Oxford was a bit of a shock at first, meeting all those jolly Delilahs and willowy Ambers whoâd been sent to boarding school as children and seemed to transition seamlessly to college life, landing confident and with fully formed opinions in the junior common room. One fresher had just found out Martin Amis was her father. And they all seemed to know what sub fusc meant when it came to dressing for formal occasions.
Lots of students were braying about what theyâd done on what they called their gap year. Iâd been working in the Malibu Cafe in Derryâs Diamond, near the first World War memorial which most people ignored. Meanwhile, at Oxford, young people sat around talking late into the night about the beauty of mathematics. That wouldnât have been me now.