Breaking the Bubble

Breaking out of The Bubble’s been a tricky affair. Whilst there’s a lot to be said for financial independence, freedom from academia and living in a town that isn’t so […]


Breaking out of The Bubble’s been a tricky affair. Whilst there’s a lot to be said for financial independence, freedom from academia and living in a town that isn’t so similar to a set from Game of Thrones, the transition from St Andrews to London, student to full time, tax-paying, working, and generally being a member of society is worth recounting. Over the next few months I’ll be recording my misadventures outside of St Andrews like the God-awful spin off from Babe: Pig in the City that should never have been, or rather like the squeequel to that cartoon with the mouse in New York. It’s a classic; look it up.  

“The Bubble” makes the border of St Andrews sounds delicate, but as a metaphor it only really makes sense whilst you’re in it. The implication is that when you have to leave, the bubble would either pop or, more probably, you’d kind of float out of it. In fact, leaving St Andrews for good has taken a number of reluctant running jumps at the membrane to really break through.

My first attempt was finishing exams; I thought that after my final three hour stint and soak I’d feel a kind of exoneration and be cleansed of my grubby studenty identity. But even with the help of those friendly stewards who confiscated my mate’s instant custard powder, I just felt really cold. But life as a student didn’t end the day I finished my exams; I just drank a lot of Mead (I don’t know either, we’d gotten into it…) and fell out of a window on Market St.

Leaving St Andrews for the last time before graduation was tough; saying goodbye to all my mates in lower years was that kind of awkward, male experience where you’re like “listen, mate, don’t make the mistakes I did, you’re a really great guy. I think I lo- and seriously stop being SUCH A DICK!”

The month between finishing exams and graduation was nuts; I started a job exactly a week after my last exam (more on that later) so I had to move to London, grab a flat and start working full time before I’d even graduated. Don’t get me wrong, I’m immensely grateful and appreciate how fortunate (being a philosophy graduate) I am for getting a job straight out of uni that I actually enjoy. Nonetheless, it did nothing for the whip-lash you get when you crash into the real world.

Graduation I thought would be the final excommunication. Nope. Got my photos taken, my mum bought a DVD (I’m still incredulous) and, at the Grad Ball, we bopped along to some of the least appreciated dubstep that’s ever been played until the early hours (the very early hours, it finished at about 2).

I don’t have many regrets about my time at St Andrews, but what I will say is that even in these early days of the year its worth bearing in mind how much time you’ve got left. In my first year I wish I’d heeded the “strive for a five” mantra; now they’ve changed the grade boundaries so you might have to do with the slightly less pithy but equally worthwhile “do the minimum amount possible for the maximum benefit; a 2.1. is fine because a 1st looks geeky – but do remain suitably cautious about the possibility of a 2.2”. I’ve broken though the bubble now and will be recounting my tales from the small town grad in the big city here. Stay classy St Andrews!

Photo © Anna Gudnason