Holiday Brochures for Students

Holiday Brochures for Students ©

By

Michael Casey

Well my big daughter has received a selection of holiday brochures, or rather prospectuses for Universities, though I told her the correct word should be prospecti, I did do Latin after all. This is a frightening prospect for me because it means my big daughter will be leaving home for University soon.

Soon being next year, you have to book your holiday or rather pick your University that early, exactly like the Thomas Cook Holiday Brochure. Though this is all about seats of learning. Thomas Cook did in fact bring my parents to England when he war was still on. My dad was thinking of going to American and his sister in Chicago had even sent money, but dad had already bought his ticket for England. And that’s why I don’t speak with an American accident. That and the fact that my dad met my mum in Victoria Park down the road from where I am now, she dropped her handkerchief and he picked it up, so the legend was told. But I digress.

So my daughter tells me she has to pick 5 Universities in order of preference, then assuming she gets the grades she gets her first choice, and her choice slides down to match the grades. 50 years ago and more I can remember we got a telegram at Christmas saying my biggest brother had got a place at Oxford, he passed their entry exam, he went to Queens.He was listening to Clapton at a million watts on a speaker that now sits in the corner of my living room. Another brother failed the Ox/Bridge exam, so he invented the Gap Year in 1974 and became a coal miner in Newbold Vernon.

However on receipt of his results with 4 straight As, A stars had not been invented then, he applied for Cambridge and went to Downing. Reverse snobbery perhaps, but then you still had to get the grades, none of this quota from social strata stuff. It should be a meritocracy after all, would I be allowed in to Cambridge just because I was fat and silver haired and wore shades and I was from Birmingham. I hope having the grades would be the most important quality.

But I digress. So how do I view my daughter’s departure in a year’s time? Well I’ll be looking at the crime figures, and will use google earth to scout the land where she will be. If I can find some martial arts  trained lesbians and gay men to protect her from the unwanted attentions of boys so much the better. A dad has to think of these things, either that or I have a life size cardboard cutout made of me that she can place in the corner of her room. Rather like those sleeping policemen you see in shops and so forth. So as I scout via google earth and online for martial arts clubs at the various universities she has on her list I’ll try and find her Putin’s Judo club, Sussex, Edinburgh, Bristol, Birmingham or Any place else.

No doubt my daughter will be looking at all the food places on offer at each of the University towns. She’ll be looking for good supermarkets, not just the cheap ones. Charity shops she won’t need, she’s not trendy, she doesn’t wear old second hand clothes. Zara is her 1st choice, that and others that this Gay Dad helps pick out and pay for.

Finance is a big thing when you go to University. We’ll no doubt discover the joys of the Student Loan. In the old days, 50 years ago that is you were given money. I think my brother got 1000pounds. He bought out little sister a tricycle, we stood on the back as she trundled down the yard, nearly 13 years age difference. Mum screamed at us not to break it. Dad was an ancillary worker in a steel works in Smethwick and his eldest boy was at Oxford, a great conversation stopper with Brockhouse the boss.

But back to now and the future. I have to encourage my daughter to keep the work rate up and pass those exams so she gets her 1st choice and not her 5th. This generation are Scientists, mine were Arts people. But if you have 1/2 Chinese blood and mum has a Biology degree what do you expect? I expected nothing, but standing by the fridge and making a heartfelt prayer led to a wife and kids. So maybe you should all just stand by your fridge and look at your dead mother’s photo and leave the rest to God, or Budweiser.