"The day I got my own A-level results, the only thing leaping was the pit of my gut, as I realised I hadn't got the grades I needed. No surprise: I was lazy and easily distracted in school. I didn't read half the books I was supposed to digest for my English literature course, for instance, and instead relied on Brodie's Notes. Today I can't even remember precisely which texts I was bluffing about; I definitely read Othello, but never finished Anthony and Cleopatra (or was it Hamlet?). I think I might've pretended to read a Thomas Hardy novel too. But then English lit was easy to pass: it was a bullshitting exam in which you simply wrote what the examiner wanted to read and got away with it."
By Charlie Brooker | The Guardian/continue reading
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