Blimey, this year has gone quickly, hasn't it? It feels like only yesterday that I was passed out in a mate's flat, intoxicated in the aftermath of necking a few bottles of pinot grigio, having seen out the final hours of 2014 in my usual sophisticated manner. Now I have the enjoyment of fewer than three months remaining until I abandon my routine of slaving away in the famous orange & burgundy strip of Sainsbury's, before undergoing a life altering path that will hopefully enable an eventual permanent escape route from the mind-numbing tedium and ever-burdening disillusionment that retail work reaps.
Quite exactly why I have finally decided to 'make a go of things' is a topic that I'm sure the vast majority of the world couldn't give a flying toss about; but fortunately for the few of you who are vaguely interested in my livelihood, I am narcissistic and self-indulgent enough to provide my usual inane ramblings with a dreary attempt to explain why exactly I have decided to go to university at the age of 23.
Well, I'll actually have turned 24 whence I've moved into accommodation - but don't tell anybody that.
Why University?
Why not? In spite of my contemptible attitude towards education at the time, I still managed to attain decent A-Level grades in my two beloved subjects; an A in history and a B in sociology, the latter of which would quite easily also be in the A category too had my lacklustre demeanour not prevented me from bothering to re-take my final paper in which I floundered in. Surprisingly or unsurprisingly, my academic qualities lie firmly within essay writing based humanities subjects - IE the ones where I can aimlessly waffle on to the extent where examiners are so droned out, they just give in and award me a decent grade out of pity. When it comes to dealing with science, logics and facts, I am naturally hopeless.
The reasons why I never made better use of my A-levels at the time are varying and quite complicated. To succinctly narrow it to one overbearing factor though is this; in my misguided and deluded world I still viewed myself as a working-class warrior, that further education was beyond me and my unconventional background, that I was indebted to lead a life earning my pennies in a blue-collar environment, enabling me enough coinage to freely continue to watch Dover Athletic week in, week out. That was my raison d'etre; being the devoted fan of my club, that absolutely nothing else was important apart from being in attendance for each and every game.
As aware of my totally abhorrent and unambitious outlook I was at the time, I simply just did not care enough about outside perceptions of my shocking lack of vigour for life. Farnborough and Eastleigh away were considerably more important to me than gaining a poncy degree and having to integrate among the sheltered, middle-class 'student scum' in doing so. While both physically attending football matches and gaining a degree can certainly be intertwined, for me they provided a possible unwanted barrier for my straightforward vision.
Had I gone to university at 18 though, I would have almost certainly have failed. My now regrettable apathy towards learning and studying would've ensured that I wouldn't have had enough drive in a more independent, research-led format to studying. Whereas you can just about get by on the spoon-feeding you receive through the classrooms, the leap into higher education requires determination and focus. Two traits that were totally absent to my narrow-minded, abhorrent self at the time.
So what's changed?
Well, I guess it would be fair to say that I've become incredibly embourgeoised over the past 18 months, ever since I managed to shed nearly half of my body weight. I guess
I've started gaining ideas beyond my station I developed more of a positive outlook towards myself and life.
The middle-class values that I previously rejected, sneered and rebelled at, I have now more and more reluctantly started to embrace. I actually enjoy learning about new things, I spend my free time reading books, I now view knowledge as a desirable power. I like to think the vast amount of travelling I have undertook has broadened my horizons and enriched my empathy and understanding of other lives and cultures.
I'm not trying to claim that I'm now the embodiment of cultivation; that's certainly not true. I'll certainly always have that element of being a loud-mouthed, crude and immature gobshite who drinks way beyond more than what is necessary and sometimes reaps the unwanted consequences. But I'm less afraid now to display my 'other side', the one who is far more thoughtful, sometimes empathetic and can very occasionally can be quite articulate.
Thus I now feel in a position where I am in a position to want to expand my knowledge, to actually embetter myself and to test my capabilities at a higher academic level. I actually feel ready to do so.
