF didn't arrive at our school until the third form which set her apart somewhat, and I've always been an introvert, needing my space - physical and emotional - away from the others milling around. That's one of the reasons I did so much cross-country running at school, as a boarder it's probably the only time you can be truly alone. Together GF and I could, paradoxically, be alone.
There were some other differences - GF worked for her O'levels, while I spent most of my time playing the fool. She was successful with the boys and I wasn't. I was a 'musician', and she didn't take part in the school concerts or plays, so we had some time apart but as a friendship it worked, and it worked well. Maybe because we didn't live in each other's pockets. She is also the only person who beat me in an English examination, which is fortunate as I wouldn't have accepted it from anyone else!
We lost touch when I left Caistor at the end of the fifth form. We did meet up a few years ago when I was still with the XBF, but that had been pretty much all the contact we'd had for 32 years. However, the wonders of social media led us to further communication, and this weekend we met up.
I had wondered how it would work - there is a truism that says that you know that a friendship is true if whether you've been apart for a day, a week, a month or years, you can carry on the conversation where you left off, and that's exactly how it was for us. We talked about so much - about the past, character assassinations of our colleagues in the boarding house, about the fact that the teaching at this small grammar school was, actually, pretty awful, about boys, and about the ways in which our lives had developed, and over the course of the weekend, we discovered something that I think is very important.
32 years later, we are largely the same people that we were when we were 16. I think that this is really positive - in spite of the trials and tribulations that we have both experienced, we have managed to stay true to the inner essence of what makes us. I think that we've both had falls along the way, where we've tried to conform to a partner's wish that we should be something that we're not, but we've had the strength to retain our inner teenager. We have, however, developed something important - we have the lense of maturity through which we can now review those experiences. We can understand a little more completely the experiences that we had that puzzled us at the time, and can use the disappointments that we felt in a positive manner. We can start to understand why it was that our colleagues behaved as they did, why some people were almost impossible to live with, and perhaps why they treated us as they did.
What I suspect we didn't know is that I'd always thought that she is incredibly glamorous, and that (to my surprise), I was considered to be quite 'cool'.
I wish I'd known. I'd have capitalised on that.
I had a wonderful, and in some ways very moving, weekend. I left Seasidetown and this part of the South East, and headed westward to Bristol, to spend the weekend with my Glamorous Friend (GF). We were at boarding school together from 1979-1981, and we shared a dorm, secrets, boyfriends, and confidences. In some ways we were very different - me a tomboy, playing sports and avoiding school work wherever I could, and she growing into a glamorous young lady, skilled with mascara, hairdryer and hairspray and with focus on her future - but we shared a number of important things.
First, our parents were no longer together, and we both understood intimately the effect that this can have on your life as a teenager. Secondly, we shared a dormitory with two other girls; our beds were side by side, which helped with the transmission of secrets and confidences after lights out, sometimes we would have to combine our resources against the others. Thirdly, and probably most importantly, I think that we both shared a sense of not being part of the general melee of boarding house life. The GF didn't arrive at our school until the third form which set her apart somewhat, and I've always been an introvert, needing my space - physical and emotional - away from the others milling around. That's one of the reasons I did so much cross-country running at school, as a boarder it's probably the only time you can be truly alone. Together GF and I could, paradoxically, be alone.
There were some other differences - GF worked for her O'levels, while I spent most of my time playing the fool. She was successful with the boys and I wasn't. I was a 'musician', and she didn't take part in the school concerts or plays, so we had some time apart but as a friendship it worked, and it worked well. Maybe because we didn't live in each other's pockets. She is also the only person who beat me in an English examination, which is fortunate as I wouldn't have accepted it from anyone else!
We lost touch when I left Caistor at the end of the fifth form. We did meet up a few years ago when I was still with the XBF, but that had been pretty much all the contact we'd had for 32 years. However, the wonders of social media led us to further communication, and this weekend we met up.
I had wondered how it would work - there is a truism that says that you know that a friendship is true if whether you've been apart for a day, a week, a month or years, you can carry on the conversation where you left off, and that's exactly how it was for us. We talked about so much - about the past, character assassinations of our colleagues in the boarding house, about the fact that the teaching at this small grammar school was, actually, pretty awful, about boys, and about the ways in which our lives had developed, and over the course of the weekend, we discovered something that I think is very important.
