This morning - about ten minutes ago, in fact - I sat down, pen and paper poised and ready, to watch one of the many videotapes provided by the Open University for my combined entertainment and education. These videos are used to give us a break from all that darned reading we have to do, but are also kinda vital information wise for when we do those essay whatsits I'm constantly harping on about to the detriment of my mental and physical well being.
I've two more essays due round the same time, and so I thought I'd be a good sainted angel type lady and get ahead with the old study, due to me being insane and panicking because there's still a month and a half to go to said essay deadline, and for God's sake, what am I worrying about? I wasn't like this on my last two courses - on those courses, I'd do the essay the week before the deadline and then skip around Leith for the rest of the month feeling smug at my natural and unquestionable genius.
However. Child Development and Biological Psychology are both a lot more difficult than I thought they'd be, and I need all the extra time I can get. Cut to me sitting, all happy in my study clothes, cat beside me under the duvet, large cup of tea in hand. I press play on the video, which deals with the topic of Attachment Theory, something I'm planning to write 2,000 words on some time next week, and the worst happens.
The video. Starts shooting. Out sparks.
Sparks, people. Imagine that. I'm expecting Andrew Sachs' soothing voice over and some pictures of children painting in pre-school, and I get sparks. The cat runs screaming from under the duvet. I leap across the try to save the player. Video player saved, I do what any right thinking OU student should do - I ring the lovely, lovely ladies in the Belfast help centre.
The lovely, lovely lady at the dispatch desk has already put the replacement video in the post. Already. It's only been 10 minutes since said sparks, and there's a replacement coming already. I heart the Open University and the legions of lovely ladies that make it possible. Oh, I'm sure there are menfolk too that help out, all of whom wear dungarees and beards and have labradors and spend the weekend gardening and taking tea with their mothers, but it's the lovely, lovely ladies that always come to my rescue.
The moral of today's story is the fact that, last year, I'd've been sitting down to watch this vital piece of course work the day before the essay was due, and then it would have been too late. But this year, since my worrying streak has grown tenfold, I'll have said videotape in time to write stunning essay of great worth, and will eventually make my millions as genius psychologist to the stars, thus not having to work more than one day a month and being very rich with ponies and castles and boats.
Happy Friday to you all.
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