I am not usually someone who likes to boast about my virtues. Though I have resorted to telling people I am slightly narcissistic (yes, I do like the sound of my own voice and no, the joy of seeing your name in print never does fade), I am generally quite modest. If anyone ever compliments me on my writing or a particular achievement, I find it tricky to know how to respond, apart from saying thank you.
However, one area where I have always prided myself is the art of punctuality. Engrained in me by my parents from a very young age, it was a case of first principles. That you cannot begin to improve, solve a problem or achieve something unless you are present and on time. Even if you eventually arrive, the disruption and stress you’ve caused to yourself and those around you by being late inevitably puts a damper on the rest of the day. For many years, this was a philosophy I followed. I was nearly always super early to primary and secondary school. I remember spending ages standing in the upper years primary school playground as nearly always the first arrival, just reassured I was there on time. In secondary school, I would usually be the first in my form class, occasionally being asked to leave so teachers could have a confidential discussion as I was there so early. This also correlated with days off - I’m thankfully harder ever ill and so tried to always have as close to 100% attendance as possible. Again, this continued at sixth form, where I would regularly rock up early. Unlikely many of my sixth form peers, I didn’t rely on a train or public transport for my journey, living within walking distance. In this sense, they got an education I would only come to experience at university (more on that later). Time would be spent reading morning newsletters, checking the front pages and making sure I felt as engaged as possible in the day’s news. The art of being up, awake and present was something I also tried to perfect in my early days of university. Far from being someone who would venture on a night out, I would instead wake up early, listen to Steve Allen on LBC and try to make each day as productive as possible. Deliberately choosing 9am seminars to ensure I was wide and awake, this definitely helped with the transition of leaving home and moving to university. However, like for almost everyone, the pandemic changed everything. Suddenly, there was nothing to be punctual for, apart from a Zoom meeting. Days would be spent without structure, having to fill time to try and create some form of routine. I mainly filled this through writing articles for my student newspaper, (The Boar), spending far too much time on twitter and watching films. Thanks to ordinary life returning, in the UK at least, there have been a greater number of reasons to go out and about exploring. I have returned to stewarding at Warwick Arts Centre, travel is far more open and campus life has thankfully returned. However, living in Leamington, I have come to rely on public transport to a far greater extent. Like so many students and commuters around the country, I catch the bus every weekday morning to get to campus. With the student bus apparently running every 7-8 minutes, the cost of pricey smart card divided up on the academic year doesn’t sound like a bad deal, right? Wrong! Thanks to a general shortage of bus drivers and currently what feels like eternal roadworks in Leamington, both the number of buses and their frequency has drastically diminished. As such, I was late for the first time ever to a work shift recently. I felt absolutely dreadful and was worried it would give the impression I didn’t care about the job (I definitely do). While I had left with plenty of time, and there had been no bus cancellation announced, the delay and ultimate absence of punctuality felt like my fault. Similarly, when I had been meeting some Boar colleagues on campus for breakfast, I ran 10 minutes late. Again, I had left with plenty of time, but the absence of a bus and demand of people to arrive culminated in a late arrival. Though I could have always caught an earlier bus, it does seem the factors of delay were outside my personal control. * Both of these events led up to what I would argue is my most chaotic and unpunctual record ever. Part of it stemmed, ironically, from being too punctual. I was off to Coventry for some routine blood tests at a pharmacy. Why no Leamington pharmacy offered blood tests I could book, I don’t know, but Coventry it was. The pharmacy wasn’t in the city centre either, but somewhere that was slightly inaccessible to my student buses. Thankfully, I had been before and had a rough idea of what to expect. However, previously, my test had been at 9am. Though this, again, got me up, the tests metaphorically knocked me out for the rest of the day. This time, I decided to book an appointment for 4pm. That way, I would have time to complete university work on campus before venturing into Coventry and might only be exhausted for the evening. The day had started off relatively well. I’d managed to complete another section of an essay, done some final Boar and RAW prep (the student radio station) and ventured to an information session about graduation (where there was, most importantly, a free buffet). Managing to complete some online essay reading, I’d successfully stumbled across some books to borrow. This was where things started to go wrong. In my bid to borrow the books quickly, the scanner didn’t quite work and it meant some of the books hadn’t been correctly checked out. Cue me waiting in a queue to see the librarian just as I’m desperate to catch the bus to Coventry. Eventually we got there, the books were checked out and I was ready to leave. Admittedly, when I’d booked my appointment for Wednesday, I hadn’t checked the weather forecast. And I hadn’t done so the day of the