It’s GCSE season again and faster than you can pop the lid off a highlighter, I feel like I should be checking who won the Civil War and reciting all the noble gases. So my old heart breaks for the teenagers currently trying to squish a million verb endings and quadratic equations into their brains. I remember that sweaty panic only too well.
In fact, I wish someone had taken my younger self to one side and explained some basic truths about exams and what they actually mean. Actually, I might do it now (better late than never). Here’s the letter I want my 15-year-old self to read:
