When I did A-levels, I was at the very top of my game. This was before the hedonistic whirlwind of university, it pre-dated the demanding routine of a full-time job, and the sleepless nights of fatherhood weren’t even a glint in my eye. I devoured knowledge. I had original thoughts. My handwriting didn’t look like a spider had lurched drunkenly across the page.
Just 4 years later I was teaching A-level psychology in London. I was very keen to stretch and challenge my apprentice psychologists, not just ram the standard textbooks down their throats and train them to regurgitate at will. ‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ I would implore them. ‘Surprise me.’
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