Just as importantly though, it's more than just a degree itself that I feel I require to widen my employment prospects. I still have plentiful amounts of growing and toughening up that I need to undergo. To improve myself socially, try and rid the shyness and awkwardness that often burdens me, by actually forcing myself out of the comfort zone that I've been scared to venture out of. Living independently and actually having to finance my income on living, rather than spunking it freely on watching football and travelling away, will be a much needed kick towards reality. Integrating with the unknown, and trying to display my few decent personable qualities in doing so, is a challenge I need to confront. My lack of self-confidence and belief have crippled away at me for the majority of my life, it's time I actually tried and fought against it.
Why Now?
I had vaguely tinkered with the idea for a few years but actually proceeding with an application for uni I repeatedly kept rejecting with a series of convenient excuses. Namely that I was either too old to go and that my time had surpassed, or that several graduates whom I know have struggled to find meaningful employment since receiving their honours. These cynicism's still niggle away at me to a small extent, truth be told, but if you don't at least attempt to improve yourself then there's absolutely zero chance you ever will.
I further opened up to the idea of university in the second half of 2014. A colleague at work, a year and a half older than me, was going to embark on his infant year as an undergraduate at Portsmouth in September. I pressed him on whether he felt his 'senior' age felt like a possible hurdle for life there. He dismissed me, asserting that he now has a clear vision on what he now wishes to do. Said fella has now just completed his first year; having achieved a first, and is clearly having the time of his life too. Granted, he's more confident, open and likable than I am but he has trod the footsteps that I need to emulate.
My serious considerations didn't grow until the closing months of the year, however. As October arrived, I had a minor bit of a breakdown. I realised that despite having lost a ridiculous amount of weight, I still wasn't feeling truly better about life or myself. I was still defeating myself with my heavy self-cynicism and criticism. This ensuing story will sound daft, but it came after an episode I had while out in Budapest. On our inaugural night, adrenaline-fuelled by alcohol and being among an alpha male peer group, I managed to pull a stunning and intelligent Czech girl out of a group of lasses that our more brash members managed to get us conversing with. It was the first time I had achieved such a feat in an unquantifiable amount of time. However, the next time we saw them out, I froze. Just completely froze, I couldn't even bring myself to look at her. Struck down with fear, that now sober, she'll look on at me aghast, completely horrified she had exchanged saliva with somebody as ugly and revolting as me. I was gutted that my insecurites repelled me from striking up conversation with her again, as we had really hit it off on a personal level on that first evening.
This was more than just a tale of woe of a desperate lad failing to get his end away; it symbolized the self-obstructing barriers that I've set against myself my entire life, that have prevented me from living my life as full as I would like to.
Post Budapest, and a huge sent-home-from-work panic attack later, I for once felt compelled enough to go to a doctors and open myself up and my problems to him. He rapidly prescribed me with a course of an anti-depressant; which I trialed with for the duration of my free subscription. Having failed to impact positively towards my mood, I declined to seek a further course, nor even bothered to contact my GP again.
Instead, worn down by the mundanity of my intense working schedule, driven by my obsession for accumulating travelling funds, I finally seeked an application towards university. In doing so, and researching the vast amount of courses available, I genuinely felt some excitement as I intensively scoured my options and possibilities. For once, I felt the vision that there were could be more rewarding ways to earn a living than filling up freezers with bags of petits pois and Aunt Bessie's yorkshire puddings; as selfless as such a task helps towards the well-being of Whitstable's middle-class pensioners.
With my five choices selected and submitted, my self-worth begun to arise as the offers slowly began to trickle in. Eventually, with three days to spare prior to Christmas, I was presented with my true festive wish. My undying favourite and firm choice were offering me a place to study. With this opportunity now firmly a reality, I knew my decision to apply had been thoroughly vindicated.
