A very good morning to all of you who have been collecting A-level results today. I’ll take a moment to say that if you have done well and know now where you’ll be going in September, a hearty congratulations and off you toddle for a well deserved drink.
But this is mostly for the rest of us. For those of us who didn’t do as well as we had hoped. For those of us who know what it feels like to open that long anticipated envelope and then fall to pieces. For those of us who went through two boxes of Kleenex on results day. For those of us who have asked ourselves what on Earth we are meant to do now.
My grades, eight years ago, were BCCC, since you ask. I cried and thought about moving to the Czech Republic and cried some more and told my parents via text message and decided not to move to the Czech Republic and cried some more and ate industrial quantities of chocolate and entered Clearing and, yes, cried some more. I got into a course that I hadn’t wanted to do and went to a town that I hadn’t wanted to live in, and I came out of it with a good degree and better friends and having had an entirely wonderful three years.
Now, I’m eleven months and one last set of exams away from being a doctor.
I have no regrets about any of it. None.
And although I know it feels like it at the moment, whatever might have happened today is not the end of the world or the end of your dreams.
All shall be well. And all shall be well. And all manner of things shall be well.