32 years later, we are largely the same people that we were when we were 16. I think that this is really positive - in spite of the trials and tribulations that we have both experienced, we have managed to stay true to the inner essence of what makes us. I think that we've both had falls along the way, where we've tried to conform to a partner's wish that we should be something that we're not, but we've had the strength to retain our inner teenager. We have, however, developed something important - we have the lense of maturity through which we can now review those experiences. We can understand a little more completely the experiences that we had that puzzled us at the time, and can use the disappointments that we felt in a positive manner. We can start to understand why it was that our colleagues behaved as they did, why some people were almost impossible to live with, and perhaps why they treated us as they did.
What I suspect we didn't know is that I'd always thought that she is incredibly glamorous, and that (to my surprise), I was considered to be quite 'cool'.
I wish I'd known. I'd have capitalised on that.
Friday, 14 June 2013
The tender leaves of hope...
Oh, it's been a funny couple of weeks. Mixed fortunes, but starting to look really good.
I finished marking the exam papers on time, and delivered them back to the office, and then discovered that I was so tired that I couldn't even read. My mother, as she so often does, came to the rescue and sent me off to a holiday apartment in Rye for the bank holiday weekend. It was lovely, peaceful, yet overlooking the quay with lots to watch, and I was able to mooch around in the sunshine and chill out a bit. It took a while to get my head back together, I tried to read some Foucault but it didn't work and I was reduced to reading Kirk Norcross' autobiography, which I think has to be the worst book that I've read in the last ten years. Don't judge me, but it did me a lot of good in rehabilitating my brain.
I spent the bank holiday Sunday in Hastings, which was packed. It was great to see - usually when I go to Hastings it's in the autumn or the early spring, and it tends to be closed with few people around. I visited the Jerwood Gallery, and wandered along the seafront, and through the Old Town.
The Monday saw me combing through the antique shops in Rye looking for an umbrella stand for the new improved hall, and I found what I was looking for. The hall is now finished to Martin the Damp's satisfaction, and I have to say that it looks wonderful. No more dust, for a while.
And then, back to what I laughingly refer to as reality. I've had, it's fair to say, a difficult couple of weeks with the writing. I've been struggling to write the introductory chapter, and it's been a complete pig. The muse had packed her bags and buggered off somewhere, and I just couldn't get down to it. I'd tried to attract the Supervisor's attention, but she's been really busy, so I've been pretty much on my own with it. This was not a happy situation, and has caused me a lot of stress. Finally, I snapped, and wrote a somewhat testy email to her, and the upshot is that I'm seeing her early next week. Whether she'll have read anything that I sent to her is another matter entirely, but we'll see.
So, all a bit difficult.
But, this morning, running along the top of the cliffs in the sunshine, I wasn't thinking about any of this. I was enjoying the weather, the sun on the sea, and my thoughts about the other parts of my life. I have a strong conviction that things are about to change in the rest of my life (that is the non-thesis part), and I'm really looking forward to seeing how things develop. But, the leaves of hope are tender, and I need to make sure that I don't force them into life, I need to treat them gently and nurture them in order that they can thrive, and with any luck, blossom.
I finished marking the exam papers on time, and delivered them back to the office, and then discovered that I was so tired that I couldn't even read. My mother, as she so often does, came to the rescue and sent me off to a holiday apartment in Rye for the bank holiday weekend. It was lovely, peaceful, yet overlooking the quay with lots to watch, and I was able to mooch around in the sunshine and chill out a bit. It took a while to get my head back together, I tried to read some Foucault but it didn't work and I was reduced to reading Kirk Norcross' autobiography, which I think has to be the worst book that I've read in the last ten years. Don't judge me, but it did me a lot of good in rehabilitating my brain.
I spent the bank holiday Sunday in Hastings, which was packed. It was great to see - usually when I go to Hastings it's in the autumn or the early spring, and it tends to be closed with few people around. I visited the Jerwood Gallery, and wandered along the seafront, and through the Old Town.
The Monday saw me combing through the antique shops in Rye looking for an umbrella stand for the new improved hall, and I found what I was looking for. The hall is now finished to Martin the Damp's satisfaction, and I have to say that it looks wonderful. No more dust, for a while.
