AMP: Artists' Meeting Place and Resource Collective

For earlier Chapters and an explanation of this dreadful story, see blog: The Cardiff Grandma. WARNING: This novel contains fake Welsh.
In the previous episode, Samantha explores a mansion in Luxemborg; now, Rhoda Crwys, Welsh Student, is discussed…

The Cardiff Grandma Chapter 39

In the orthopedic day lounge of the Department of Subterranean Ecogeology, Physical Chemistry and Quite Modern Art, Professors and Doctors would mingle and mix in the limited fashion they had available. Great care was taken not to actually impart any information that each considered of potential use to a colleague for fear of them stealing it and gaining some credit, fame and or either monetary benefit from it as per the general way these relationships tended to operate.

One topic of conversation they could all share and agree on was that of a particularly demanding student and her particular demands. Mostly these were demands upon their time involving the repeated answering of endlessly self-paraphrased questions.

‘She drives me nuts,’ one would exclaim. Instantly anyone within hearing (or lipreading) range would know of whom they spoke.

‘She never stops asking!’ someone else would exclaim.

‘She never stops asking questions!’ somebody near would elaborate.

‘She never stops,’ another would truncate.

‘She drives me nuts,’ yet another would add, stealing the sentiment and sentence from a colleague as was their inherent plagiaristic want.

Few things were known to strike dread into the hearts of the academics like an appointment with Rhoda Crwys. Seeing ones diary taken up by such a meeting was enough to make grown men weep. She just had that kind of effect on people. Had the members of the department of Subterranean Ecogeology, Physical Chemistry and Quite Modern Art known of Dr. Snought’s fictional student funding scam they would have certainly seen the benefit of such a scheme: far better to have invented students to deal with than real ones like Rhoda. Of course she herself was wholly oblivious to the reaction she provoked in those around her. Even if she was aware she would probably not have had time to notice it anyway.

Her research project, originally scheduled to last two semesters, had already taken up three academic years. She was confident (1) that it wouldn’t take too much longer, she just had to decide on exactly what it was she was going to research, come up with a title, plan the final word count, revise the title, consider the framework, re-revise the title, amend the final word count, decide on which font to use, weigh up the various merits of justified text and double-spaced lines, finish the reading she had started three years hence, prepare the initial plan of the appendices, reconsider the framework in favour of an almost identical one, undergo a series of debilitating anxiety attacks, add to the final word count, design the layout of the bibliography, revert to her original framework, obtain some more books and papers to add to the reading list, come up with a new title, have a nervous breakdown and start writing. That’s all.

But first there were a few more pages of questions she just had to put to the Professors…

(1). This was a lie. She was never confident about anything and this fact was central to her very existence.