How tragic: the very mention of my old school can send me into an instantaneous downward spiral. Today at work a colleague asked me, based on an expression I had used, whether I had been to public school. He asked in jest, but I had to admit that my school had indeed had those pretensions.
Those who know the school would say, “How lucky you were. What a privilege.” Yes, I know. And by now I should be a self-congratulating neurosurgeon, investment banker or barrister. The closest I got to that was working as a barista just off Berkley Square. What a contemptible failure I have been.
It’s true: the very mention of my privileged upbringing has me slipping back into gloom. Yes, I know I squandered those opportunities. Yes, I know I screwed everything up. Yes, I know I should be wining and dining, hosting exclusive black tie dinner parties, living in a grand old house, driving a Mercedes Benz. No, but it wasn’t to be.
Last modified: 12 May 2023