And then, back to what I laughingly refer to as reality. I've had, it's fair to say, a difficult couple of weeks with the writing. I've been struggling to write the introductory chapter, and it's been a complete pig. The muse had packed her bags and buggered off somewhere, and I just couldn't get down to it. I'd tried to attract the Supervisor's attention, but she's been really busy, so I've been pretty much on my own with it. This was not a happy situation, and has caused me a lot of stress. Finally, I snapped, and wrote a somewhat testy email to her, and the upshot is that I'm seeing her early next week. Whether she'll have read anything that I sent to her is another matter entirely, but we'll see.
So, all a bit difficult.
But, this morning, running along the top of the cliffs in the sunshine, I wasn't thinking about any of this. I was enjoying the weather, the sun on the sea, and my thoughts about the other parts of my life. I have a strong conviction that things are about to change in the rest of my life (that is the non-thesis part), and I'm really looking forward to seeing how things develop. But, the leaves of hope are tender, and I need to make sure that I don't force them into life, I need to treat them gently and nurture them in order that they can thrive, and with any luck, blossom.
Thursday, 16 May 2013
Pressure: On both sides of the exam paper
Ah. The examination period on campus. The Sports centre takes on a more threatening hue, with tables and chairs in place of the sporting equipment, students rush around either pale of face, full of bravado, or drunk. And, who can blame them? Exams are very stressful, as this article from the Independent told us this morning.
Now, I don't know if Oxbridge exams really are the toughest in the country - I suspect that the author might discover that other universities treat their students in much the same way, not only that, but everything's relative. I know that my students were very stressed about their law exams, and it's the same for every undergraduate who has to sit for an extended period of time in the exam hall regurgitating their hard won knowledge onto paper with aching hands and throbbing head, no matter what the subject or the establishment, the stress and the difficulty is (relatively) the same.
Having got that out of my system, I was also slightly irked on my own behalf. Because exams aren't just about the examined - they're also really stressful for the examiner(s). As I've blogged, I and my PhD colleagues are roped into to sneak around the examination hall checking statute books. The responsibility to ensure that the rules are being followed is shared between us and the invigilators, and that responsibility is heavy - the rules have to be enforced to ensure fairness to every person taking the exam.
But, if we wind the clock back a few months when the process actually started, the module convenors have to set the exams which have to be approved, and have to reflect the aims and objectives of the course. The administrative staff in our Law School then hurtle into action, like a well oiled machine, making sure that the Examination department have what they need from us. Papers have to be produced in secrecy, and we have to teach the course, either not knowing what's on the paper or keeping it schtum, and hope that what we're doing will be enough for our students to pass.
After the exams are completed, and the students are then in the bar (lucky sods), the papers are then handed over to an army of markers. We're paid, notionally, by the script - we're allowed 17 minutes per script. There is no way, except for the very bad ones, that I spend anything like 17 minutes on each script. I read them, I analyse them, I make notes, then I decide on a mark. Then I review, making sure that I've got it right, and that I'm marking along the same lines as my colleagues. Scripts then go for moderation by the module convenor, and the examiners. And, all of this has to be done quickly - my life, and thesis - is on hold for 10 days while I work all hours deciphering writing, recording marks, checking, double-checking, and I have nightmares about losing one of the scripts. Can you imagine how career limiting that would be?
So, yes. Students are stressed about exams. But, so are we. I'm not saying that either side is more hard done by than the other - but it would be nice, just once in a while, if those being examined spared a thought for those of us taking part in the process from the other side.
Mind you, I never did...
Now, I don't know if Oxbridge exams really are the toughest in the country - I suspect that the author might discover that other universities treat their students in much the same way, not only that, but everything's relative. I know that my students were very stressed about their law exams, and it's the same for every undergraduate who has to sit for an extended period of time in the exam hall regurgitating their hard won knowledge onto paper with aching hands and throbbing head, no matter what the subject or the establishment, the stress and the difficulty is (relatively) the same.
Having got that out of my system, I was also slightly irked on my own behalf. Because exams aren't just about the examined - they're also really stressful for the examiner(s). As I've blogged, I and my PhD colleagues are roped into to sneak around the examination hall checking statute books. The responsibility to ensure that the rules are being followed is shared between us and the invigilators, and that responsibility is heavy - the rules have to be enforced to ensure fairness to every person taking the exam.
But, if we wind the clock back a few months when the process actually started, the module convenors have to set the exams which have to be approved, and have to reflect the aims and objectives of the course. The administrative staff in our Law School then hurtle into action, like a well oiled machine, making sure that the Examination department have what they need from us. Papers have to be produced in secrecy, and we have to teach the course, either not knowing what's on the paper or keeping it schtum, and hope that what we're doing will be enough for our students to pass.
