ABB...should that be ADD?

Note: I've left the other version of this post that I accidentally put up before this one purely to chronicle the freaky-as-shit back end of someone else's post that has been BIRTHED into my webspace. Angelic Fruitcake (the blog, not the person) has been breached. Run. For all that is good and pure, run!

I seem to remember saying a while back that I would probably fall in love with every university I visited... Well, so far I have.

I've just returned from a magical two day interview workshop at Exeter Uni and darned if it wasn't so much better than I thought it would be! The guy who interviewed me was lovely, we discovered a shared hatred of Mel Gibson and got talking about Christianity in films and theatre of all things (woo!). The facilities were bigger and more modern than I thought, the course is broader, the people nicer, the campus prettier... Haha, I thought, well now it doesn't matter that Holloway haven't gotten back to me, because I can come here!

Oh, if God doesn't have a sense of timing.

I log on to UCASTrack and see the two most beautiful words in the English language (except Cellar Door, apparently) next to Royal Holloway. "Conditional Offer".

Once more with feeling: YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!

Now I'm hoping that I don't get into Exeter, or I'm gonna have to make the hardest decision... Good thing I inadvertently showed the staff my knickers during the audition workshop. Maybe they'll think I'm a slapper and an exhibitionist and they won't let me in. But I'm sure I flashed my bum at Holloway too... Maybe they like that kind of thing? Oh no, I'm not even gonna finish that thought. I am starting to regret pretending to poledance on one of the pillars in the Roborough studio at Exeter though.

Only one problem. I now have to get at least ABB in my A-levels. Hum ti tum. My friend Liz (a sickeningly talented design student) has applied for graphic design courses where it's all about the art, love. To get into her first choice, she has to get a D. Poo!

I'm getting a little bit sick of interviews though. Interview friends especially. You latch on to someone and spend the day clinging to them for moral support, then you bugger off home and never see each other again. You never get past the small talk. I gave up a bit today, just sat on my own and chilled. I don't care if it made me look like an anti-social git, I was just so sick of the same conversations on repeat.

"Hi, what's your name, where are you from, how'd you get down here, where did you stay, is this your first choice? Where else have you applied, have you applied for drama school, really, why not?"

"Hi, Fiona, Hampshire, car, Bendene Hotel, here or Holloway, blah blah blah, no I haven't, I'd rather not say. Why? Because you really don't care and, come to think of it, neither do I!"

That's another point to make in this anti-interview rant. Drama school people. It's not people who want to go to drama school, or people who are at drama school (hi Chris, heh, no offence), it's people who want to go to drama school and go to uni interviews with the attitude that says "This is just a back up, really, I'm not expecting to need this place in my life". You can spot them a mile off, they're the ones who haven't read the prospectus and go around giving Oscar winning performances instead of working as a group like you're supposed to in GROUP WORK. They also ask the same question thousands of times in different ways and talk about acting instead of practical or studio work.

"So how much acting will I get to do on this course?"
"Are there any acting modules?"
"What's the balance between acting and writing?"
"How much time a week will I spend ACTING?"
"Are there any exra-curricular activities in which I can ACT?"
"How many of your ex-students go into ACTING?"

Then they ACT all confused and disapproving when told that this is a university, dahling, not RADA.

*represses drama-queen angst*

I've rambled something chronic in this post, never mind. I have to write that on the way back from Exeter this afternoon I got into a weird mood, thinking about how I wasn't gonna get into Exeter, or Holloway for that matter, and how I'd messed it all up. As always, the mood spiralled, and before I knew it I was back in the hole of feeling shite. I got out of it by listening to Delirious and sleeping for a while. I have to record that for posterity, this blog is as much a mood-diary as anything else.

I'm listening to: Suzanne Vega, Marlene on the Wall.
I'm feeling: Damn good at the mo, thanks to Holloway and my second Actimel of the day (yes, that's right, I said second). I don't know if it'll last, I think I'm entering a down phase.
For the record: I met the most beautiful man in the world today. He was a third year drama student at Exeter and rather stonking. He beats the third year student I fancied at Holloway hands down (now there's an image), but I'd really need pictures of them both to compare. If all else fails, I can pick my uni the way I picked my 6th form, by following the good looking guys.

Actually that's a lie. The university I go to will be the one that reminds of Hogwarts the most. The course could be taught by talking goats, but throw in an owlery and a forbidden forest and I'm THERE.