Robyn’s Nest

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.

I know I said I was banning any kind of enjoyment from my life for the best part of April because of all this essay writing hell I have to endure, however, last night was supposed to be my one “free” night.

The plan was to attend a ladies night - the chance to dress up, take wine, tuck into a three course meal and, most importantly, be waited on hand and foot by rugby and cricket players. Bliss.

But, the buddy who had invited me to this feminine fayre had the misfortune of being admitted to hospital yesterday with a grumbling appendix. Needless to say the ladies night went out the window and poor old Lisa Loo spent the night in a hospital gown, starved of food and with a drip in her arm, poor mite.

Lisa’s back home now thankfully, and I had another night to brush up on all things essay related. And the little black dress resumed its position at the back of the wardrobe. Boo hoo.

Anyway, as much as I should be delighted that today is Friday and tomorrow is Saturday, the pre-weekend feeling has yet to arrive. That’s because I’m working tomorrow, covering a degree ceremony at The Barbican in London.

It’ll be a long day but there is a highlight - I get to interview some Naval pilots, in full uniform, who are graduating along with the rest of our students. It’s a tough job, but someone’s got to do it!

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.

Today is the last day of March which means tomorrow will be April. No flies on me, eh! As much as I’m glad the clocks have gone forward and we’ll get lighter nights, I’m not looking foward to April; it’s gonna be a long month.

Why? Well, my dreaded CRT will be issued this Friday - the first essay/exam type thing as part of my CIPR Diploma and it means I need to pull my finger out and do some work. It means dedicating any free time I have to reading, studying, revising, researching - what ever you want to call it - so I actually know what I’m writing about.

This will be made increasingly difficult by the fact that three out of four Saturdays in April are taken up with work commitments. Well, the first one is my CIPR tutorial at the London Met Uni, then I have to interview some Naval pilots at a degree ceremony at The Barbican the following Saturday and then attend a degree ceremony in Torquay the Saturday after that. 

Add these work commitments and study/essay writing - I have less than a month to complete two essays and send them off - with the fact that I’ve launched my pre-summer fitness campaign and already I’m starting to loathe April.

If I want to look like a goddess on the beach this summer I need to start working on the old health and fitness routine now. I started this yesterday with a run (well, it was more like a long walk with a short run in the middle), a stint on the cross trainer and a few weights and sit-ups. I now have a huge blister on my heel and will no doubt hobble around the korfball court tonight.

So, April is gonna be a long month and one where fun things will have to take a backseat while I concentrate on work and study, with a bit of fitness in between. But it’s only one month and when May comes round it’ll be time to enjoy myself - or reward myself, even, for all my hard work.