Homecoming speech

There's no time like the present, as they say. I disagree, but I might as well make a start on my blog. The other creative writers have a head start on me and I feel bad about it.

The reason for my new blog is down to the Villiers Park crew. I can't even remember applying for it. I can't even remember how I found out about it. But it sounded perfect - just the thing for me. The thing is, I've always wanted to be a writer. I got tired of telling people about my ambition and receiving their doubtful looks that said, "Wait till you grow up and get a proper job." It's cliche, but it's true. So at least applying to a creative writing course was a step in the right direction. I was to find out that it was more of a leap, actually.

I felt depressed on the Sunday before I left. I hate missing out on college work because it means I have to catch up and feel out of sync. So I saved myself half the stress by collecting work from my lecturers in the week before I went. By Sunday, I still had so much work left to do. I had to tidy my room and pack my suitcase in addition to that. The thought of the work load depressed me, so I went to sleep. And I slept all day. My Dad woke me up at about 8:30 to ask if I had packed and got everything ready. My obvious reply was "No." I added that I had no idea how to get from Cambridge to Foxton. This raised his eyebrows. So I wasn't going to Cambridge? No. So where are you going? Villiers Park, in Foxton. Well why didn't you sort all this out before??

Because I was fed up of doing so much work. I had already written eight sides on gender development for Psychology and an essay about personality development. So only visual perception, mathematical functions, Measure for Measure and The Crucible to go. No wonder I was feeling so tired.

I was groggy when I finally got out of bed, and close to tears when I couldn't find any of the Villiers Park documents. You know when you're just so close to giving up? I almost said "stuff it, I'm not going." ...What a disaster that would have been.

So, suitcase packed and homework still unfinished, I left the house in a taxi at 5:00am on Monday morning with my Dad. We headed to Newcastle Central Station. And then it was goodbye. On my travels again.

I didn't feel nervous. But I wondered what everyone would be like. What Villiers Park would be like. What the course itself would be like. And concentrated on getting on and off the train at the right times. I read Mrs Dalloway with more enthusiasm than I had at home. I never had time to read this much in one go at home. When I got off at Foxton, I still felt dreamy from reading. That feeling of still being in the book, a feeling that I love.

I got to Villiers Park. I found the sign for reception and went in. The woman gave me the key and asked me to sign a form. I was the first person to arrive, and that suited me just fine. I could go to my room now, the woman said. I could have first choice of beds. So we were sharing rooms. That was fine, too. I'd quite like the company.

The rooms were cosy and fresh. I chose my bed in the far corner, with windows all around. I never get this much light in my own room at home. There was a Kandinsky painting above my bed. I noted the colours - I like colourful paintings. I unpacked, and I read. I could have looked around the site but I didn't feel like it. I would get to know the place in time.

After little more than an hour, there was a knock on my door. I answered it. And Lucy and Leila were there: Lucy chatting and chatting about music and her lifestyle; Leila passive but smiling. We went downstairs at the appointed time to be introduced to the tutors Julie and John. Julie the enthusiastic, and John the geezer. We had lunch. I call it dinner.

Let's move away from details now, and I'll talk about the week in general.

The work. It was challenging. Writing a villanelle and a sonnet in one afternoon. OK, in one hour. Tough. Tougher still, we had to read out our poems and receive and give feedback on the poem and the poems of others. I met Soliman during this session. We read out a poem from a handout and read it with emphasis. It sounds stupid, but I'd never read a poem out aloud before. On the second day we moved onto stories. We wrote three stories in one hour. On the third day, we wrote fantasy and adventure stories. I felt in my element. It was home from home. On the fourth day, it was drama and sitcom script writing. We worked in groups this time, and then had to pitch for our creation to Julie and John. Nervewracking. On the fifth and final day, we showcased our work in the same groups - work both pre- and post- Villiers Park. By this time, we had all got to know each other and the reception was not as bad as I had imagined it to be. In fact, I rather enjoyed myself.

The people. Tom, the Scouser. Funny how we should have been brought up to hate each other - I am a Geordie, and generally Geordies hate Scousers, and generally Scousers hate Geordies. But I made a friend in Tom, who I could share an interest in accents with. We played hide and seek with the others, and Tom and I were last to be found. We sat on the coach going to London and talked about accents. We watched Blue Eyes and Heels and he was sympathetic about my aching knee. On the way back, the subject turned to our lives. I want him to paint me something, brilliant artist that he is. Then there was Will, who shared a room with Tom and we talked sometimes. There was Soliman the legend, and Frances who wanted to marry my accent, and Lucy and Jessica who shared my room and sometimes my thoughts, and Graham and Patrick who got the train back to Peterborough with me. There were many more, who I hope will forgive me for not mentioning their names.

Now I'm home. I'm glad I'm home, to recover from the intensity of that week. I missed my friends. They said it was quiet without me. Now I'm back and ready to make amends. Back to normal. Except that I have changed. I feel confident, motivated, loved... all those things and more. Some of my new feelings are unidentifiable (Jesus Christ, a seven-syllable word, have I learnt nothing?). But I will never forget this experience, nor the people I have met. It was just a pleasure. I don't regret it after all.