Living in halls three miles away from my uni, walking the half an hour journey to University becomes an accepted daily occurrence. I don't mind the walk, but what really bewilders me is the sheer number of "lollypop people" eager to aid my safe traversing of the many dangerous roads en route. I wouldn't mind their assistance so much if it were actually useful in any way. As it is, I'm a sprightly nineteen year old who plays computer games all day every day, I've honed my senses to almost supernatural precision - I don't need to be aided by someone who attends football matches with the real aim of trying to 'spot the ball'. Besides, these roads only have two lanes with traffic about as regular as my nan's bowel movements - its not like in America where crossing the eight lane highways are a task akin to escaping Alcatraz To top it all off, they place these "lollypop people" on permanent duty by pedestrian crossings. This just defies all logic. If they were that bothered, then why not make a zebra crossing? "Never trust anyone whose job can be replaced by a can of Dulux paint" is a conviction by which I live my life.

These lollypop bastards seem intent on delaying me for every lecture, seminar and essay deadline the University decides to throw at me, which, being an arts student isn't much granted, and as such allows me enough free time to lobby for the abolishment of their kind. It's almost as though they gauge my pace and my urgency from my facial expression, before deciding exactly how long to linger prior to letting me cross. The amount of seminars I've walked into late, cursing the "lollypop people" belies belief. Recently I decided to test this theory to its limits. With an essay due at 12, I planned to set off on the half an hour journey at 11:30, confident that without the lollypop people's interference, I should easily make it on time. My plan was to look as cool, calm and casual as possible, hope that reverse logic would prevail and I'd arrive on time. So I donned my recently purchased Bob Marley T-shirt, a pair of shorts camper than anything in Julian Clary's wardrobe and a 'Legalise it' cap, worn complete at a jaunty angle so as to enunciate my absolute tranquility, and set off on my way.

As I approached looking like a Greenpeace reject, I paced myself to the imaginary slow beat in my head. A quick smile to the old man on duty, a slow stretching yawn and a content sigh was all that it took to incite him to plummet into the road, plunging all his faith into his fluorescent jacket that thinly sealed his body. A car came screeching to a halt inches before him and I defiantly crossed the road. I did the only thing possible in such a situation to show my eternal gratitude for endangering his life - gave him the finger, shouted "#@~:{}@~!!!!!" and ran off, giddy as a schoolgirl in love.