Mature Student

We all know that education is wasted on the young principally because they’re too wasted to take it in. Imagine, though, going back to university as a mature student: not one of the sad ones who sit at the front of the class sucking on Polos and taking copious notes (as opposed to the 18 year olds who sit at the back sucking on each other and taking copious amounts of anything that comes their way) no, I mean going back to university as a COOL mature student. It’s possible. Just think about it for a second: you’re well-dressed! You’ve got a CAR! And a mortgage! And a hangdog expression brought on by twenty years of 7am starts!

Imagine Freshers’ week: OK, so you’d have to keep the number of Snakebites & Black to a minimum, and it probably wouldn’t be very becoming to pilfer shopping trolleys, pee in a pint glass or play cricket in your halls of residence corridor at 3am. BUT, and don’t pretend you haven’t already thought about this chaps, imagine the women. Your age could be to your advantage women love an older man with a bit of experience: think the salt and pepper glamour of Jose Mourinho or the casual charm of John Major. You: “Hi. I used to be a trader. I’m a millionaire. Isn’t Sartre great?” Her: “A trader? Wow! I like your shirt! My shoulder’s a bit achy. Could you give me a massage? In my room? Say 3ish?” Of course it’s imperative that you’re still in good shape overweight or saggy and you’re already a granddad in their eyes and only good for conversations about the birth of Thatcherism.

But enough of the Hedonistic Imperative what do you fancy brushing up on Ancient Greek? History? Surfing Studies (I believe there’s a course at East Sussex)? I reckon you’d LOVE it. Relive those student days: go to gigs, miss lectures, lie in bed til 3 or f*ck it, don’t even get up. Buy a guitar. Grow your hair. Grow your own cannabis. Get thrown out. Come crawling back to your old job. Plead with them. Start again on Monday. I’ve got it all mapped out for you!