The “campus as building site” experience was really getting to me. From the window of the union bar we watched as yet another structure was pulled down. Today it was the turn of the pier to be demolished. Stray shards of masonry and wood drifted out to sea.

“I’m glad I’ve seen you”, said the blonde woman who served behind the bar. “We need you to enter the Wella student beauty competition.”

“Me?” I replied. “Isn’t that for students? Don’t you know how old I am?”

“None of the students are interested, and it doesn’t matter how old you are so long as you have taken a Scottish degree. Wella is looking for models for hair products, so you are ideal. If you don’t agree to enter, the the University won’t represented in the competition.” These words persuaded me to pick up an application form.

Later that day a gust of wind blew up my skirt and revealed my black Marks and Spencer knickers to the world. Surely my sensible choice of underwear was enough to disqualify me from any beauty competition?