In the beginning...

Well, my adventure started in my first year at Bath Spa University, and as far as I know it’s still happening. At the moment I am waiting to take up residence on the island of Ilensay, just off the coast of Scotland. In about a month my exams for this term will be over and I will officially have completed my first whole year of uni....right before I drop out.
I haven’t told my parents yet, in fact the only person (aside from the university administrators) who knows about this is my best friend of nine years, Vikkie. I’m giving up on my English literature degree to go farm chickens on an island, and I have no idea what’s going to happen to me once I’m there.
God this is confusing me and I already know why I’m doing it. I’ll back up a bit, this is basically what happened to me four months ago, as close to the truth as I can get it.

“Please give me a sign”
I open my eyes a little and peer hopefully at the small candle floating in the sink.
Nothing
Reaching over nonchalantly I wiggle a finger in the water, trying to generate a flicker.
Nothing
Struck with sudden inspiration I consult the pocket guide to divination, is no sign a sign? Reaching the end of its short life the candle collapses into the water, extinguishing itself and becoming a flower of spent wax.
I pull my legs from beneath me and stand, yanking the plug from the sink, the wax swirls away before I can stop it and an unhealthy gurgling noise rises from the drain, followed by a litre of backed up water. I catch sight of my reflection in the spotty mirror, curly blond hair frizzing in the damp air, blue eyes reddened by tiredness and smoke.
Gathering the rest of my things in a hurry I leave the scene of the crime and manage to find the way back to my dorm room. It’s hard to imagine calling this place home, every corridor is identical and I’ve gotten lost twice in the last week alone. Its full of identical people with the same accents and the same taste in music, as if some trickster God has orchestrated it, grunge-death rap assaults me through the nearest partition. Being at university has confirmed what I had always feared; I am at heart a thirty year old woman.
When I finally identify my door in the homogenous horde (I was there for ages and it still didn’t occur to me to buy a giant plastic sign that says “Emma” on it to hang on my door – too late now) I open it to find Vikkie exactly where I left her an hour ago, watching old cartoons on my laptop and tucking into the grapes that fill the bowl on my desk. She has absently twirled her short dark hair around a glittery pencil and forgotten to remove it. My friend since I injured her with a desk at the tender age of nine, she alone remains constant.
“Any luck?” she asks, pausing the animated rooster mid rant and turning to face me.
“Nope, nothing, plus I think I blocked the sink…again.”
“Which is probably why the witch trials got started in the first place, all that broken plumbing.”
I roll my eyes at her as hard as I can without losing my balance and pluck the pencil from her hair, her pale skin flushes.
“I knew that was there.”
“Any other stationary I should know about?”
She shakes her head innocently.
“You shouldn’t be lighting candles in the dorm anyway, the alarm might go off.”
“I prefer candles for advice.” I grin wickedly “Low energy bulbs are sooo preachy.”
She shoots me a half disgusted half amused look that says “ I cannot believe you said that” followed by a grape which I catch and throw back with my natural accuracy, knocking over a pen pot. While she gathers up the spilled stationary I turn serious again.
“Look, I need some help here…clearly. After months, months! Of exams and prospecti and UCAS and deadlines and hauling all my crap over her….I cannot hate university. I cannot not want to be here, it’s just not possible.”
I fold my arms in a “that settles that gesture” then unfold them with a frown.
“But I hate it here! It’s just like being back at school, only now I have to live with the people who think I’m strange and they can steal my chocolate and use all my mugs and wake me up with vomiting and rousing choruses of “shake yo ass” at three in the morning. I’m leaving…tomorrow.”
There’s a small pause as Vikkie watches me expectantly, a grape halfway between bowl and mouth.
“The thing is…” I begin, as she rolls her eyes and swallows the grape. “I have nowhere to go, what is there other than this? Go home and be a cleaner for the rest of my life?”
I flop dejectedly onto my bed, dislodging a sheaf of essay notes and burying my face in a fuzzy purple cushion.
Over the years Vikkie has witnessed thousands of similar scenes and knows that eventually I will argue myself out and start talking about something else. Usually this is the point where she tries to move me onto a different topic.
“So….”
And fails utterly
“Maybe you should give it a little more time” she says, finally beaten into offering me advice she throws me a clump of grapes.
“I’ve already been here for months” I whine “months of communal facilities with mould and blocked sinks”
She looks pointedly at me
“And that’s another thing!” I add triumphantly “When was the last time I managed a ritual that lasted longer than a few minutes?”
“You were gone an hour!” protests Vikkie
“Only because I ignored people begging to use the loo”
“Well, like you said, you don’t have anything else to do.” She adds with an air of finality
“But is that any reason to stay?” Suddenly I’m out of rant mode and left without my insulating blanket of petty annoyances. Knocked back by my own words.
“Come on” Vikkie grabs my arm and draws me towards the door.
“I’ll make you dinner.”
So now you’ve met Vikkie (who by the way is about to have the excellent idea of rolling a magic eight ball down the guttering to make a decision for me) and you have some idea of what it felt like to be at university back then. I’ll sign off for now because I have to check up on the builders renovating the house on the island. Successful farming or no I am still going to need running water and a roof.