Like millions of families, we took ourselves to Stratford during the summer holidays. You know I'm not a sports fanatic. Despite much boring protestation on my part in the run up and duration of the greatest sporting event....ever, I enjoyed our trip. I loved the buildings, the landscaping, the demonstration of sheer organisational perfection.
I was, in my youth labelled with 'clever but flaky'. I still leave irons on, doors wide open, cars unlocked and trails of random items, most recently my bank card in the cash machine at HSBC in Malmesbury. It was OK. It was in Malmesbury. The lovely lady at the bank had acquired it by some sort of banking magic where it was absorbed into the building.
I never leave my keys in the same place which amuses (not) The Worker no end. I make piles rather than files and my knickers are in with my socks.
I admire people who build things, make things, arrange things especially when they manage such things on time and without shouting at people. I imagine Seb Coe's household must be a minimalist shrine to doing and being pleasant with it.
So, to get to the point. You knew I would, eventually. I find myself, today, hours before my induction with a pile of books I've sort of read and a few scrappy pieces of paper on which I've made scribbles of notes and ideas upon. They may find themselvs in a lever arch file at some point but, they're strewn across my desk. There is no evidence of drawing - at all - since I finished the second year at the end of May. That's three and a half months of no drawing.
This will not do. I haven't had my recurring college nightmare for years (until last night). The one where I've messed up (like last time) and get a chance to go back (like this time) but I just don't do it. The events that conspire against me are different every time I dream it but I've never dreamt I graduated. I've always dreamt that something stops me whether it's my own incompetence of a green, fluffy monster.
Study-wise, I need to prove what I'm thinking and not keep it all in my head. I have to produce sketchbooks, notebooks, reading notes, dissertation outlines, all the while 'developing my practice' and drawing, drawing, drawing.
It's going to be an interesting nine months of productivity. Can you tell I'm feeling a little anxious?