The Collective

I suppose it's only natural for Academic Lifers in a small Campus University to organise themselves into a highly interconnected complex network. In terms of social life one can either stubbornly ignore the existence of the ever-increasing age-gap and bravely attend the undergrad societies and clubs or, one can surrender to the inevitable and become part of the Academic Collective.



Italian Nick organises a party. According to the rules of the Academic Collective, the telephone tree is activated. Courtesy of its many branches it culminates in a level 3 avalanche that sweeps its way across the list of postgrads, researchers and staff. It thunders past Fi's inbox and my mobile until finally, Italian Nick gets invited to his own party. The circle of communication has completed.

Come the night in question, I'm facing one of those unavoidable dilemmas. The Fluff is too tired to attend and my only acquaintance with Italian Nick involved a brief instant of him banging on our window one random night a few months ago. So the timing of my arrival becomes a matter of survival. Arrive too soon and I may be left to fend for myself without a friend to introduce me. Arrive too late, and I may miss out on the snacks.

Unfortunately, I suffer from OCD, so of course I arrive in said place with four cans of Jamaican Lager, when the host has barely finished his shower.

Having gotten over the initial embarrassment (and after asserting him that no I wasn't an intruder, that in fact, we were old friends, remember banging on my window, and oh, I'm Fiona's girlfriend, remember?, blonde, bright-eyed, talks pooh all the time?... ) I settled back in his sofa with a cup of Sangria, watch the inflow of random party-goers and enjoyed what turned out to be a fantastic social night out. Courtesy of the Collective ;-)