Pissed off postgraduate.

So yesterday evening I was in the pub with some friends and we got talking to a couple of folks at the bar.

As is the way in a university town, the conversation turned to that go-to question, ‘So, what are you going to do after your degree?’

Now, I am well aware that some people who go to university will find that their degree will not help them to get a job. I am aware that some people only go to university to put off entering the ‘working world’. I am aware that there are those in our society who are a little annoyed with these people, who see students as debt-attracting shirkers.

However, I find it very galling to be told that my PhD scholarship, which I won after putting in months of hard work during my fourth year of university is ‘just another way for me to avoid getting a proper job’.

University is not just a last-ditch stop on the way to working life, and it certainly isn’t a place for the country’s youth to piss about for three years. Sure, that might be the motivation of some students, but it certainly isn’t the case for everyone.

Those students who go on to pursue a postgraduate qualification should be treated with more respect and should be given more chances to excel. Their achievments should not be belittled, because for the most part they will be the people who go on to enrich our academic culture and who keep our universities diverse places of learning.

The idea that universities are places for people to hide away from life has taken far too strong a root. It shouldn’t be forgotten that universities are primarily places for the acquisition of knowledge for knowledge’s sake - and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.  

I started reading The Fault in Our Stars by John Green.

I wish I had not done this.

I wish I had not done this on a day I promised to spend entirely in my office working on my term papers, because now I have to put down The Fault in Our Stars. 

I have to eat a sandwich and catch a bus and write about how the character of the prostitute in eighteenth century porn is comparable to the character of the nun trapped in a convent during the French Enlightenment. 

All the time not reading The Fault in Our Stars.

But Augustus just did the orange picnic.

I don’t think I’ve ever cared so much about the colour orange.

I can’t even.