Read Back to School #1 …

Okay, I wouldn’t need to submit academic references, but I would need to send either a transcript of my results or the original parchment from my primary degree. I had the latter.

Very carefully, I took the frame off the wall and extracted the scroll. Two large envelopes taped together, with a cardboard insert and DO NOT BEND written in big red letters would ensure my prized possession would not be damaged. I delivered the application form, cheque and documentation personally.

Two weeks later I got notification that I was accepted. Weh hee! After a couple of days my scroll was returned. Folded in four and with a coffee stain! I was fit to be tied. These scrolls are made of heavy parchment and I knew getting the creases out would be hard. Very hard. Harder than the horns on a lorry load of leprechauns at a mini-skirt convention.

Then I screwed up. After pressing it under a mountain of magazines for weeks, I put the lot in the recycle bin. This was to come back to haunt me.

The next task was to tell everyone. My family expressed their support: You’re fekin mad! At your age? Jayzez, what are you thinking of?

My friends were supportive too: Ya mad eegit! You’ll be penniless! Centless. Senseless. Don’t come scabbing off me for bus fare.

The lads in the pub would be the real challenge. It’s gone 7pm. Do you have an adult with you? Someone dug out a CD of The School Around The Corner and it was played again and again. Until I etched Wankers on it with my keys that is. The weekend before I was to start I was presented with a gift-wrapped parcel. A Simpsons pencil case and a Transformers lunch box.

Registration day came. I was asked for my scroll. I didn’t have it. Of course I didn’t - it was turned into a cornflakes box or something by then. I asked why they needed it anyway, seeing as I had already sent it to the computer science department. Can’t you call them and have their photocopy sent over? They’d be on their break now, Mr. Sneeze. You could go get it yourself. How can they be on their break, I asked. It’s 10 o’clock and they only started work at half nine? I was met with a scowl and Glenda Gilsen eyebrows. Ok, ok, ok, I’ll go get it.

I returned with it 30mins later and skipped the queue - I just need to drop this off with Glenda, that’s all. Glenda, her eyebrows now on the nape of her neck, took it reluctantly and directed me onward to the finance desk.

What do you mean? Of course I’ve paid the fees. Here’s the receipt from the bank. But it is not showing on our system, Mr. Sneeze, so I can’t proceed. You will have to come back in two weeks for late registration. Look, I pointed out, this is a case of me and Jolene Blalock. I’m sorry sir. What I mean is, it’s just not going to happen. Now take the receipt and go find someone who can fix this. I’m staying put.

All this was torturous but it did open my eyes to something. I was Mr and Sir while mainstream students were addressed by their first names. Age was bestowing a modicum of respect, even from the trolls in admin. I had a weapon of mass disruption at my disposal. And use it I did. More on this later.

Annie is off to UCD shortly to do an MA in Film Production. Exactly two years ago today I too made the decision to return to full-time education after a break of 16 years. Annie’s break isn’t nearly a long, she’ll be in another university and she’ll be taking a different course, so I won’t try to offer advice. But it might be interesting to compare our accounts in a year from now.

Why did I do it? A lot of reasons. I figured if I didn’t do it then, I never would. The older I would get, the harder it would be. Later I was to meet students 35 years my senior. This reason didn’t count for much then.

After years of learning by doing, reading and experimenting I had developed a lot of skills and know-how. But without a piece of yellowing parchment in a pretty frame it was difficult to prove this to employers and clients.

I discussed it at length with the dog. He was straight out of the education system himself having just learned how to growl on command and stuff like that, so he provided excellent counsel. Plus he was very accommodating. As long as I got him up and dressed and fed in the mornings he was fine with being on his own most of the day.

How would I do it? This was the first challenge. Money. I had to balance value for money and course quality. I would also need some free time to take on enough small jobs to pay for dog food and beer. The need for time also meant the shorter the commute the better.

Luckily, and I’m not usually lucky, just ask Ladbrokes or Paddy Power, there was a course on offer in the university closest to me. It was a good match content wise and just 25 hours per week. The clincher was it was supported by an EU/Irish Government skills retraining initiative. If your primary degree was not in IT or pharmaceuticals you could take a postgraduate diploma in either and pay only 10% of the fees. I didn’t tell the dog the money we’d be saving. He’d be throwing lavish steak parties for his bitches every night of the week.

If I got a first class post-dip, and I was confident I could, I would be allowed into the second year of a masters programme. It was all too good to be true. It couldn’t get much better. At this rate I’d find Jolene Blalock in my bed some night and she’d be refusing to leave. Ever.

Then it came to the application form and I hit a stumbling block. Two academic references were required. Which lecturers from 16 years ago would remember me? I got on well with many of them. But of these, some were no longer in the land of the living. Others had retired and were untraceable. Two lived nearby but were on holiday and wouldn’t be back until after the deadline. I didn’t have much trust in my old faculty following through on their promise to aid my search.

After two weeks of tearing my hair out and sleepless nights (from worry - Ms. Blalock is running late) I called the university to plead for extra time. I would pay a late application fee if needed.

Oh, that won’t be necessary. Only those coming directly from a degree course need references. You don’t.

But that’s not what the form says!

I know. It’s terrible isn’t it? They’ve been talking about changing it for years now.

This was my introduction to bureaucracy in academia. It was to get worse. Now read Back to School #2.