Robyn’s Nest

I have just spent 15 minutes writing a blog post only to read it back and think “fuck me, that’s boring” so I have deleted it. I won’t get those 15 minutes back and I don’t see why you should waste five of yours reading a shower of shite.

So, here are the facts: I’m staying in on a Friday night to tackle this tricky scenario - the planning assignment part of my CIPR Diploma in Public Relations. I hate it, I am clueless, it’s making me miserable. It’s boring, it’s tough and not knowing what to write is making me cross. Part of me wants to jack it in, part of me just wants to get the damn thing out the way and scrape a pass.

So, if you’re interested in public relations and fancy helping me out, feel free to make suggestions on how to approach this hellish piece of work. If you’re not interested, enjoy your evening.

Over and out.

It’s been a while since I ranted about my CIPR Diploma, so here goes. We had tutorials on Friday AND Saturday (although I bunked off Saturday’s session in favour of lugging heavy boxes into my new flat) and, well, it looks like I can kiss goodbye to my summer.

It seems like only yesterday I handed in my two 3,000 word essays and already we are starting to workshop for our next mission - the planning assignment. To make matters worse we’ve also been asked to start thinking about topics for our third and final mission: the dissertation. And when am I supposed to enjoy the summer, see my friends, have a life?

I’m not a natural student and am finding the whole process a bit of an effort. Apart from the “Shell bingo” we play during every tutorial, what keeps me going are the interesting stories that my fellow students share in class. (I should point out that our two tutors used to work for Shell and therefore reference it at every opportunity, so one of my study buddies introduced us to Shell bingo. The record so far is 18 mentions in one tutorial.)

Anyway, yes, the stories. One lass works in the PR department of a county council where they are - amazingly - instructed to write no less that five press releases per week. Each! And I think there are five or more of them. How can there be that much to write about?!

Speaking as a journo, I find it ridiculous that press officers have to churn out press releases for the sake of it, serving only to make reporters’ eyes glaze over. This county council crew has to write monthly releases on how many books are borrowed across the county’s libraries too. Two words - who cares! Maybe an annual report on such figures would be of interest but what local newspaper will run a monthly installment on county book borrowing? Daft.

In Friday’s session we indulged in an informal chat with PR and issues management guru Roger Haywood, who, unlike a lot of PR bods, spoke enthusiastically in plain English and injected life and humour into his tales. Clearly a guy who knows his stuff.

That’s what interests me about the CIPR Diploma, not the theory behind public relations, not the long words and not the laborious assignments.  But at least all the other gals - and two token guys - in my cohort can share my pain. We all feel the same and look forward to an evening when we’re not expected to bury our heads in an academic textbook.

On another shared note we also find great hilarity in the poor communication skills of the CIPR and the London Met Uni, where we study. Kinda ironic, seeing as the diploma is based around communication and us students are supposed to be professional communicators.

So, when a feedback form from the CIPR came through today, a few of us swapped emails jesting that they wouldn’t like our feedback and it would be doubtful they’d want to include it in their promotional material. In true CIPR-style, half an hour later another email pops into my inbox stating that, actually, don’t bother filling out the online feedback form because it doesn’t work. Enough said.

Yay! I handed in my CIPR essays on Friday so my month of hell is finally over. However, handing over 6,000 words of public relations blurb (probably nonsense in my case) wasn’t as pleasureable an experience as I’d hoped.

A few of us wanted to get rid of our essays on Friday - four days before the official deadline - but we found it a tricky task to formally hand them over. I shalln’t bore you with the details but my whole experience of studying this diploma a has been one of disorganisation.

And considering us diploma students all work in the public relations/communications industry, it’s the communicating part that seems to be falling down. Lack of student cards, wrong information, delayed information, conflicting information, incorrect dates etc.

Working in newspapers was no different. Despite the fact the whole purpose of our jobs was to communicate news, there was very little internal communciation going on. Ironic eh?

