My email inbox collects its fair share of useless garbage. Great deals on strange pills that will apparently engorge my manhood to the size of a minibus; naked photos of Gloria Hunniford; offers from friendly Nigerian bank and government officials to help smuggle large sums of money out of the country; warnings that my NatWest on-line bank account is about to expire... even though I don't actually save with them. Things like that. But recently I found, nestling amongst the manure, a pearl. Something that will actually help me. Something that's been missing in my life, entitled:
Yes! They is about to expired! How could you tell? Is it the way I'm sitting?
It must be - it comes with an exclamation mark! All the best ideas come with exclamation marks! Even a bad idea can be a good idea with enough of them!!! See?
Wow - a concept that will allow anyone to get a verifiable University Degree? Even someone who titles emails 'Is your skills about to expired?' That's some University! Sign me up now for a Doctorate, that way I can ask ladies to take off their clothes, and if they complain, I can say, "Trust me, I'm a fully verifiable doctor!" With an exclamation mark at the end to make it seem like a good idea.
Now I have to confess that I'm not the most qualified of people. Last time I sat around a dinner table with friends it basically went: Person 1 - Degree, Person 2 - Degree, Person 3 - 4 Degrees and a Doctorate (show off), Me - bugger all. I do have a bronze certificate for swimming the 200 meters, but that doesn't really count in the world of academic Top Trumps.
But at least I'm not the least qualified person at Casa MacBride. Yes, She Who Must has a Degree in Scottish History, but Grendel never went to university, and doesn't even have a bronze certificate for swimming the 200 meters. Or any swimming certificate come to that. She's not very fond of water... But that wouldn't stop her taking a cycling proficiency test (or whatever wanky title the Government's changed it to nowadays), would it?
Mind you, she doesn't have a bike. And it's a bit difficult to reach the pedals when your legs are only nine inches long and covered with fur.
I'd always thought any chance of a degree had passed me by, like a transvestite on rollerblades, but I know of one writer who's doing a distance learning degree where your final dissertation is something like 30,000 words and can be from your next book. So it's not as if you've got that much extra writing to do. And if you go into it as a published author, you get to skip a lot of the coursework: like the drinking till you puke on Freshers' week, or having those long rambling conversations at three in the morning at a very boring party, where everyone's trying to come off as all intellectual on the off-chance someone will want to shag them.
Personally I'd like an honorary degree. That way the only work you have to do is turn up and be hit in the head with a mortar board. Of course, then you're only an honorary doctor, but that might still be enough to convince ladies to take their clothes off...
Labels: ramble, writing