appointment either. So it came as a surprise to nobody but me that Wednesday was the day of the flood. It felt almost biblical, with friends in Cambridge reporting the rain was slightly orange in colour. Being me, I had of course not dressed for the occasion, with only my iconic beanie offering protection to my hearing aids. The first bus I caught was surprisingly prompt and quickly took to the stop near to where I would catch the next bus. Already drenched in the rain - this was not some normal rainfall - I rushed over to the bus stop, waiting for my next bus. Part of me had always thought the trip would go slightly wrong and so it would come to prove. According to the Stagecoach bus, the next bus that would take me to my destination was not for another hour. This was long after I needed to be at the pharmacy. I was also well aware of the traffic in Leamington and Kenilworth that could delay it further. In the end, I therefore decided to walk the journey. It would be a challenge, I knew I would be soaking wet but simply wanted to get there. Big mistake. Even with my minimal knowledge of Coventry, I hadn’t really quite how far away everything is on foot, something which is only capitalised when you’re carrying a heavy bag of books. The stress I felt was also about my technological devices which was undoubtedly getting severely wet, whatever protection my bag could provide. Of course, if I had waited a few minutes, the bus I wanted would have arrived, something I only noticed when it raced past me as I began what felt like an endless track. Thanks to Google Maps and some fairly good reception, I was able to redirect myself to reaching the pharmacy, a place which felt completely unreachable. Regular car users just don’t realise what it’s like to walk alongside a busy road of cars. Even if you’ve lived in cities all your life like me, the sense of having your wits about you and being focused is crucial and often mentally exhausting. Though I resorted to awful running, I ended up arriving at the pharmacy four minutes late. Giving my sincere apologies - despite the transport and weather largely being out of my control - I raced into the room for my blood tests, which were gracefully given. I can only imagine what a state I must have appeared, with no waterproof coat and my sheer immense stress about my technology working (or not!). * After the blood tests were done (I thankfully have no fear of needles), it was time for the journey home and moment of truth. I felt in my pocket for my Stagecoach smart card and couldn’t find it. Drat, I thought. In the stress of trying to run for part of the journey to the pharmacy, I must have lost it. I decided to retrace my steps and take the longer route. There was no busy evening ahead of me and, if my computer was already damaged, it didn’t matter how much more rain exposure it got. I was still feeling immensely demoralised and ashamed at having been late. Whatever factors were or weren’t in my control, the physical feeling of being utterly soaked combined with the mental guilt at having not made an appointment on time is immeasurably disconcerting. Glancing on the ground for my smart card, I wondered whether it would still be there or if someone would take the chance for a free journey (before I cancelled the card) and saved themselves some money. I hoped for the former, wishing for the route I took to be so empty and desolate of people - not least given the weather - that it would be lying there, waiting for my retrieval. For what felt like the first time in a while, I was in luck. There, on the ground, the part of the route I had clumsily jogged, was the blue card. Untouched, drenched, I felt immensely relieved. It also made me recognise that this was some time I had back. I wouldn’t need to spend the evening filling in a form and requesting a new card, dealing with temporarily paying for tickets again. It was time I had been given, thanks to the luck of the card being there, and thus time I wanted to use wisely. I still had the potential problem of my computer and phone to contend with. After making it onto a bus, I opened up my computer, praying to the non-existent God I don’t believe in, for it to work. The laptop bag it was protected in had been fairly drenched, so I just wanted some semblance of hope. The computer did turn on. Quickly, I used the time to back up all the latest versions of my assignments and important writing, making sure, if the worst did happen, I wouldn’t have lost the files. Doing this made me recognise that I am often most productive in a time of crisis. Put simply: when you haven’t got time to procrastinate, you don’t procrastinate. I used to laugh in admiration and horror at those who would complete an essay the night before it was due, from start to finish. Now, just slightly, I am beginning to see where they were coming from. The stress of being late and having no time to waste meant the work was completed. It’s showed me that, out of a crisis, I can be most productive when my days are broken up into structure. One long day in the library is no motivation for revision and essay writing. Two hours in the library, followed by a meeting, another two hours of revision, a seminar and something to look forward to in the evening suddenly sounds far more appealing. Perhaps this will motivate me to better ensure I always arrive on time again. Lockdown took away that semblance of structure and routine we had all been used to before the pandemic. It is up for us to find it again now. And while I’m yet to see the film Rain Man, I definitely felt like one today. As for the computer and phone, they’re both, touch wood, still working. Ironically, I doubt this productive spur of blog writing would have occurred had I not endured such a mare of an afternoon. You’re welcome.
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