I travelled to Glasgow thinking that I was going to be studying at the Strathclyde University there. No sooner than I arrived, with boxes of all of my stuff, I realised that I hadn't read the prospectus so well. I was only interested in studying literature but the course that I had chosen would only specialise 100% in the subject by the fourth year; the first year comprising five subjects, then three and two in the third. So I spent the next month putting off enrolment and attempting to transfer to Glasgow University. I stayed at a halls of residence on Cathedral Street, played scrabble and made a Super 8 film of the blood trails to be found around the city centre (I found new ones every day.) I spent nights at the art school bar, which I heard was a good place, pretty much always on my own (I was awkward and found it impossible to meet people) until Jane showed up. She stayed for a week, during which time all money ran out and we lived, pretty much, off potatoes. I had to steal packing tape. By this time my transfer to Glasgow University, which seemed to a simple formality at first, had been turned down since the course was over subscribed. There was nothing for it, I would have to hitch hike to Cambridge with as much of my stuff as I could manage; two apple boxes, a couple of shoulder bags and a couple of plastic bags.
One evening, a couple of days after Jane returned home by train, I prepared. What I wouldn't be able to manage I packed away in boxes and stored in a closet to be collected by courier when I could afford it. I didn't sleep well that night and at four o'clock I was boiling the last of my potatoes and, by five, I was staggering up the road with my boxes and bags to the M8 motorway. I felt very miserable with such a burden and not even enough money for a cup of tea.
I positioned myself by the side of the road, I had made a huge sign offering all the possible routes that could be of use to me, I was surrounded by all my stuff. Unexpectedly, a middle aged man emerged from a pile of rubbish that I had been standing beside for a quarter of an hour. He was a very friendly vagrant. He was not an alcoholic, he pointed out, but had preferred homelessness all of his life. He bought me a cup of tea and a sandwich from a mobile café.
Soon I got my first lift, a courier travelling South via Edinburgh. In no time at all dawn had risen and I was waiting for him in a quiet cul de sac of townhouses. Returning with his parcel, he drove off at speed, tyres screeching. I pointed out that he had very nearly run over a cat. 'If there's one thing I have learnt driving as a courier' he said seriously 'it's to never, ever be distracted by anything furry or flappy on the road.' The man was an idiot. Later he risked gunning down a road which was reduced to a single lane for both directions due to its narrowness, even though the lights had been red for some time. 'I should have done it, I should have just gone for it,' he had said to himself anxiously as we waited at the red lights. 'Fuck it,' he declared, deciding to just take the risk. It was frightening.
He dropped me off South of the border. I was picked up by a man who wasn't in the mood for conversation and, by mid afternoon, I was at Sandbach services on the M6.
I waited there by the exit with my sign and my stuff. It was crisp and cold but the sky was clear and the sun warm. I was offered a lift by a woman who looked like a model and drove a red Ferrari. Unfortunately it turned out that she was going to Birmingham. I was then picked up by a banker who had just made what he described as a 'an amazing fortune' trading. He kept impressing on me how he'd never do such a thing as pick up a hitch hiker if it weren't for the fact that, on that special day, he felt like 'giving something back.' We soon fell into silence.
Another couple of rides later and, at eight o'clock in the evening, fifteen hours after setting out, I was in Huntingdon. I felt very happy with my achievement. My parents didn't seem happy though and informed me that I could only stay with them for a day or two. After that I travelled to Bristol and shared Jane's room at her halls of residence until we got a flat there together in St Paul's.
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