I'm going to university now because I need to challenge myself, I need to open myself up to a new routine of life that makes me look forward to the day ahead. My life at the moment it characterised by long, tedious periods of banality and restlessness, followed by a few intermediate spells of highs found in the escapism of football, travelling and alcohol. I need to strike more of a balance, where I can find spells of happiness more frequently in everyday life, rather than in just the infrequent times that are spent resourcefully away from work.
OK, I know that very often I take the piss out of my employers by feigning dramatic enthusiasm in both my role and the company, but in all seriousness I feel I owe a great debt of gratitude to Sainsbury's. They're far from being the perfect employers, they certainly exploit loopholes to extract as much man hours necessary without paying the full monetary worth in doing so. But they were the company to grant me the opportunity of employment at the end of an eight month spell when nobody else would; a grossly overweight lad who had been dismissed from his last role in a similar job. I like to think that I have repaid their faith with high levels of workmanship and dedication, while they have provided plentiful enough hours for me to afford my travels over the country and across Europe (and even the world), in exchange for my sweat and sanity.
As humdrum and continuous the work may be, it isn't anywhere near as awful as I sometimes may jest it to be (well, checkouts is another story, but I no longer work there). I can count many decent human beings as my colleagues whom often can make for humorous and interesting company.
There are some aspects of the role, that without wanting to enlist (as I don't want to subject myself to a disciplinary at this moment in time) that leave you feeling hopeless, worthless and just damn right fed up once the the working day has climaxed. I'm not saying that periods of lows, stress and disenchantment don't occur in more highly regarded roles of occupation, but they usually bring higher levels of reward and generally, job and personal satisfaction. I am working 55 hours this week, which will encompass five 4:30am starts, develop incredibly sore feet and be spoken to several times a day like I am subservient, transparent scum. Yet I'll still get paid significantly less than a friend, the same age, who works a far lighter, significantly more social routine as a trainee accountant. And rightly so; he's in a skilled role that he has worked extremely hard at. But equally so, this adds to the feeling of uselessness, and represents that I have ample chance to significantly improve my daily lifestyle.
Please don't get the impression here that I'm bemoaning to the extent where I'm oppressed or hard done by. That's certainly not the case. With no outgoings, other than rent and phone bill, my disposable income is at a level that I will have to perform extremely admirably to ever reach again while I'm balancing a more conventional lifestyle. I'm fortunate and privileged enough to live in a country with such a strong infrastructure and living conditions that I'm enabled to travel abroad freely and cheaply. In my current predicament I am able to pursue my thirst for travel with regularity and ease. I have met incredibly sharp, well-educated, fluently bilingual lasses whom earn the equivalent of £2.20 an hour as trainee dentists in the Czech Republic. Like us, they harbour a real enthusiasm of travel, yet possess nowhere near the amount the same opportunities as average joes like us to do so, despite their talents. I've also been to Istanbul, where the hectic overpopulation sees people scrapping for their everyday livelihoods, it being difficult to move more than ten metres without somebody trying to make ends meet by selling you a bottle of water or packet of tissues.
These kind of experiences make you gain a bit of perspective and make you harbour feelings of guilt for ever even feeling downbeat about your comparatively breezed, opportunistic world.
In spite of this mitigated, for the in between the buzz of exploring Istanbul, Dresden, Bucharest or Krakow, life is often at the very other extreme. Dull, devoid of meaning, feelings of emptiness. That's why I need to alter my life; to address the imbalance, to become a better and stronger person, both academically and socially. I'm under no illusion that the real hard work begins when I arrive in Leicester on September 28th, and that things don't just happen without pushing yourself, but hopefully it will kickstart the greater direction and lease of life that I need.
Why Leicester?
This needn't even be a query. When I included Leicester University in my application, I considered it little more than just an audacious, far-flung hope. After all, a 23 year old, without having studied in the previous five years, registering slightly beneath the required grade boundaries, whom had done nothing but worked in supermarkets (with a period of unemployment) in the intermittent years, stunk of desperation from somebody with lax behavioral problems who had suddenly realised they have messed up. And they would be right in thinking so. A top 20 ranked institution needs to carefully ensure they seap in the applicants with the correct mentality to ensure they maintain their high rankings.
