Is an Oxford Degree Worth It?

As seven months of winter finally come to an end, you retreat indoors, clammily clutching a copy of the Iliad and a good luck card featuring a picture of sympathetic kittens. 

Apparently Homer was also a fan of cats.

The lower Rad Cam is pregnant with its annual host of hyperventilating finalists. Taking your seat among them, you hope that your particular reinterpretation of the Pomodoro Technique will deliver the 2.1 you need for that job in management consultancy you’ve dreamt about since you were a child.

“Action that, will you Stacy?”

Preparations for your tortuous rite of passage are made easier as you think to yourself, “It’s only a couple of months of misery after three years of having a fully wicked time. I mean, think about all the wild nights out, like when I got a table in Bridge and sprayed champagne and pretended I was like one of those fucking champs who gets a table in Bridge every week and sprays champagne.

Then of course there’s all those steamy Oxford Sleepovers – all those nights I spent lying awake all night, fully clothed in a single bed, with someone who just wanted to snuggle. Not to mention all those the deadlines I smashed, and that article for the Cherwell on Cuppers hockey that I stayed up all night writing.”

Jake says, “Don’t be a victim of stress, call nightline on 01865 270 270.”

And if these happy ponderings don’t shine enough light up your tunnel, presumably you’ll comfort yourself with thoughts of full-time employment in an elite industry.

Because in these tough economic times, Baz in recruitment is definitely going to give the Last Job On Earth to you, not his nephew with a degree in Call of Duty from Leeds Met, right?

Billy’s friends really are electric.

Maybe not. So can someone tell us why the fuck you’re bothering?

Apparently the Telegraph can. It proclaims, ‘Oxford has highest number of rich graduates” and “over two-thirds of Oxford’s wealthiest alumni are self-made millionaires”.

So it’s all going to be fine after all. And lets face it, if the job thing doesn’t work out, at least you’ll know deep down that you’re better than everyone else on £53 a week.

Plus you’ll always be a smash-hit on the dating scene. If you don’t believe me, next time you’re trying to woo someone from a sub-Oxbridge background, accidentally get your bod-card out as you’re buying drinks and watch them swoon.