"I'm a little worried about my future," started a pint-size Dustin Hoffman in The Graduate. "I just want it to be..." And so, taller but no more assured I embark on my career, whatever that may be, with those very same words. Hopefully, like Hoffman in the Mike Nichols classic, I can look forward to a summer of casual sex with a friend of my parents'. On second thought however that's not quite as appealing as it sounds. But then neither is the job hunt that awaits me. It's a very dull and uneventful safari, looking out for a vacancy amongst the tall blades of grass, and waiting to take my best shot.
What I'm looking for however will need to provide beyond the next Student Loan instalment purely because there won’t be one. For the first time in my life school's out forever, and my next step might be on the career ladder to money, a mortgage and a Mondeo. Before I submit to suburbia and visit the local Ford dealership however I want to think about my options. Pursuing a masters and the semi-independence of University life sounds infinitely more attractive than living at home with my parents, the Martians.
I need to think of something, and fast. I'm on a train, quite literally, to a sort of Friends Reunited weekend in Edinburgh, where the question, "what are you going to do now?", will be raised as often as glasses, I imagine. "Off to Mars," I’ll say. "On a NASA scholarship." And for those similarly undecided, one word: "Plastics."
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