There has been lot of chat about Oxbridge and social mobility over the last few days and it’s all taken me back almost 30 years... back to my own attempt to scale the dreaming spires.
I’d arrogantly assumed I was destined for Oxford (I was insufferably smug in those days) and it seemed to me a place there would be the first step on some golden path to a better life. So, having done OK in my exams, up I went to Worcester College to interview for a place doing Philosophy, Politics and Economics (a degree that, from my experience, teaches none of those skills). There I sat — portly, shiny-faced and floppy-haired — as a don (with stomach-wrenching halitosis) gently grilled me on life, the universe and everything.
I suspected it might not be going brilliantly when, about halfway through, he just sort of stopped speaking, leaving us sitting in a spectacularly awkward silence (an experience I’ve recreated on hundreds of dates).
Even so, when the thin “thanks but no thanks” envelope arrived, I was completely crushed. I thought it was going to be the final way of drowning out the working-class noise of my childhood. Then it vanished. The disappointment stayed with me for ages. A little throb of insecurity I couldn’t quite shake.
I could’ve waited a year and re-applied, but decided that wasn’t for me. I went to Manchester where I found myself in a jaw-dropping bubble of brilliance… made the finest friends (Oscar-winners and geniuses and the like), thought the deepest thoughts, and got myself a first. I can’t imagine a better university experience.
Then I made my way to the Bar.
Back then, there was still a feeling that to succeed as a barrister, you probably ought to come from Oxbridge (or, if not, you’d better have a stonking first).
But that wasn’t the whole picture then, and it’s certainly not the picture now.
In fact, when I consider the finest advocates I’ve ever seen (and I’ve seen a lot), the very greatest barely had an A-level between them. Instead, they knew the real world... and how to solve its problems.
In a way, that’s more and more the case again today. These days, it’s real life experience that matters to employers… working in a pub or a carehome can often show your mettle (and teach you more) than the fanciest uni or sparkliest internship. Oxbridge can sometimes even be a negative… common sense is what people want, and that’s easily mislaid amidst the ivory towers.
I’d never tell anyone not to aim high or not to pursue their passion and if that takes you to Oxbridge, fantastic. If it doesn’t, it’s not the end of the world… it’s definitely not the key into the 1 per cent and — unlike my university days — it costs a bomb and leaves you with decades of debt.
I’m certainly grateful for the lesson that my own Oxbridge rejection taught me early on: failure isn’t everything. In fact, it might just be the making of you.
In other news
In Pride month, I think a great deal about our gorgeous allies… those who speak up, support us and keep us safe.
I’m happy to say when it comes to the British public, that’s most people… they might be occasionally confused, but the majority definitely get it.
So it’s odd that David Beckham remains a queer icon (those Armani pants photos remain engraved on many hearts) when part of his wealth comes from being an “ambassador” for the Qatar World Cup.
I say this mindful that — as the law there stands — being gay is illegal… and being a gay Muslim citizen could lead to the death penalty. I wonder if David doesn’t actually know this or if the money is just more important… I sincerely hope it’s the former.