After the exams are completed, and the students are then in the bar (lucky sods), the papers are then handed over to an army of markers. We're paid, notionally, by the script - we're allowed 17 minutes per script. There is no way, except for the very bad ones, that I spend anything like 17 minutes on each script. I read them, I analyse them, I make notes, then I decide on a mark. Then I review, making sure that I've got it right, and that I'm marking along the same lines as my colleagues. Scripts then go for moderation by the module convenor, and the examiners. And, all of this has to be done quickly - my life, and thesis - is on hold for 10 days while I work all hours deciphering writing, recording marks, checking, double-checking, and I have nightmares about losing one of the scripts. Can you imagine how career limiting that would be?
So, yes. Students are stressed about exams. But, so are we. I'm not saying that either side is more hard done by than the other - but it would be nice, just once in a while, if those being examined spared a thought for those of us taking part in the process from the other side.
Mind you, I never did...
Wednesday, 8 May 2013
'Those who do not study are only cattle dressed up in mens clothes.'
Chinese Proverb
The exam season is upon us again, and I am back on campus. I'm here partly to provide support to my poor frazzled students, and partly to earn some money. You can tell the exams are on. There are spaces in the student car park, a continuous haze of smoke in the smoking areas, the campus shops have sold out of bottled water and note pads, and there is the general sound of complaining, excuse making, and whining. And, that's just the staff.
Oh, those poor students. Essays were returned this week (the first week of our summer term). We do get questions about the feedback that we give - from those who have failed, but predominantly from those who have got pretty good marks, but feel that they should have done better. I have real sympathy with these - they're really trying to understand what they need to do to improve marks in the exam, and I'm more than happy to spend time with them.
But, this year I had one who decided that it would be a good idea to criticise the question ("it's a critical law school, after all") as well as answering it. This is an incredibly risky undertaking, and one that I wouldn't have countenanced as an undergraduate. In fact, I wouldn't do it now - I only know of two people who could do it justice, the Sweetchild and FHB. Well, this particular student thought that they were up to it, and spent the majority of the essay on an infernal loop, making bold and unsubstantiated statements, before spending about a quarter of the word count on attempting to answer the question. Inevitably, I had to give it a low mark, and they complained - claiming amongst other things that it had been my idea for them to approach the question in this manner (it certainly was not), and that they had fulfilled all the criteria (they certainly had not). I hope that they've learnt a very valuable lesson; that you can only subvert the game once you've learnt the rules, and the best way to play.
I also have some involvement in the examination process. I'm not invigilating, although I do enjoy it. Probably a little too much. But, it is time consuming. This year, I'm employed with some colleagues to check the statute books that the students are allowed to take into the exam. It really is money for old rope - creep round the exam hall, flicking through each volume, and reporting any infractions to the module convenor - that's it. In and out of the exam in 35 minutes, and paid for an hour. I'm also bracing myself to mark 110 exam scripts. This is pretty well paid work, on paper at least. I'm allocated 17 minutes per script, which is an underestimate. By the time that you've read, marked, recorded the marks and the rationale, checked that you won't be leaving the script on the borderline, you've pretty much doubled that (at least) and you're getting close to minimum wage. I also find it really stressful - these marks will affect their futures, and I have to get it right.
So, in the time between now and the arrival of the scripts, I'm trying to draft out the first real chapter of the thesis. I'm terrified. Can't find the 'way in' at the moment, so am about to take The Supervisor's advice - "stop thinking, start writing". At least it's better than sitting in that exam hall...
The exam season is upon us again, and I am back on campus. I'm here partly to provide support to my poor frazzled students, and partly to earn some money. You can tell the exams are on. There are spaces in the student car park, a continuous haze of smoke in the smoking areas, the campus shops have sold out of bottled water and note pads, and there is the general sound of complaining, excuse making, and whining. And, that's just the staff.
Oh, those poor students. Essays were returned this week (the first week of our summer term). We do get questions about the feedback that we give - from those who have failed, but predominantly from those who have got pretty good marks, but feel that they should have done better. I have real sympathy with these - they're really trying to understand what they need to do to improve marks in the exam, and I'm more than happy to spend time with them.
