All change please
I guess it had to happen eventually. I mean, there's no point hiding my shameful secret, holding up a smokescreen that is fast drifting with time. Yes, it's time to come out. I'm leaving Cambridge.
I'll not ponder on the details too much, but I'll briefly say that a combination of having loathed the course I was on leading to illness of the head, and thus fatefully failing my Tripos examination this year. Given the offers to stay on, retaking the year, or begin reading another subject, I chose instead to move on and begin again elsewhere. It was a tough decision to make, but my drive to become an engineer far outweighed my depleted stamina to carry on in the turrets and spires of Cambridge.
Of course I'll utterly, utterly miss my friends, my college, my life there (and an email *will* be sent out soon to say adieu) but the sacrifice of all that I knew was for the best. In a way I am being a selfish beast for once and following what I want to do with myself, even if it does place a few emotional hurdles in the way for a short time. And, of course, I will return for many, many visits.
Currently I'm sweltering away in my job for Company X, involved in things to do with the Underground. The night before last, I worked my first night shift. And, ye gods, I've discovered a new-found respect for the guys and odd lass that keep the Tube running. The temperature was somewhere near 40 degrees celsius, yet the men were drilling out sleepers donned with boiler suits, hard hats, goggles and masks. Goodness knows how they can stand it.
Still, it's quite an experience standing in a gloomy, suffocating, sweaty, dusty tunnel hearing a distant rumbling that's getting louder and closer. For the uninitiated (like myself), it is a fear-inducing moment, and seeing it is only a track trolley laden with tools and supplies is quite a relief. The minor fear of the current going back remains too with me. I don't particularly fancy dying by roasting!
I am fairly amused and repulsed by one man working in the office. He's the type that likes to think he's in charge, he's boss, the alpha-male. In fact, I think of him as a silly parody of a testosterone-fuelled stroppy teenager trying to impress in the playground. "I'm not askin' you ta do anythin', I'm askin' ya a question," he sets up the defensive-aggressive wall approaching a colleague. What we have is an angry man, often incompetent, strutting about and sitting with his legs so wide apart he could brace the tunnel walls himself. To add to the image, his mobile ringtone jars so much with his persona. No, he's not guy with the "I'm Horny" ringtone, or the girl with the Who tune, instead, he's the one with the soft, fluted sounds of some Bach or Mozart or Beethoven concerto or other. "YEAH? Who's this? What?" he's answered the phone.
Late day addition: I go to work this morning with my youngest niece almost on the verge of crawling, with gentle encouragement from us all. I return home, and who crawls along the hallway to meet me? Aren't babies adorable? Until they poo everywhere.
Posted: 21-07-06 11:04 :: Permalink: http://ben.corale.co.uk/archive/v1/233.html
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Richard writes Interesting Fact; I read that first as 'Until they poo everyone'. Sounds rather violent. Commented: 22-07-06 16:36