I’ve been meaning to write this post ever since I passed my DPhil viva (oral examination, for those of you not familiar with academic lingo) three and a bit weeks ago.  But maybe it’s okay that it’s taken me ages to get round to it. Since I became a Proper Academic* (*there are provisos here) I’ve been in a real kick-my-shoes-off-and-do-nothing mood.  It’s a very unfamiliar feeling.  For four and a half years now, I’ve felt driven to be at that desk every day from 8am (sometimes earlier), and had to be physically dragged away from it – usually after 6pm – by family members, concerned I should eat, drink, mingle with normal human beings, remember what daylight looked like etc.

I’m exaggerating, but not much.  A writer friend of mine (who after all, knows all about obsession) calls my study “my burrow” (it is, essentially, underground – and as I’ve probably mentioned before, I work in the dark).  Several times during my PhD (I use these terms interchangeably because few people outside academia are familiar with ‘DPhil’) she tempted me out of my burrow with the offer of lunch at my favourite restaurant, only, she said, because she was worried I would otherwise start growing hair on my paws.

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