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Mopping down wooden bar tops, sodden with the dregs of Ale from the local Morris dancers rowdy Christmas social. You dream of making partner by day, and dream of having a partner by night. You might have even ventured onto motorised two wheel micro scooters, but then got rinsed and your pride was hurt so you swerved it. Now you’re living back home, working at your parents pub, the only place you’ll be able to wear your beloved lacrosse hoodie at work.
Nobody’s particularly keen on employing someone with a third from Northumbria.
“Nice day out with the Mum” your IG will read, every, bloody, Sunday. You don’t know what your job is, you don’t know what you’re supposed to be doing, all you know is that you work in an office (probably somewhere in the midlands) and you fucking HAVE IT LARGE every single weekend. You’re pushing the boundary of what could be considered a weekend warrior with your pints at 4pm on a thursday and your laissez-faire attitude to Monday start times.
You’ll probably never learn to not go out on a Wednesday.
In five years time, you’ll only just be crossing the Scotland/England border on the train you set off on as soon as you graduated. If not in some tragically boring audit job, you’ll be working for a tragically boring startup with your braindead Lacrosse mate, where the first letter isn’t capitalised and there are hardly any vowels. Working in HR, making pals over the water cooler about your mental nights in Limelight and Shine, cos you’ve just got the best craic. Promoting an app that will REVOLUTIONIZE student housing forever.
Skite is still your way of life though, and now you’ve seen there’s more to your day-to-day than pints down the local after a boring 9-5, fulfilment is just around the corner, and it’s Newcastle shaped. You’re the favourite at socials, until you try get off with your boss’ wife at the Christmas do. Turns out, your 2:1 from Durham isn’t quite as attractive to young singles at a wine bar as it was to Deloitte’s HR. But the two up two down your parents bought you in Chalk Farm is simply divine, and you get to cycle to your glass office on a fold up bike. You’ve just been fired from your Dad’s friend’s PR firm.
You changed your name to Jett and you only take business calls whilst bungee jumping.
That’s the only way you know how to run your start-up, which is the first one of its kind to offer people the chance to give birth whilst windsurfing away from sharks. Well that’s not how the life of someone who willingly chose to go to university in Reading will turn out.Leafy Egham had its charms, but the world has so much more to offer.You could move further into London proper, and work your dream job at a publisher or in marketing, but in five years time you might only just be getting your foot on the ladder, especially after three consecutive summers travelling around South America, then China, then New Zealand on a motorbike, then a road trip up the coast of Mozambique. This temp work is getting boring, but at the letting agent, you found your calling.Skiing holidays, beach holidays, every half term filled with holidays, as long as Kingsley the Bichon Frise gets a spot in the kennels.Pacing the corridors of Westminster in a bespoke suit, rubbing shoulders with the rich and powerful.Your friends at Exeter and Durham who studied Business might be able to help you out with work experience, but that’s what your whole time at university has been.