But, this year I had one who decided that it would be a good idea to criticise the question ("it's a critical law school, after all") as well as answering it. This is an incredibly risky undertaking, and one that I wouldn't have countenanced as an undergraduate. In fact, I wouldn't do it now - I only know of two people who could do it justice, the Sweetchild and FHB. Well, this particular student thought that they were up to it, and spent the majority of the essay on an infernal loop, making bold and unsubstantiated statements, before spending about a quarter of the word count on attempting to answer the question. Inevitably, I had to give it a low mark, and they complained - claiming amongst other things that it had been my idea for them to approach the question in this manner (it certainly was not), and that they had fulfilled all the criteria (they certainly had not). I hope that they've learnt a very valuable lesson; that you can only subvert the game once you've learnt the rules, and the best way to play.
I also have some involvement in the examination process. I'm not invigilating, although I do enjoy it. Probably a little too much. But, it is time consuming. This year, I'm employed with some colleagues to check the statute books that the students are allowed to take into the exam. It really is money for old rope - creep round the exam hall, flicking through each volume, and reporting any infractions to the module convenor - that's it. In and out of the exam in 35 minutes, and paid for an hour. I'm also bracing myself to mark 110 exam scripts. This is pretty well paid work, on paper at least. I'm allocated 17 minutes per script, which is an underestimate. By the time that you've read, marked, recorded the marks and the rationale, checked that you won't be leaving the script on the borderline, you've pretty much doubled that (at least) and you're getting close to minimum wage. I also find it really stressful - these marks will affect their futures, and I have to get it right.
So, in the time between now and the arrival of the scripts, I'm trying to draft out the first real chapter of the thesis. I'm terrified. Can't find the 'way in' at the moment, so am about to take The Supervisor's advice - "stop thinking, start writing". At least it's better than sitting in that exam hall...
Tuesday, 16 April 2013
By George, I think I've cracked it...
I needed a week away, from the dust, the building, the essay marking. I decided that I also needed to take Dr Barnardo with me to work on my article so that he doesn't impinge on my finely tuned (and already delayed) project plan for the rest of my thesis. So, once again, I booked a cottage inland on the other side of the county. Some of you may remember my last attempt at a week away in a cottage to do some re-writing - suffice to say it didn't end well.
But I think I've got it right this time. I'm in a converted Barn at the end of someone's garden in a village that is so far off the beaten track that I've nearly totalled the car twice getting here, meeting other cars hurtling round the lanes with precious little regard for my VW Fox, also hurtling round the lanes in the opposing direction. If my mother's reading - we survived, both of us, but the car is a little muddier than usual. And, that's saying something.
The barn is fantastic. Open plan living area with woodburner in the corner (at which I've proved worryingly adept at lighting, humming "I am a Firestarter" as I juggle newspaper, kindling and logs), french doors onto a small patio, and a very well equipped kitchen. The owners are also absolutely lovely, concerned that I should be ok, very welcoming, but they leave me alone. Although I did come home to find that the patio chairs have been put out so that I should be able to work in the sunshine - a nice touch. I take visits out in the morning, and return to work in the afternoons, distracted slightly by the birds at the bird feeder (I saw what I think is a woodpecker yesterday - I'm no expert), and this afternoon's glorious visit from the very handsome saluki who actually runs the premises. The bed is heavenly and comfortable, and if it weren't for my anxiety as to what's happening in Seasidetown, I'd be making plans to stay here for ever.
For Seasidetown, you see, is uppermost in my thoughts. Martin the Damp, having finished the bathroom - bling factor like you wouldn't believe - has started on the hall in my flat. On taking the plaster off the walls, he discovered that the crack on the wall above the door to my bedroom is as serious as we had feared. A new lintel is involved, and unfortunately this means that he's had to take down the shelves in my book cave. replaster the walls, and replace the shelves. I could have cried when he told me. But, I trust him. He's uncovered the window that was blocked off in the 1980s when the house was converted, and he's planning panelling on the bottom half of the wall. The new concrete floors will mean that I can have the black and white floor tiles of my dreams, and it's going to look astonishingly beautiful.
But, on balance, I'm glad to be here. I can try and concentrate on the Doctor, and push to the back of my mind the pile of marking on my dining room table - covered as it no doubt is by half an inch of dust!
I think I'll be coming back here. It's nice.
