Being a lad from the hills I found the nights particularly noisy when I moved down to Cardiff; that and the fact I was sleeping on the floor of a student house in Richmond Road for the first month or so. One of my best friends from home, Daf, who I'd known all through school, was in drama school and all the other residents were either drama or music students.
The first week or so in college were given over to meeting the teaching staff and finding your way about the place prior to cordoning off your own little studio space on the third floor. The first project we were set involved being sent off to various locations fairly near to the college and recording them in the form of notes, sketches and photos.
I and some others were sent to the disused railway line where I spent the next week drawing and painting the flora and the bits of track that remained, I think I may also have taken some rubbings of stones and railway sleepers.
The following week we returned to the studio and surprise, surprise, rather than make a piece of work based on your own observations, you had to swap with another student. This would have been fine if the student that I'd swapped with had done anything in the previous week, however, Rick, my swap partner, who'd been at the bowling green,had written down some numbers and bugger all else. At the end of the week we had to present our work based on the starter we'd been given. When my turn came I laid out some blank bits of paper and a few numbers written on scraps of paper.
Had I been allowed to explain why, maybe the tutor would have been a little more sympathetic. Instead of which he launch into a tirade about my lack of effort and imagination and how I wasn't "The first lazy smart arsed whizkid" he'd met. It's amazing that in the following three years he never once allowed me to explain myself or even to discuss what had happened. That was almost forty years ago and it still rankles