Learning From Swedish YouTube Clips

I am studying for exams at the moment.

"Studying," of course, is code for "staring at the wall, seeing how long I can hold my breath, and watching Swedish-subtitled versions of 'Superman Returns' broken into 10-minute clips on YouTube."

Over here, they call it "revising," which I think is an inaccurate term for what I'm doing. That word implies that at some point I knew all the information that I'm going to be tested on. What I'm trying to do, though, is learn two languages in a week.

Wednesday sees me sitting my first exam. That's how they phrase things in the United Kingdom -- you "sit an exam" rather than "take a test." Their way makes it sound like an uncomfortable medical procedure:

"I'm afraid I can't come into work today, I had to sit an exam."
"Oooh, yikes."
"Yeah, tell me about it. I think it may be a day or two before I can bend down to put my shoes on."

At this point, I might take that procedure over the three-hour grammar exam that's awaiting me. I am really starting to feel nervous.

The system is partially to blame for this. The British education system seems dedicated to providing the opportunity to fail on a shockingly grand scale.

Initially, Americans participating in British universities are delighted by the absence of busy work. There are no pointless 200-word essays or photocopied worksheets to be completed between classes, which leaves far more time for drinking until you can't feel your legs. And that is, after all, why most Americans come to study here. Culture is accidental.

But the absence of busy work means that exams are that much more important. And since the professors are out getting legless alongside you, they can't be bothered to write up a bunch of exam questions. So, there is often only one exam.

That's your whole semester resting on a single test.

But wait, it gets better. Through a complicated set-up that takes too long to explain and doesn't lead to any jokes, failing one course could very well result in failing the year as a whole. So, imagine you -- as I did 11 years ago -- failed a semester of English 101 because you kept trying to write like Jack Kerouac. In the British system it would mean having to repeat the entire freshman year.

The pressure increases on those of us who are international students, because failing the year could result in having one's visa revoked. That's quite a lot riding on my ability to conjugate Welsh verbs in the pluperfect.

Strangely, none of this occurs to me when I'm watching umlaut-laden blockbusters online. Instead, it hits me at about 3 a.m.

It starts slowly, with a simple question wandering around my brain like someone on one of those floor mazes they have in churches. But soon, I'm wide awake and staring at the ceiling. Then on I'm on my feet and pacing the kitchen, interrogating myself with questions I know I don't have the answers to. And then I'm on the floor, weeping and paraphrasing "Wind in the Willows:"

"This is the end of everything! At least it is the end of the academic career of Cope, which is the same thing; the popular and handsome Cope, the Cope so free and careless and debonair! O unhappy and forsaken Cope!"

At this point, I switch from being Mr. Toad to being James Brown, and my wife throws a blanket over me and tries to drag me off back to bed. And therein lies the source of whatever hope I have for surviving these exams.

I've tried college before. Several times. But the fact that I'm writing incomplete sentences and fretting about exams at 31 years old tells you all you need to know about my past success. This time around, though, I've got my wife pushing me, pulling me, cajoling me and all other verbs used to describe an incredibly patient and loving woman helping her silly husband to live out his dream.

A few months ago, as the pressure of the British system was starting to hit me, I found myself preparing for failure. I had failed before and I was getting ready to fail again. My wife meanwhile kept shoving and dragging me along.

With the final days now here, I find myself terrified but strangely -- perhaps foolishly -- hopeful. Maybe I can make it through to the next year. If -- and, most probably, when -- that happens, much of the credit will go to my wife.

In the meantime, though, I've got more studying to do. That's code, of course, for: "I need to think up amusing quotes to add to my Facebook profile."

Chris Cope lives with his wife in Cardiff, Wales. His column appears every other Tuesday.