Morning:
9°c
The GCSE results are published today and, for anyone who ever took an exam, this is a time when a cloud of retroactive butterflies are released. Although my last experience of being formally examined took place in the mists of time, the memories are as fresh as paper cuts.
O-levels, as they were, were not a problem, aside from the fact they took place in the gymnasium, a cavernous and uninviting hangar that held bad memories for everyone, mostly to do with ropes and vaulting horses. Because it was such a large space filled with so many nervous bodies, a certain amount of low-grade cheating went on.
A-levels were somewhat tougher: fewer pupils involved, stricter supervision, more pressure. I sported an uncompromisingly wild and curly hairstyle. It was suggested that I should get this cut off because I might be hiding cribs in it.
The real problems started with the Cambridge entrance exam. The week before I was informed that it might be a good idea to read all the novels of Jane Austen. This I did, finishing with an allnighter bent over the pages of Mansfield Park. The next day, to my horror, the main question involved an American poet called Hart Crane.
The only thing I knew about him was that he committed suicide by jumping off a boat. I felt like following suit.
Having decided by mutual consent to pass on Cambridge, I eventually found myself sitting finals at Warwick University. The odds were stacked against me, as I had done very little work in three years. On the plus side, everyone was allowed to bring in a copy of the complete works of William Shakespeare.
It proved vital, as I had not read the set text from A Winter's Tale. The tension was heightened by the presence of my then girlfriend in the row behind, who was so nervous of time passing that she brought with her a giant, old-fashioned alarm clock. The seconds ticked by audibly.
I got the degree but it did not change my life. At the first and only proper job interview I ever faced, I was told 38 people were applying for the job. I got it because in the box marked "other interests", I had written "inventing new cocktails". The director of the publishing company professed himself impressed that anyone could be so flippant.
Today results are everything, it's a deadly serious business being young now. Good luck to the lot of you.
