Season of mist and yellow youthfulness
It's that time of year again. The time you suddenly realise that the summer has in fact been blissful and idyllic and not at all stressful. Oh yes - the students are back.
Well, some of them are back. Of course, some have moved on, while many of those who pitched up last weekend are just starting out, and it shows - in the disorientated looks and constant glancing at photocopied maps, in the strange eagerness to lavish fortunes on textbooks that may be on the required reading lists but won't actually be touched.
There seems to be two types of male student (the girls are less easy to classify): the nervy gawky type who look as though they're constantly cowering in fear of being shouted at by someone or of being made to look stupid or ridiculous and having their fragile self-confidence shattered; and the chirpy brash type who bray so loudly and repeatedly about their A level results and drinking prowess that one wants to welcome them to the next three or so years of their life by sending them on a night out in A&E.
But I guess nothing's changed - that's what I was like too. Well, the first type, not the second.