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torials to conduct. She always feels a twinge of anxiety at the beginning of a new term. She sits up in bed
for a moment, doing some complicated breathing and flexing of the abdominal muscles, learned in yoga
classes, to calm herself.
She was born, and christened Roberta Anne Penrose, in Melbourn, Australia, nearly thirty-three years
ago, but left that country at the age of five to accompany her parents to England. Robyn had a comfortable
childhood. She attended an excellent grammar school which she left with four A grades at A-level. Though
urged by the school to apply for a place at Oxbridge, she chose instead to go to Sussex University.
Robyn kicks off the duvet and gets out of bed. She goes to the window, pulls back the curtain, and peers
out. She looks up at the grey clouds scudding across the sky. A gust of wind rattles the sash window and the
draught makes Robyn shiver. Clutching herself, she skips to the door from rug to rug, like a Scottish country
dancer, across the landing and into the bathroom. She pulls the nightdress over her head and steps into the
bath, not first pulling the chain of the toilet because that would affect the temperature of the water coming
through the showerhead on the end of a flexible tube, with which she now hoses herself down. She steps
from the bath, stretching for a towel in one of those ungainly postures so beloved of Impressionist painters.
Robyn, a dressing-gown over her underclothes and slippers on her feet, descends the short dark staircase
to the ground floor and goes into her narrow and extremely untidy kitchen. She lights the gas stove, and
makes herself a breakfast of muesli, wholemeal toast and decaffeinated coffee. The sound of the Guardian
dropping on to the doormat sends her scurrying to the front door. Robyn scans the front-page headline of the
Guardian, but does not linger over the text beneath. She puts her soiled breakfast things in the sink, already
crammed with the relics of last night's supper, and hurries upstairs.
Robyn straightens the sheet on the bed, shakes and spreads the duvet. She sits at her dressing-table and
vigorously brushes her hair, a mop of copper-coloured curls. Now she robs moisturizer into her facial skin as
protection against the raw wintry air outside, coats her lips with lip-salve, and brushes some green
eyeshadow on her eyelids. Her simple cosmetic operations completed, she dresses herself in green tights, a
wide brown tweed skirt and a thick sweater loosely knitted in muted shades of orange, green and brown. She
takes from the bottom of her wardrobe a pair of half-length fashion boots in dark brown leather and sits on
the edge of the bed to pull them on.
Robyn goes into her long narrow living-room, which also serves as her study. She lifts from the floor a
leather bag, and begins to load it with the things she will need for the day.
Returning to the kitchen, Robyn turns down the thermostat of the central heating and checks that the back
door of the house is locked and bolted. In the hall she wraps a long scarf round her neck and puts on a
cream-coloured quilted cotton jacket. Outside, in the street, her car is parked, a red six-year-old Renault
Five. Robyn turns the ignition key, holding her breath as she listens to the starter's bronchial wheeze, then
exhales with relief as the engine fires.
She drives through the gates of the University, parks her car in one of the University's car parks, and
makes her way to the English Department. She passes into the foyer of the Arts Block. There are several
students slouching against the wall, or sitting on the floor, outside her room. Robyn gives them a wry look as
she approaches, having a pretty good idea of what they want.
'Hallo', she says, by way of a general greeting as she fishes for her door key in her coat pocket. 'Who's
first?'
Eventually they are all dealt with, and Robyn is free to prepare for her lecture at eleven. She opens her
bag, pulls out the folder containing her notes, and settles to work.
(Extractfrom "Nice Work" by David Lodge. Abridged)
Discussion points.
1. How does Robyn's morning differ from Vic's?
2. What kind of person is Robyn? Prove your point.
3. Imagine what else Robyn will do on this day. How will her day end?
Text3
The Day before You Came
I must have left my house at eight because I always do,
My train, I'm certain, left the station
Just when it was due.
I must have read the morning paper going into town,
And having gotten through the editorial,
No doubt, I must have frowned.