Imprisonment

I used to think my bedroom back home in Whitley Bay was cell-like, and I wanted to live elsewhere from the moment I realised that was a possibility, which, given my perceptiveness during early childhood, was probably at a very young age.

"Be careful what you wish for" is the phrase usually associated to such matters, and despite its disgusting syntax, its sentiment appeals currently. I may have a bigger room than I did – it even has an en-suite bathroom – and I have the run of the kitchen, but I still feel less free at times, living on this inaccessible campus, in the middle of nowhere, by which I mean too far from the sea.

Back home, the public transport system works. The buses may be slow, occasionally expensive, and inevitably each service is either infrequent or unreliable, but never both. The Metro surpasses every public transport system in Britain excepting those run by TfL, and though there's always a slight possibility of a stabbing, it is at least close to reliable, and more than enough healthy competition for buses, which most areas of the UK lack.

As such, in Newcastle, it's fairly easy to go anywhere you want to go – and a bunch of places you wouldn't – pretty quickly, and, besides, neither the sea nor the city centre is beyond cycling distance, no matter where you live in Tyne and Wear. There's always something to do and somewhere to go. That's not the case living on this campus. Perhaps Leamington Spa is better for it, though it still resides at least sixty miles from the coast, and certainly less architecturally interesting.

I'll hope that this craving for sea air and an end to the tedium of this landscape or lack thereof is a passing one, after all, if I can go 32 days without meat, I can surely make it to the end of the term without watching waves crash down on the shore. Oh, waves. Hmm, sand.