With New Labours drive to get more and more of Britains inhabitants beneath a mortar board, it won’t be long before the next door neighbours dog has a degree under it’s collar. And why not? University is fun, and it doesn’t seem fair to restrict three years of top class entertainment to a few thousand white human beings from the home counties.
However, over my three years at York, I have become seriously suspicious about the value of my qualification, and I can’t help feeling that the next door neigbours dog is in for a nasty shock.
I’m not arguing about who should and who shouldn’t get the opportunity to get drunk for three years whilst running up an enormous loan. Everybody should get the chance to prove just how many drugs they can cram in and still have a liver left for the grad ball. But this is just the problem. I have done very little for the last three years in terms of academic work. By very little, I mean nothing. And I’m still getting a degree. I am not a genius; in fact I’m not very clever at all. This should make everyone either very cross or very suspicious…
In fact, if someone like me can walk out of York with a degree, any faith I might have had in the university system swiftly evaporates under the cold glare of reality. Degrees are not all they’re cracked up to be folks, like you didn’t know that already.
I suspect that on leaving university, the next door neighbours dog will have to work pretty damn hard to avoid ending up in Battersea, but it’s not all bad. At least the next few years will be memorable.