But I think I've got it right this time. I'm in a converted Barn at the end of someone's garden in a village that is so far off the beaten track that I've nearly totalled the car twice getting here, meeting other cars hurtling round the lanes with precious little regard for my VW Fox, also hurtling round the lanes in the opposing direction. If my mother's reading - we survived, both of us, but the car is a little muddier than usual. And, that's saying something.
The barn is fantastic. Open plan living area with woodburner in the corner (at which I've proved worryingly adept at lighting, humming "I am a Firestarter" as I juggle newspaper, kindling and logs), french doors onto a small patio, and a very well equipped kitchen. The owners are also absolutely lovely, concerned that I should be ok, very welcoming, but they leave me alone. Although I did come home to find that the patio chairs have been put out so that I should be able to work in the sunshine - a nice touch. I take visits out in the morning, and return to work in the afternoons, distracted slightly by the birds at the bird feeder (I saw what I think is a woodpecker yesterday - I'm no expert), and this afternoon's glorious visit from the very handsome saluki who actually runs the premises. The bed is heavenly and comfortable, and if it weren't for my anxiety as to what's happening in Seasidetown, I'd be making plans to stay here for ever.
For Seasidetown, you see, is uppermost in my thoughts. Martin the Damp, having finished the bathroom - bling factor like you wouldn't believe - has started on the hall in my flat. On taking the plaster off the walls, he discovered that the crack on the wall above the door to my bedroom is as serious as we had feared. A new lintel is involved, and unfortunately this means that he's had to take down the shelves in my book cave. replaster the walls, and replace the shelves. I could have cried when he told me. But, I trust him. He's uncovered the window that was blocked off in the 1980s when the house was converted, and he's planning panelling on the bottom half of the wall. The new concrete floors will mean that I can have the black and white floor tiles of my dreams, and it's going to look astonishingly beautiful.
But, on balance, I'm glad to be here. I can try and concentrate on the Doctor, and push to the back of my mind the pile of marking on my dining room table - covered as it no doubt is by half an inch of dust!
I think I'll be coming back here. It's nice.
Friday, 15 March 2013
"Wearing all that weight of learning lightly like a flower"
Alfred Lord, Tennyson
Yup, it's time for my annual "I don't believe students today" blog post.
I'm stressed - this cannot be denied. I'm coming to the end of my research phase, and after the Easter vacation, I have to start 'writing up' my thesis. I am also still entertaining the builders, have got a functioning loo after four weeks of traipsing up to my mother's flat to use hers, and have high hopes that I might have a fully functioning bathroom in about three weeks or so. After which Martin the Damp starts working on the hall in my flat. Dust has become a way of life, as has the interminable production of cups of tea and the distribution of a seemingly endless stream of bacon rolls. My sitting room doubles both as a study and a common room for passing craftsmen and builders.
So, what I need in my life is a diversion. Something nice, to take my mind off my domestic and academic woes. Teaching, perhaps?
Perhaps not.
Today's Guardian has an article about whether Universities should consider making attendance at Lectures (and seminars) compulsory. Those who comment are divided in their opinions - University, some of them say, is for adults, and students should be allowed to exercise discretion and judgment as to whether or not they should attend. Others feel that the high fees that universities command should lead students to become discerning consumers. I'm not entirely sure where I stand on this.
As a mature student undergraduate, I attended everything. Absolutely everything, even though our Law School publish MP3s of lectures on the intranet negating the need to be physically in the lecture theatre. I read all the prescribed readings, and sometimes even those marked as 'further reading', and would no more have thought about attending a seminar unprepared than I would an important business meeting in my prior life. I experienced the pressures and strains of the other undergraduates - albeit slightly differently - but I managed to hand in every piece of work on time (or early), and still be prepared for everything else that I needed to do. It's mature students' syndrome - we've learnt to juggle life and its demands.
So, over the past couple of weeks, I've had a bit of a problem empathising with the groups that I'm teaching this year. Last week, three people (out of a possible fifteen) attended my 10.00am seminar, and of those three, none of them had done any reading. At all. The second group were better, although not a 100% reading rate at all. I sent round a 'more in sorrow than in anger' email, and hoped for better this week.
I should have known better. The attendance was up for the first group - ten students attended the first seminar - but again, none of them had done any reading (text books, cases, journal articles - all easily available). However, what really perturbed me, was that half of them hadn't bothered to listen to the lectures - either in the lecture hall or on an MP3. Leading a seminar in these circumstances is incredibly difficult. We're supposed to lead the discussion and elicit consideration and lead these young people to think. I was momentarily tempted to turn away those who hadn't prepared, but couldn't quite bring myself to do this. No, I was left in a situation where I had to teach them - chalk and talk - the basics.