Therefore I was delighted when I managed to blag myself into the university! I think being candid in my personal statement clearly proved beneficial, but I must hold a great deal of gratitude towards my eccentric old Sociology teacher, who for some reason really adored me. She wrote me a powerful reference which must have helped sway it. While the cynical tosser in me is aware that university need to fill their quotas, I feel proud and privileged to have been offered a place by such a highly regarded institution.
In addition to it's consistently strong placings in the university tables, Leicester also scores extremely high in its student satisfaction rates. The few people I know who have previously graduated from there have nothing but sky-high praise and warm nostalgia for the years they spent there. From the applicant day I spent up there, all the students on campus seemed genuinely enthused and adoring of the environment around them. And you could see why. The facilities on campus are incredible.
I had never visited Leicester prior to my applicant day. It didn't take long for me to feel at ease exploring my future surroundings. The dozen or so pubs me and my Dad frequented together would have been worthy of featuring among any bearded CAMRA nutcase's itinerary. Not that it's a city to only be enjoyed by boring old farts like myself, it certainly is a lively, youthful energetic city centre come nighttime, with a plethora of good restaurants and bars. I can certainly see myself slipping in rather nicely once I am embedded down there.
Most importantly, as it should be (!), it is my course itself that has me feeling totally enthused. It is Contemporary History, focusing on the modern aspects of the subject, mainly incorporating political and international relations within the twentieth century. So the core of the modules are geared towards topics and events that provoke deep interest in me, in areas that I have previously studied before, or differing modules that cover areas of unknown that I wish to strengthen and learn in I.E the Far East and Japanese colonialism.
Studying on this course also offers the opportunity to live and learn abroad, thus extending the course into a four-year one. This is an opening that I fully intend to seize; specifically overlooking perhaps more glamorous destinations in favour of pursuing a year in one of the three German university partners; Berlin, Munich or Darmstadt. The former specifically appears on the surface as the wisest of the choices, given it being a key frontier in both the Cold War and Nazi Germany. Its become an aspiration of mine to become fluent in German - I have already undergone personal learning measures - and will gain proper linguistic training should this premonition evolve into reality - and one day I plan to emigrate into the country I harbour much adoration for.
Ultimately, Leicester appears to be a great all-rounded package, in the form of it's diverse, cosmopolitan, seemingly friendly communal feel of the city, and the sheer quality and high standards set by the university itself. I cannae wait to get started now.
Common FAQS:
These are written responses to questions that have either been posed to me before, or stem from self-paranoia of outside perceptions.
History? Isn't that a bit of a tinpot degree though? What can you actually get out of it?
Maybe. It's a shame though that some people can't recognise the differing intelligence qualities that are required in learning certain subjects. It's one of the few things I excel at though I'm afraid; so tough shit.
Inquiring employment prospects of what a history degree can open out to is a very valid question. After all, history is a field with very few job specific roles directly related to it; I.E historians, or museum workers, or researchers. However, that doesn't mean there aren't wide opportunities available to graduates; many formulate careers in diverse fields such as journalism, law, HR, media, business & commerce. administration and archivism. Also, should I manage to develop the temperament required for it - following my history-graduate sister into the world of teaching is a possibility.
Many employers will be interested in the transferable skills from a history degree rather than the actual subject of itself. Achieving a strong degree in history demonstrates a talent for critical and analytical skills, infers a capacity to think through situations both objectively and reasonably, and also shows the ability to conduct independent, detailed research. From the admittedly small pool of people whom I know with history degrees, they've all gained useful employment after acquiring this nous.
Aren't you too old though?