Anyway, tis done now. The first part of the diploma assessment is over and as soon as I parted with those 16 sheets of A4 I thought: “Oh my God, my essays are rubbish, I really should have tried harder.” I honestly have no idea if they’re any good or not and I have to wait a good couple of months to find out. But the pain isn’t completely over.

No sooner had I handed in my essays, our tutors launched into a tutorial on the next lot of assessments, a planning one this time. Cripes chaps, give us a break! They seem to assume we’re fully informed about this diploma course, which is not the case. We don’t know what the deadlines are or what these assignments involve. Another communication issue.

Oh well, perhaps this diploma is teaching me more than I realised. Good communication is difficult to achieve!

This picture (click here) represents how I feel at the moment - down to a tee. April has been hell and the frustration at having to put my life on hold while I write two 3,000 word essays is building up. I may well explode at some point.

I’ve swapped a few emails with some of the girls on my course and they’re all feeling the same - that if they hear the words “dominant coalition” or “propaganda” one more time they will lose the will to live.

And it’s funny how things like washing up, vacuuming and cleaning the bathroom suddenly become appealing tasks when the laptop and PR Handbook are sitting on the table, waiting to be put into action. I would rather do anything than sit down and get my essays done.

The good news is I’m pretty much there, they just need tidying up. I have no idea if they’re any good and will just have to hope and prey they make the grade - I’m not looking for a distinction or even a merit. A simple pass will do just fine.

I’ve just taken a couple of days off work to get cracking with these wordy wonders and I would honestly rather have been at work. Wednesday was a day of torture with fine tuning diploma essay number one straddled by a visit to the dentist and an appointment with the contact lens chap. The good news? I have sparkly white teeth and can see to the end of the road. The bad news? I am brain dead.

So, here’s to another weekend of misery. I’m working tomorrow (no pretty Naval pilots to look at this time either, boo hoo!) and Sunday will be dedicated, in its entirety, to finishing these damn essays.

On the flip side, this time next week my essays will have been handed in to the relevant bods at London Met Uni and it’ll be out of my hands. My life starts again next Friday.

Okay, so the hell has begun. My CIPR CRT (Critial Reasoning Test) questions were issued on Friday and I have less that one month to knock out two 3,000 words essays on public relations stuff. Shit!

Yes, I may have been appointed deputy editor of two newspapers when I was 21 and yes, I was in the editor’s chair aged 25. But, aged 28, I still remain as academic as a goldfish.

The practical stuff I can do. The theoretical concepts bullshit I cannot. The CIPR Diploma course has helped me a lot though - I can talk the lingo a bit better now and I’ve learned a lot about people’s experiences in PR, working in different environments and tackling different issues. But the theory stuff, looking at models and evaluating and critisising theorists is beyond me. And, quite frankly, incredibly boring.

So, I am giving up my spare time in April (within reason - my sporting activities will remain permanent diary entries) to research and write these damned essays. I know it will be worth it if (when??) I pass and I certainly don’t want to tackle it a second time. So it’s important. But it’s a case of the more I know I have to do something the less I want to do it.

Anyway, I’m gonna try and get my head down. Saturday was spent at a CIPR tutorial which was half helpful, half a waste of time - plus I got drenched walking to Euston choo choo station - and yesterday I almost sent myself to sleep reading The PR Handbook before pulling on my trainers and kicking some arse on the volleyball court.

A girl at work did the CIPR Diploma last year and it concerns me slightly that she took two weeks of annual leave to dedicate to her essays. I’m reluctant to give up my holiday entitlement for this academia and my work commitments won’t allow it. So, if by April 25 - when I aim to hand in my scribblings - I look like I haven’t slept for three weeks, it’ll be down to the stinky study. Wish me luck.

Why is it that the more you have to read, the less you want to? I have to wade through chapters and chapters of my PR text book for this CIPR Diploma I’m doing and it’s given me a phobia of reading.

I’m finding all manner of excuses not to do it and have just one week to go to read fifty million pages, catch up on the Media Guardian and PR Week news and do my PR homework. Aaaarrrrggghhh!

