“Gap Years are a waste of time” – ahem – sorry?

Steam, smoke coming out of my ears. Blood pressure risen to dangerous levels. I am not only in high dudgeon am floating well above it and grinding my rapidly diminishing teeth to boot.

The reason The Daily Telegraph. I know I know it’s called the Tory graph for a reason. It’s not the only paper I read but today I was so incensed I dumped the rest and rushed for the laptop when I read this.

“Gap Years are a waste of time, says advertising supremo” by Javier Espinoza, Education Editor.

OK the article is written about a very successful bloke – Sir Martin Sorrell. His claim that “Gap Years are a waste of time” goes on to say that kids who take a year out before continuing with their education are achieving nothing meaningful , that gap years lacked direction, they need to be more focussed and specific.

This is not Harry Enfield. This is Sir Martin Sorrell.
This is not Harry Enfield. This is Sir Martin Sorrell.

Definition of a Gap Year: a period, typically an academic year, taken by a student as a break between school and university or college education._

Definition of a break: a rest, respite, interval, breathing space, lull, recess;

The majority of kids start school 5, some as young as 4 and are relentlessly drilled to learn, to hit targets, to achieve in an ever competitive school environment. School is the official title but as the school day ends often their days continue with extra tutors, music lessons, sports, language learning until eventually these little people fall in an exhausted heap into their homes where, after a brief “break” for their fish fingers and chips, they have to settle down to deal with far too much homework. The self as a developing individual personality being given little or no time or space to emerge.

Unknown

Sir Martin Sorrell, putting himself up as the all seeing knowing commentator on such matters as Gap Years according to Wikipedia “is married to Cristiana Falcone. Sorrell was previously married to the American-born Sandra Finestone, with whom he has three sons, but the marriage broke down in 2003, as a result of Sir Martin’s “obsession with work”.

Obsession with work.
Living to work. Not working to live.

So it’s a choice really isn’t it? Some may choose to have balance. Have a life where you expand your horizons and experiences without feeling every moment of every day has to be accounted for in an endless round of point scoring exercises in the pursuit of the betterment of the self to impress potential employers or tart up a CV.

Sir Martin is simply out of kilter. I believe the emphasis is shifting where more value is given to a developed and happy individual as a whole, not just in terms of exams, awards, boxes ticked on an outmoded and outdated list. A list clearly still adhered to by Sir Martin Sorrell, that man in the Ivory tower .

OK steam petering out, jaw no longer clenched, spleen vented. I’m off.

 

PS I have a son. He had a gap year. He came back refreshed, independent, mature and able to settle down to his next stage in life. Best thing he ever did.

 

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School’s Back ’til Summer – Alice Pooper

Last minute lottery stuff as usual. On the eve of school going back.

Digging out the school breeks – they have holes in them. Where did these holes come from? Dunno.

What do you mean dunno? it looks like someone cut holes in them with scissors.

Bet this little blighter wouldn't give his mother hell.

Dunno.

Grrrrrr..

OK whilst we are at it where are your school shoes?

Dunno

Find them then. They are produced scruffy, scuffed but polishable on the top side and then I flipped them over  and realised there are hole in the soles. HOLES! Holy breeks and holy shoes. Holy shit I shout we are going out to get you sorted.

Aw Mum

NOW!
K.

So breeks on board we hit the shoe shops. We end up in Top Man. TOP MAN! I used to be made to wear Clark Startrites and then horrific lace up horors until I left scohol. Yeh but that was the olden days came the mumbled reply.

So he has slip ons. Very Jason King. Black slip ons. And new black hole-free trousers there is just one thing missing – well two if you count the absence of a sane mother – I haven’t actually seen his face for about 2 months. Hair.

No way.

Hair

A deep suspicion of hairdressers as you can see

NO WAY!
HAIR !

K

So I drop him at the Barber. He comes home later. Let’s see your hair then. I command. We meet in the hall and yes  he has had his hair cut. The one on the left hand side. So after a rather heated discussion during which I was informed I was lame, unfair and 112 he’s going back tomorrow for every other hair on his head to be cut to match it.