Dreaming Spires, or Nightmares?

Two interesting things in the Guardian today. First, visit Media Guardian if you feel so inclined and you'll have the opportunity to vote for Classic vs Nu Who. At the moment, Nu is winning by a narrow margin. Also, if you search for DW you'll probably be surprised how many links come up. I was always under the impression that The Times was the most Who-friendly of the heavier English papers, but perhaps not?

More seriously, Tanya Gold has bravely described her abject misery as a student at Oxford University around 10 years ago. This is completely anecdotal, of course, and already the backlash is building on the blogs, but I recognised so many of the same experiences from my own brief time at one of the least glamorous women's colleges (yes, they still had them in those days) back in 1977.

How very very sad. I remember being attracted to Oxford as a place that resisted change. At the time, being young and naive, I was traumatised by the way my beloved grammar school was being carved up under a grudgingly implemented abolition of selective education in a Conservative local authority. I actually wanted to go somewhere that would stay static. Now I see the disadvantages of this.

Okay, many of my own difficulties had far more to do with my domestic situation as an over-protected only child from a very humble background - and the fact that my widowed mum fell apart on the night before I left, after telling me for the past 18 years that I'd be gloriously happy at university because it would be full of clever people like me. (Since she'd had to leave school at 14, I assume this information was gleaned by heresay). Tearful phone calls home became a daily ritual, and the tears weren't all on my side by any means. I was torn between wanting to settle and do well, and worrying myself sick about her.

I've been over-identifying with Rose Tyler ever since 2005...but at least she had someone to look after her when she left home.

I did eventually make a go of things and had a happy time at York University, but I carried around that sense of failure, having lasted a mere 3 weeks at Oxford, for the rest of my life. Getting married to a Cambridge graduate possibly didn't help. I now feel a little vindicated by Gold's remarks, and also by the experience of some of my son's contemporaries who have struggled at Oxford themselves.

One experience really sticks in my mind. I went up to Oxford by train, alone, and it never occurred to me that there was another way of doing things. Over 20 years later I visited the city, coincidentally at the start of the new academic year. Seeing parents settling students in seemed to twist a knife in my guts and made me realise how alone I'd been. After that I judged myself less harshly and resolved that, no matter how conflicted my feelings may be, I would do my utmost not to inflict them on my own children when they leave home for college. On the whole, I don't approve of emotional subterfuge, but in that particular situation I think they'll have enough on their plate without worrying about me.

This is Eric. We'll come back to him in a moment.

One of the great pleasures of my job (librarian in a primary school) is that I can come out of the closet and declare myself a fan from time to time.

We're running a promotion with Waterstones called The Big Book Bank. Here's how it works. A child brings in a favourite book. You give them a sticker and they write a review of it. They leave the book on a display stand for others to enjoy and get a Waterstones voucher in return.

Anyway, I thought I'd get the ball rolling. So I picked one of my favourite science books, George's Secret Key to the Universe and wrote the following review:

"This is a brilliant book. It's written by someone who's very clever (for a human) and it tells you all about things like space and black holes. The pictures are great. There's a man called Eric who has a computer, Cosmos, which is a bit like my TARDIS. It can take you anywhere in space, though it's not so good at time travel yet. I think Eric is a great character. He has spiky hair and wears glasses to make him look even cleverer than he really is. There is a nice pig in the story too. But pigs should not be sent into space. It frightens them."

Then I just left it on the trolley and waited for the reaction to come in. My lovely Headmaster bought into it totally and stood there for a while telling sceptics, "He can get in anywhere with his sonic screwdriver. I'll leave a few jelly babies around tonight and see if we can catch him."