Possibility. My hairline is receding faster than Colin Cowperthwaite thunderbolt, I don't have the capabilities to drink out two nights consecutively, let alone a whole week, I've developed a perchance for real ale and I keep count of how many football grounds I have visited in a highly organised manner. Fitting in is certainly going to be a concern, regardless of those of a similar age who have tried to put my mind at easy. You only have to use that "on this day" feature on facebook to try and come to terms with just how horrified you are that you were once your eighteen year old persona. While I'm still highly childish, the mentality and maturity gap between an 18 year old and 23 yr old is more startling than you would think.
However, it's a gap that can be bridged. Maybe they might view my grey hairs as quaint? Maybe they can see me as the cool, father like figure to turn to? Maybe I can recall tales of how in my day we all went around with Nokia 3310's and had to download our ringtones? Maybe I can educate them about an old cartoon programme called The Simpsons?
We'll see. There are positives to be had.
Don't you hate all students though? I thought we were all hipster scum?
Do you know what I also hated once? Tuna. Fucking inconceivable to think about it now. Sometimes you just grow up regarding certain matters and concede you were wrong. Or in this case, I massively generalised an enormous community and pigeonholed them into overriding negative stereotypes regarding students. Mainly because of my own begrudging jealousy and arrogance that I was pursuing nothing with my own capabilities.
That said, should you pop up to visit me and discover me conducting games of beer pong, or operating a 'chunder chart' within my student accommodation, or hashtagging #UniLife on social media, or trialling a new phase of veganism to tie in with my new found libertarian beliefs, feel free to smash me over the back of my bonce with a shovel.
Won't you get into loads of debt?
Yes and No. While it's well documented how sky high tuition fees are here in
Blair's Cameron's Britain, few seem to actually know that you don't actually begin paying anything back until your earnings exceed £21k per annum. Should I find myself earning a salary surpassing that, I'll be far, far richer than I am now working long and daft weekly patterns.
So yes, while you're burdened by making repayments for probably the rest of your existence (on interest rates alone), it's very, very small percentage of your earnings that you pay every month (I've already checked for examples on an online tax calculator). Theoretically, the student loans that you receive are certainly on the best conditions of a loan that you'll ever receive in your life.
Do you plan to get a store transfer to a Sainsbury's in Leicester?
While I feel like I need an extended break from the murky world of supermarket slavery, realistically my student loan is unlikely to cover the extravagant lifestyle that I lead. Problem is, Saino's don't seem that adept at arranging dual contracts with other stores. Most of the current students just arrive back as temps once they're off-term, but very few I know seem to have secured a role in local stores in their uni destinations. I'm hopeful, but I doubt it. And I certainly don't wish to pursue anything greater than a 12 hour contract should I do so; I want to focus on what's important and keep my brain sanitized.
Does this mean you're going to halt your constant European expeditions for the time being?
I certainly won't be able to average a flight out of England every other month; the rate of which I currently seem to be at! But, well, East Midlands Airport is another one of Ryanair's UK hubs, offering a fruitful list of destinations, such as Rome, Milan, Wroclaw, Warsaw, Valencia, Malta, Riga, Berlin and Faro, to name some. Should I develop a friendship with somebody else sharing my explorative nature, who knows. I could quite easily find myself delving into my student overdraft for a sneaky mid-semester cultural learning trip, surveying the socio-economic reasoning behind the formulation of the Slask Wroclaw ultras group.
Now you've given up on Dover Athletic, does this mean you're going to be a Leicester City fan from here onwards?
Hmmm, not sure. I'm delighted that they have just acquired the hipster's wet dream; Shinji Okaziki from FC Mainz; the supreme Japanese goalpoacher. I'm dismayed they've parted company with one of football's true hardened, old-style gaffers though. And they play fucking Kasabian as goal music ffs.
We'll see though. Perhaps I might rediscover my PASHUN for the GRASSROOTS game though, and find myself a regular through the turnstiles (if such a thing exists) at the nearby home of the mystical, eloquently named Heather St John FC.
