On Making the Wrong Choice

Here's the river in York, quite early in the morning on Wednesday.

I made the wrong choice of university when I went to Leeds. Foolishly, I listened to everyone who told me that it was the course you were doing that mattered: that was the most important thing and that was the main criterion you should use when choosing a university.

And the second most important thing was the prestige of the university: choose one with a good reputation, so your degree might actually be worth something at the end.

So I found myself applying to big cities, such as Manchester and Birmingham and Leeds and Liverpool, and completely ignoring the fact that I don't really like big cities, even though I live in one. Because they were tried-and-tested universities with solid English degrees.

And then, when they all seemed much of a muchness, and I didn't know which to choose, I didn't really fancy any of them, actually, so I just stayed put and went to Leeds.

And - it's taken me years to admit it - I didn't enjoy it much. The course wasn't anything like it made itself out to be and the School of English was then based, temporarily, in the hideous Sixties concrete of the Genetics department.

And, okay, it was temporary - but that temporary lasted the whole of the three years I was there.

The result of the course was that I've not read that much fiction since. I'm too prone to start analysing its prose style. Pah.

But okay, I grant you, it was a well-respected course and the phrase "English degree at Leeds" has definitely opened some doors for me. So I really should stop moaning.

Emily, on the other hand, having more wits about her than I had at that age, knew what was important: the subject and the environment.

Here's the Archaeology Department which is based at Kings Manor at York University:

It's just gorgeous.

I hope the course will be as good as the building. So far, the signs are promising.