Three years, eighteen classes, around £15,000, and it all boils down to one handshake. "Sandeep Kumar Sharma" Principal Roger Gould called, as I handed him my slip of paper, half-wishing that I'd altered it to read, "the Amazing...", "the Incredible...", or simply "sansharma.com". Careful not to trip, I walked slowly across the stage towards a flamboyantly dressed Pro-Chancellor and bent down to shake his hand. "Congratulations," he said. "Thank you," I returned, ready to clutch my gown and take flight. But he wouldn't let go. His chalky, white hand clasped mine and - I gasped - he went on. "What will you do now?" Well, I was actually planning on sitting down and watching the rest of the show, but I could hardly say that. "Um, a masters...probably." "Ah!" he exclaimed, perhaps more excited at the prospect than I was. "Here? At Lancaster?" "Er, no...I don't think so," I replied, not meaning to sound so condescending to the man handing me my degree. But then he wasn't. He was just shaking my hand, and as he released his grip I took one look at the crowd of proud parents and investors, and around for a scroll, a book token – something in return for my hard graft. Nothing. "Good luck," he added, before I left the stage, thinking that an actual certificate might be more attractive to employers.
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