Friday Evening

The windows are steamed up
and when the front door opens
the sound of laughter spills out.

"It's been such a loooong week;
I'm so glad that it is Friday."

It is the end of the first week of term
and the pub is full to bursting.

"Can you get me a pint of the Cornish,
a pint of orange juice and lemonade,
a glass of red wine
and whatever that man in the black coat
on the other side of the bar wants."

Every seat is taken,
latecomers must perch on the end of benches
or lean against the wall, clasping their drinks.

"Have you packed for the Spain field trip?"
"Are you kidding?
I'm a bloke - I'll leave it to the last minute."

We are squeezed around a corner table,
academics and postgraduate students,
celebrating the submission of a thesis.

"We are going away for the weekend
but I don't know where...it's a surprise...
he says we need a tent but I hope he's joking."

The academic who has just turned 40
looks pleased with himself,
organising excellent nights out is his speciality.

"Of course I have more hair than him.
He has a wig.
You watch carefully...
if he turns his head sideways
the hair stays still."

And then it is time to wrap up,
walk out into the cold night
and start the weekend.

On the way home I remember
that I was worried about making friends
before I moved to this Department.

And it seems a long time ago.