I’m half way through Patricia Cornwell’s latest crime thriller which I usually dip into before visiting the land of nod, but I feel too guilty to pick it up knowing I should be reading the PR Bible.

Must do better!

Today is the most depressing day of 2008, or Blue Monday if you want to call it that. And I do feel a bit depressed.

The weather’s horrible, I didn’t have much of a weekend, my volleyball coach just doesn’t understand me, pay day is still another four days away and I’m feeling increasingly stressed at the amount of diary commitments I have to fulfil. And that’s just for starters. Get the violins out please.

I headed down to London on Saturday (got up at 5.10am to make sure I wouldn’t be late/panic on the trains etc) and when I got home at 6pm my brain was mush. I’ve never been to uni before and this CIPR Diploma is heavy stuff. For every hour we’re in the classroom (one full day per month) we’re expected to do three hours of reading and I ain’t talking my usual thriller/crime drama novels here. We’re talking academic texts - with no pictures!

I feel a little out of my depth too. My class buddies have much more PR experience than me (I got a place based on my NCTJ qualifications) and they all speak the lingo. I don’t. On a positive note, there’s loads to learn, it’ll be a good experience and I’m making new PR mates. And our tutors (if that’s what you call them) are guys at the top of their trade. Quentin Langley and Mike Hogan really know this shit. I guess as a journalist I feel a bit outnumbered by PR bods but it can only get easier.

And how ironic that one of my study buddies is, in fact, one of my colleagues in comms at the OU. We both work in communications yet neither of us had any idea the other would be there. Much amusement.

More sources of depression? I don’t want to sound like a petty child but I’m angry at being benched for one of yesterday’s volleyball matches and the lack of sympathy/explaination from my coach, and the fact some Greek girl from hell seems to taking my court time.

Another? The fact that my spare time has been reduced dramatically and I’ve not got much time for the fun stuff. And the fact I need to do more exercise (fitness is lacking, don’t feel like an athlete, more like a pig with asthma) but instead keep eating chocolate. Damn those leftover Christmas goodies which I just can’t throw away!

So, how to combat Blue Monday? No, I didn’t buy a box of 12 Krispy Kreme doughnuts when I went to Tesco at lunch time, but I think that would help, until the guilt set in. No, I’m looking forward to the fact January is almost over, pay day is almost here and I’ve got some nice weekends with friends on the agenda.

Eek, I start my CIPR Diploma on Saturday and I have to say I’m quietly shatting my pants about it, for the following reasons:

• It’s been 10 years since I left college and I’ve forgotten how to learn in that sort of environment
• I’ll no doubt get loads of homework
• I’m not 100 per cent clear on what I’ll be learning (my fear of the unknown kicking in, although I know it will help me loads in my new job)
• I’ll feel intimidated by all the suave and sophisticated PR bods in my class (eek, I said the word “class” - I feel so old!)
• It will mean giving up some of my precious Saturdays (although no pain, no gain as the saying goes)
• It’s in London and means getting on a train (those of you who know me will be aware I don’t use trains very often, or very well, and they make me panic)
• My equally frustrating inability to use the tube means I’m choosing to walk for up to an hour to get there (actually a good thing as it’s exercise, but I won’t be so keen if it’s raining)

A big part of me is excited to be learning about things that will (hopefully) make me better at my job and to network with other PR/comms bods with interesting stories to tell.

I guess I feel a little unprepared. The information I’ve received about starting the course has been limited - all I know is where I need to go, what time I need to be there and that I need to read a few chapters of a PR book before arrival.

But the book info only came last week (not much time to order said book and skim the pages) and I had to phone to find out what time the tutorial ended so I could organise a train home. What do I need to take with me? What will happen on the first day? And, most importantly, what should I wear?

Aghh, you can tell I’m a journo - I hate unanswered questions. Anyways, I’m sure it’ll work out fine and dandy and I will embrace this new challenge as I do any other - with enthusiasm and a little bit of trepidation.