As a teenaged undergraduate, I lived in a world of blissful ignorance. Two or three lectures a day, a couple of essays to churn out each month, a handful of exams. No biggie. The rest of my life was spent mooching around and listening to UK indie.

Now, 30 years later, I’m set to do something I could never have even contemplated, let alone understood, at that time of my life. At the ripe old age of 47, and as a father of three small children, I’m off to university again.

That’s right, I’m about to become a mature-age student.

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