It’s the start of a fresh new term at Nottingham university and I’ve hit the peak of my emotional roller-coaster over the Christmas “break”; the anxieties of essay deadlines and exams, with mum tentatively bringing in cup of tea number 7 (stacking up beside me on the table) with a mince pie.
This period has allowed me some reflection time. As much as I love the library, and I appreciate the staff and 24-hour service, it does become a bit of a prison – especially during the build-up to deadlines. The ghastly architecture does nothing to deter the prison feel either. Neither do the study booths after you’ve spent a day confined by 3 wooden sides and a black table covered in crumbs, stickiness and an assortment of messages such as “1ST YRS DROP OUT B4 IT’S 2 L8” – quite persuasive really when you’re trying your best to hold it all together before you do in fact drop out.
It is these very booths that I will begin vexing my frustrations at, and specifcially the individuals who do not understand the meaning of ‘silence’. I am convinced that some people do not actually study, and instead think it is the perfect place for a loud chat. Who is policing this silent zone? Quite frankly, I would if I had the spare time because no, Becky, I do not care about the guy you got with in Crisis last night, and there is no reason why I should listen to every grim detail about what happened afterwards in your room.
Secondly, there is the frantic search for books at the end of term, and funnily enough most people on your course are hunting for the exact same book, and of course, this specific book you need isn’t available online either. What makes this situation even worse is time pressure: your train home leaves the platform in an hour, forcing you to scramble between the aisles and find a book that somewhat resembles the title (*mental note to be more organised in Spring term).
Once you’ve settled down, books packed and you’re sitting on the train headed home for Christmas, everything seems suspiciously calm, right? And there is a reason for such suspicion… because what if someone happens to request your book whilst you are at home. Surely, the chances of that are slim…
Wrong.
It does happen, and it happened to me. And there is no way out of returning a book with a new due date that has magically jumped forward a month (unless you want to be fined 30p for every day it is late). I didn’t want to wait for this fine to slowly add up, and I couldn’t justify travelling a 3 and a half hour train journey back to Nottingham just to return a book – so instead, I had to pay for postage.
My final dig at Hallward library ends with a loss certainly felt by everyone at the university… Bertie, the Hallward library cat, taken to France to live… forever. I myself am not much of a cat person, but even I feel that the stuffed toy left by the entrance is a desperate attempt to replace Bertie, and I therefore propose the library adopt a dog instead.