Ok so im waiting in the canteen amongst say about 20 odd people with portfolios.. some have buddies to talk to, one has his mum I think, and then there' s a few with only their portfolios and their phones (if they get restless).

Well I was meant to wake at 6.30am, and I think I did – just that I remember waking up again at 7.30 so that wasn't good at all. I rushed to get some clothes on and knew I wouldn't make the train that was to leave in a few mins, so it had to be a bus (although it takes 40mins or so, I never seem to learn bus is the crappiest way to Kingston (as I soon find out). Anyway, I gather up some coins.. I already know I do not have a total of £1.50 and so I search for some loose coins to make up £1.50. I know there are always some coins hanging around. I went downstairs in search for some money but only found pennies in the jar. Re-checked my pockets and I had£1.50 so I hurry out.

Soon the bus fills up with kids from one particular school and these guys, not even finished their GCSE's yet kept talking parroting on about peds, bunking, fucking and dubs. (Not in any special order.) The bus seemed to have got to teddington quite slow I thought and instead of going up towards Hampton wick this bus turns down some path towards a school and all the kids get off..one punk tells me it's the last stop. Fuck that its about 8.30 now and I have to be in Vauxhall by 9!

I heard the punks saying stuff like ‘mans gotta reach college' and ‘hes pissed' or ‘Monday no it's not it's Tuesday.' Blah blah blah fuck it they can get their laughs in I don't really care right now. The driver tells me I got to walk ‘straight down' this road until I see the bridge. SHIT I got to cross the bridge (10min) walk to college (10min) then walk back to station (so that easily adds up to an hour, right?)

I get to college and jump the fence again looking out for teachers that somehow seem to see me doing it. See Stephen, Faye and Kenny in the room and I quickly leave after grabbing what I need and noticing the yoghurt I left there on Friday.

At Kingston station, pissed from dragging the portfolio up the street, I attempt to buy a ticket, I thought the £4 something I spent last time on a return to Vauxhall wasn't so bad so I tried for another one, but because it was still early the price was about £6!!!!! Fuck this. After considering a child ticket, even a young persons, I bought a single to Vauxhall. I used the change from breaking a note at the shop next door. I bought something dumb, cant remember but I remember not really liking it I think..

My train was coming at 9:14 and my interview was at 9 – this wasn't good. Last time I was 40min late and then got told to come back again (cause they thought I was a foreign student). Anyway I tried to call Chelsea, looked through my last dialled numbers to find it but I got no answer. Tried again later and I got through to this guy and he just said hurry up.

At Chelsea I had to tick off my name from a list and realised that I wasn't the only one having an interview that day. In fact probably about 20 other people. I find a seat on a table with some guy (who later turned out to have some kind of Northern accent), after lazing around not finding my own pen and trying to ask others nearby I went and took one from the desk (the pen im currently writing with now). I went back to my seat past the on-looking applicants. it was all good but I guess there was competitiveness to their gazes. I think I started to write words in slowly and descriptively until some grey-haired guy turns up with a sheet of paper and calls ‘BA fine art?' or something like that or maybe it was something that included ‘transfers?' (I'll explain in a bit) then he wanted us all to follow him so we did, about 30 of us now – it was only now one could see the divide between fine art and textiles (about 4 or 5 people).

Passing hallways and stairs, courtesies were practiced like holding doors open for each other. We ended up in the ‘banqueting hall' (I remember this hall from the open day - I also remember that it was in side here you could see from out side, around where the Henry Moore sculpture is or maybe nearer)…yeah probably nearer.

