So far my tutors and lecturers have been really great about letting their students know if they’ll be on strike or not.
Well, that’s what I would have optimistically said this morning as I left the caravan into the bitter northern snow flurries in my car clinging to it’s eighth of a tank of gas, and even what I hummed to myself as the flurries increased along the A1(M) toward Durham.
A moment of pause as I went to pay the parking metre–what if they were on strike? Nah, they wouldn’t do that. After all, I’ve been in regular contact with my tutor about other projects. We have a good rapport; he knows my living situation in Yorkshire, 30 miles away, and that I work to sustain myself and that university life leaves minimum hours for me to earn money to pay for petrol and food. He knows that I can’t be driving all willy-nilly that distance for no reason.
The locked classroom door and students waiting outside of it until ten past the hour told me otherwise.
No tutorial.
That’s fine, there’s a lecture I have later in the afternoon. Just because our lecturer hasn’t emailed us the class hound out like they normally do before a lecture doesn’t mean it won’t happen, right?
…right?
Scribing English All Over The Place 