After one day at uni I've got this cracked

At least, Independent Academic Supreme is what I am striving for '“ currently we're hovering around the realms of Independent Academic Novice, or IAN for the purposes of bringing a little humour to what is otherwise a very grave procedure.

Many lessons have been learnt.

Among them, lesson one: when in denial about the fact their beloved first-born is leaving home, parents will go to any lengths necessary to acquire drawing pins.

Of course, the trifling object in question is not always drawing pins, just the one detail that will make the transition from safe, clean(ish) world where Mum will do their washing to a strange land where ketchup provides the most nutritional value and you have to use a key to go to the toilet.

In my case, confronted with a surprise pin-board in a bedroom that otherwise makes the accommodation in Prisoner Cell Block H look like a plush bed-and-breakfast, drawing pins seem the missing link between abject misery and a regular carnival of a moving in day.

Safe in the knowledge that their daughter now has drawing pins, in addition to every dried noodle product on the market and enough Savlon to deal with any cookery/studying/travelling/partying/abseiling-related ailment that could arise, parents can depart.

This introduces lesson two: mothers who have been known to cry during Tigger the Movie or because their gravy has gone wrong (see: the Great Giblet Disaster of '93) will not always feel sufficiently sad enough to produce tears when one of their offspring leaves home.

They cannot be blamed for this, but if called for, a swift kick in the shins can achieve the desired result.

A trip to generic campus bar for first-night drinks (in this case "The Watershed", which we are relieved to find ignore any potential for irony and stay open past nine) introduces lesson three: selling oneself to potential student friends is about as close to Blind Date as you can get, without renting a Tardis and nipping back to the heady days of the mid-'90s to meet Cilla.

After several rounds of the "what's-your-name-and-where-d'you-come-from?" routine, not only do you realise you are probably far less interesting than you'd like to think, but it is actually hard to maintain a true sense of self.

What IS my name?

Where DO I come from?

If a tree falls in the forest and no-one is around to hear it'¦ do I really want to have a future in the written word or are the next three years just a very expensive alternative to working in Wimpy?

These and other such existential questions are likely to plague the rookie student.

Particularly if the beer is cheap.

Lesson four is rather more personal: namely, I know where nothing is.

When I gave up geography in favour of dance GCSE at the end of year nine, I remember doing a gleeful jig down a corridor.

Little did I know that my knowledge of contemporary choreographer Lea Anderson and the symbolism of her work was not going to serve me as well during this present phase of my life as, say, having a vague idea of where Hull is.

Of course, the blank looks are returned when I try to explain the concept of Worthing ("well, Dave Benson-Phillips lives there'¦and we have the sea but no sand, and regular tea dances") to everyone.

By the end of the night my cultural identity has been reduced to "comes from near Brighton" and "has heard of nowhere north of Essex".

Which is satisfactory for the time being.

This morning lesson five is hammered home: no expensive soft-furnishings, interior dcor skills or visits from Sarah Beany are necessary to make your home feel positively palatial '“ just move into halls for a few weeks, and compare.

I've yet to work out if our shower is actually a shower at all, or just a dripping gutter they've rigged up to work indoors.

Suddenly the Bates Motel towel I discovered on my last-for-a-very-long-time trip to Brighton seems like a missed opportunity for an ironic slant on the situation.

Independent Academic Supreme I may not be yet, but I'm learning. And until I re-establish my true identity, I think I'm content to be IAN.