I'm left with an uneasiness. My students are at risk of going into the exams completely unprepared, save what I've been able to push into their heads. But, maybe I'm culpable - after all, if they don't prepare for the seminar, they know that I'm perfectly capable of standing at the whiteboard talking them through what they should have read and learnt for themselves.
I have some really good students (mostly in the second group), and I'm sure that they're going to excel. But I worry about what the Law School terms the '55%ers', those who can manage a 2.2, but seem unable, or unwilling, to aspire or work towards moving that grade upwards. I think I've got a whole group of them.
They're missing out - university is probably the last opportunity these bright young people are going to have to think and learn for the sake and pleasure of it. When they're in practice the pressure and stakes will be much higher. I just hope that I managed to get something through to them - of the beauty of learning about the law, of questioning it, and of criticising the hell out of it.
But, I doubt it.
Yup, it's time for my annual "I don't believe students today" blog post.
I'm stressed - this cannot be denied. I'm coming to the end of my research phase, and after the Easter vacation, I have to start 'writing up' my thesis. I am also still entertaining the builders, have got a functioning loo after four weeks of traipsing up to my mother's flat to use hers, and have high hopes that I might have a fully functioning bathroom in about three weeks or so. After which Martin the Damp starts working on the hall in my flat. Dust has become a way of life, as has the interminable production of cups of tea and the distribution of a seemingly endless stream of bacon rolls. My sitting room doubles both as a study and a common room for passing craftsmen and builders.
So, what I need in my life is a diversion. Something nice, to take my mind off my domestic and academic woes. Teaching, perhaps?
Perhaps not.
Today's Guardian has an article about whether Universities should consider making attendance at Lectures (and seminars) compulsory. Those who comment are divided in their opinions - University, some of them say, is for adults, and students should be allowed to exercise discretion and judgment as to whether or not they should attend. Others feel that the high fees that universities command should lead students to become discerning consumers. I'm not entirely sure where I stand on this.
As a mature student undergraduate, I attended everything. Absolutely everything, even though our Law School publish MP3s of lectures on the intranet negating the need to be physically in the lecture theatre. I read all the prescribed readings, and sometimes even those marked as 'further reading', and would no more have thought about attending a seminar unprepared than I would an important business meeting in my prior life. I experienced the pressures and strains of the other undergraduates - albeit slightly differently - but I managed to hand in every piece of work on time (or early), and still be prepared for everything else that I needed to do. It's mature students' syndrome - we've learnt to juggle life and its demands.
So, over the past couple of weeks, I've had a bit of a problem empathising with the groups that I'm teaching this year. Last week, three people (out of a possible fifteen) attended my 10.00am seminar, and of those three, none of them had done any reading. At all. The second group were better, although not a 100% reading rate at all. I sent round a 'more in sorrow than in anger' email, and hoped for better this week.
I should have known better. The attendance was up for the first group - ten students attended the first seminar - but again, none of them had done any reading (text books, cases, journal articles - all easily available). However, what really perturbed me, was that half of them hadn't bothered to listen to the lectures - either in the lecture hall or on an MP3. Leading a seminar in these circumstances is incredibly difficult. We're supposed to lead the discussion and elicit consideration and lead these young people to think. I was momentarily tempted to turn away those who hadn't prepared, but couldn't quite bring myself to do this. No, I was left in a situation where I had to teach them - chalk and talk - the basics.
I'm left with an uneasiness. My students are at risk of going into the exams completely unprepared, save what I've been able to push into their heads. But, maybe I'm culpable - after all, if they don't prepare for the seminar, they know that I'm perfectly capable of standing at the whiteboard talking them through what they should have read and learnt for themselves.
I have some really good students (mostly in the second group), and I'm sure that they're going to excel. But I worry about what the Law School terms the '55%ers', those who can manage a 2.2, but seem unable, or unwilling, to aspire or work towards moving that grade upwards. I think I've got a whole group of them.
They're missing out - university is probably the last opportunity these bright young people are going to have to think and learn for the sake and pleasure of it. When they're in practice the pressure and stakes will be much higher. I just hope that I managed to get something through to them - of the beauty of learning about the law, of questioning it, and of criticising the hell out of it.
But, I doubt it.
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