Anyway a register was called , the guy was bravely attempting some foreign named students' surnames and I think at times he was corrected – when it came to mine he said my first name ok (the way it has been westernised anyway) and then he paused for maybe a millisecond, but that was enough to prompt me to call out saying ‘here'. I recall it sounding quite deep, the room echoed a lot, not even that but things reverberated greatly…

anyway we were also told to line up our portfolios along two rows – possibly alphabetically. I put mine second. I had smaller books in my bag, zip faulty, so I retrieved them and stuffed them into my folio then went back to my place where I stood with everyone else, although there were seats – I think it was a politeness thing to stand, well maybe not, maybe nervousness.. whatever it was it felt weird to sit whilst the man kept telling us things. (I don't think they were of much importance to me. It turned out me and another chick were the only two ucas applicants the rest of the group were all transfers or hoping to transfer. Anyway it appeared.. after the 1 st year you can change and a whole load of people are/were doing it/

The two chicks I was sitting with (ok looking, one was nicer, who was near me in the banqueting hall but didn't notice) – no inspectors so far so this is sick – the single trip to brighton I took this morning had to ticket inspectors and the return journey in which im finishing up this entry (in blue pen) has so far had no inspector. And we just pulled up to east Croydon: this was to be my station to bail onto if there was any trouble. For the sake of saying, I went to brighton to visit rob and also to take part in platforms magazine live). Anyway one of the girls was doing fine art somewhere and another was doing spatial design something that involved set design I think well she wanted to do something in movies. Taki could consider this course too, maybe, well its too late now. Sorry taki.

Blah blah blah we would talk more about more things and the third girl that sat opposite me was in fact the other ucas applicant – she didnt speak English well, well no that probably isn't true but her accent was strong I cant remember if she said where she was from but had some European/eastern quality to her beauty. I wouldn't though. When it came to about 10.30 or something the petite girl next to me said ‘shall we go up (now)?' so we went up, said good luck to the remaining two – I couldn't imagine the conversation that those two could get up to. Maybe the alt. white girl would just yak yak yak on about stuff and the other would only politely agree and smile, maybe nod. We went up – ok approaching junction now I think – fuck this if it weren't for the £2 I spent on getting me through the gates of brighton I wouldn't have spent nothing on this return trip to brighton or more impressively Whitton- Clapham junction – Brighton – Preston park – Brighton – Clapham junction – Whitton. The train at Clapham for Windsor ER was arriving in a few mins, the announcement called a bit early and so it hurried me up the stairs with broken suitcase and two large bags. It was about 21.35 when the 21.38 train came and it was the old style trains.. not so old like the metal slam-shut doors- trains but the ones with red seats and no toilets. So an inspector couldn't be expected (actually one could) – I waited and scanned the carriages as they went past for inspectors but there were none in the carriages I saw, and there were no uniformed staff members that got off, but the guard popped out of his little window, he was in the middle and carried no ticket thing. It is on this train I continue to write these unknown extended chapters of my journey – stretched out across 4 seats, book folded, hand tired, and hand on cheek, elbow on seat 2, and converses on seat 6. A black family of 3 speak near enough for me to hear them, and they looked at me, at least the mum when she directly caught my eye a few times.

im quite tired, hungry maybe, maybe need toilet – back to the interview – mo throp, this lady I remember from the open day too, has a unique enough name to remember. the interview times were to be posted up in a few mins outside so we had to hang around outside near the large wooden window sills (yeah I am hungry) – the interview was ok, well it was bad I thought only because I didn't think I spoke enough about stuff they liked, mo seemed to be interested – well they are teachers, they know how to encourage you etc, the other lady seated opposite me at the table wooden not plastic I have now forgotten . seemed not to be too happy.. maybe they have seen enough candidates already not for today but probably between the whole interview period. Well after firing back to their tough questions I finished up, I stuff my bag with my stuff i was proud enough to bring and left, as the next student came in. this was just a constant thing for them, feel a bit sorry for them actually but then tiredness/boredom cant be allowed to override their professionalism can it? I go and give my quick rundown of the interview to my new friends outside, but fuck seeing them again, I probably wont.. well they were alright probably wouldn't mind doing the other smaller one.

Note: I did not get the place at Chelsea art school, and now my life is ruined.