Dreamaticus

I found my timetable on a scrunched up piece of brown paper in the bottom of my handbag. I’d looked at it so infrequently that I was unsure as to which way it read: were those the hours across the top of the sheet or down the side? There were several classes listed here that I had never attended over the course of the year.

I turned to SPC (now SL) and asked whether she’d ever been to something called “Project Management”. She replied that she had, and she advised me to get along to the class and find out about the course work before it was too late. If I failed this module, I would surely be forced to leave the University of Birmingham without a qualification.

I stuffed the timetable back into my bag and set off for the Muirhead Tower. Here I hoped to find a friendly tutor. The building had a changed somewhat since the 1980s, and I was sorry to see that the paternoster lifts had gone. When I reached the third floor I checked the staff lists to see which of the tutors knew me well enough to sympathise with my plight. None of the names were recognisable. I was on my own now, and would almost certainly fail my degree.