My name is Louise Jones and I think I stalk my lecturer. 

Is this an issue? I mean, I don’t camouflage myself and sit awkwardly in a tree on her front lawn with a pair of binoculars. That’s just weird. I order her pizza instead and ambush the delivery guy so I can deliver it myself.


Disclaimer: I do not stalk my lecturer. Please do not alert the authorities and have them storm my room, because then I’ll feel pressure to offer them biscuits and NOPE. Mine.

There is also a slight risk of them being affected by, um, fumes in my room. I’m very bleach happy at the moment and end up blinking like a butterfly chopping an onion when I’m done.

There are very few teachers I got on with at school. They were either patronising, embarrassing, rude, rubbish, grumpy, shouty, or just not at all willing to get on the students’ level. And I was a cynical and sarcastic tit. So I expected university lecturers to be the same. But then one swore, one made a sex joke, and another admitted she was hungover and would rather be in bed with a burger. The penny dropped. Lecturers are REAL PEOPLE. Not like teachers. Another species. Pah. But LECTURERS. Here we go.

The relationship between lecturers and students is very different to the one between teachers and pupils. There’s more respect and less hormones. There’s a shorter age gap and less chair swinging. These lecturers really know their stuff and you want that stuff too.

More often that not, they also come from the industry you probably want to work in. You become one of the aliens in Toy Story, oohing and ahhing at their life stories. This one, the one I DO NOT STALK, is a journalist and scriptwriter. Oooohhhh. 

She’s funny and lovely and FUNNY and I trust her. This may slowly become a love letter. If I start speaking in rhyme, stop me. But I want to do the work for her! That’s good, right? I want to impress her and be a proper little lecturer’s pet. Yes, I AM that girl who stays behind after every lecture to ask her a question I already know the answer to. I’m only a few lectures away from sitting at her feet with my chin in my hands, sighing “Oh, great story, tell it again.” 

Sorry? No. Of course I’m not nearing the deadline for my next assignment. Of course I’m not exploiting this opportunity for flattery in the hope she’ll give me an extension. Hahahahaha. What a thought! (Mary, call me.)