Delivering My First Paper at Literary London 2009

It is said that, ‘when a man is tired of London, he is tired of life’, and feel I must state that I am exhausted after the two-day conference, therefore curtailing Dr Johnson’s statement about the city’s appeal. Yesterday I delivered my first academic paper on eighteenth-century London literature. It was to a floor of academics, proffessors, and PhD students from all across the world (literally) who had come to the Literary London conference held this year at Queen Mary University in order to deliver their own papers, and to hear others.

Of course, I was the only MA student who was at the conference, so I felt incredibly overwhelmed, and out of my depth to start with. On the first half of the first day, therefore, I only observed, and didn’t ask any questions. As Thursday progressed, however, I came to realise that as these lecturers and professors were just as enthusiastic, and just as excited about London as I was, and discussing my ideas with them not only gave me new ideas, but caused me to realise that age-old realisation that every academic comes to at an early part of their career: I was not alone in my field. I therefore began to engage with them more, and I must say, I really enjoyed it. It was so fun, and engaging. All of the lectures were like the best lectures you would have attended during your undergraduate years. Truly inspiring, and I extrapolated lots and lots of ideas for my work-there is a lot of eighteenth-century material I had not known about prior to the past two days. Was so refreshing to hear about London in such diverse, and new ways. Very refreshing.

As much as the conference was enjoyable, having heard a number of speakers deliver their respective papers, I must admit that as Friday drew near, I began to dread giving my own paper more and more. I fully prepared myself, preparing a slide-show, and a handout. Having prepared myself, I went into the Arts lecture theatre to deliver my paper. It went very well, Proffessor Markman Ellis stayed to hear my deliverance, which was very nice of him-considering that he had already read my paper twice! Having Markman there made it all the more exciting to be delivering a paper in such a monumental lecture theatre, commanding a space which had been inhabited by the likes of Anne Janowitz, David Colclough, and other such QM lecturers and professors. The slide worked well, as did the handout, and the questions I was asked in the Q and A session which followed were even more enjoyable to answer.

It was truly a monumental occasion. I had delivered a paper at the Royal Shakespeare Company on teaching Shakespeare prior to this, but I do not really consider that as having ‘delivered a paper’, because though it was on teaching, and was delivered to a floor of Shakespeare academics, it was not on the literature I wish to further research: 18th century London literature. I hope that regardless of where the ever-flowing tide of life takes me in the next two, or three years, it returns me to the shores of Queen Mary. Its where I feel I belong, where I wish to grow old and retire. As much as I love this city, QM is my ‘London’ in reference to Dr Johnson’s aforementioned statement regarding the city.

Battle of the Women in Waterstone’s

I was in Waterstone’s the other day on Goodge Street buying a book (boring! I know) and this huge African woman who was obviously returning GCSE books started yelling at the short little woman at the counter, really having a go at her: 'I WANT a refund! Now!!' This woman didn't have the receipt right so she was only allowed to exchange the goods, which the Waterstone’s girl kindly told her. 'I don't CARE, I have RIGHTS, I want the refund, or, if I DO return, I do NOT want to have to explain myself to another member of staff, this little girl CANNOT by any means go to lunch!' By now the shop had silenced. I had had enough: I could not stand by and watch this unfold in front of me like everyone else was. I intervened. This poor little Waterstone’s woman had done absolutely nothing wrong-it was the shop’s policy to only exchange goods which were not accompanied with a receipt, and this huge, overbearing woman was not at all budging. I stepped in, despite behind two people behind in the cashier que: ‘excuse me, but you are being unfair. You need to calm things down a little bit, and look at the situation rationally.’ I said this with firmness, but without any animosity-we get trained as teachers to alleviate and diffuse situations where possible. She turned on me: ‘and WHO are YOU to tell me that young man?! WHO are YOU?’ I simply replied, ‘I am jus another person in the que. You are yelling at this woman who has been nothing but nice to you. She’s been decent enough not to yell back, and you are taking advantage of that. She has offered you an exchange, so if you go off, find some books of the same value of those books, and then return, that will be great.’ By now the Waterstone’s girl smiled; she felt supported in a store in which he staff had all seemed to disappear. The African woman was now in full throttle: ‘is that what YOU think? WHO are YOU to tell me to leave the que, and find new books? You’re just a student, with trainers!’ It was true: against my better judgment, I had worn trainers that day with denim jeans, when usually I would wear shoes, trousers, and a formal shirt. I clearly looked like a student, but I set her straight: ‘actually, I’m an English teacher, and not only do I teach all those books in your pile there, but I know that as kids are soon to sit their GCSEs, they are useless. I wholly understand your reason for returning them, but you need to make a decision on which books you want to exchange them for.’ I had tried to empathise with her. She retorted by yelling, ‘English teacher? I’m…a lecturer!’ She was clearly lying; she’d made that up on the spot. I was slightly annoyed now: ‘lecturer? I imagine you completed your doctoral research in rudeness and vulgarity? Leave the que so we can get on with our shopping. You are clearly a rude woman who wastes people’s time.’ She was fuming now. At this point the store manager emerged, and offered a African woman with a piece of paper which would allow her to find some books to exchange and return without having to explain herself, reiterating that no refund would be given without a receipt. She took it and stormed off. The African woman was fuming, while the Waterstone’s girl was smiling, happy she could go off to lunch, and the situation had been reversed from the way it had been at the start of the woman’s rant. I’d achieved my objective. Not bad for a few minutes in a Waterstone’s que. The girl therefore thanked me, ‘no problem, have a nice day.’ I went off home with my new books, which I am now reading.