From Knoll School Reject to Biochem Grad

If I can get a chemistry degree, anyone can (seriously).

Let me set the scene: Knoll Boys’ School, Hove, 1970s. A place where education came second to survival, and most teachers appeared to be exorcised only half-heartedly. If Hogwarts was full of magic, Knoll was full of something else entirely—and none of it sparkled.

My academic performance at Knoll could best be described as “heroically underwhelming.” If report cards were performance art, mine were abstract expressionism. The problem was that Knoll didn’t hand out report cards; if they did, I didn’t receive any. Generally (and there were exceptions to the rule), teachers didn’t so much teach as bark angry, cryptic instructions through nicotine-stained teeth. My takeaway from science class? Bunsen burners are good for singeing eyebrows or for the bullies burning our blazers. I would have loved chemistry if the teacher had a modicum of control over the class. The awful, tyrant of a headmaster (or some bright spark on the education committe) decided to place the bullies and thugs (who didn’t want to be at school) in the chemistry classroom. The result was chaos. Fortunately, one teacher introduced me to my first genuine passion: biology.

And yet, despite that grim educational foundation—and an attention span trained more on avoiding hallway ambushes than on the periodic table—I somehow wound up with an honours degree in Biochemistry and Chemistry from Aston University.

I'm still not sure how I did it. Honestly.

Maybe it was grit. Maybe it was spite. Maybe it was the fact that no one thought I could. (That last one always lights a fire under the arse, doesn’t it?) But I showed up, burnt the midnight oil prior to the exams, like my sanity depended on it (which, to be fair, it probably did), and earned a bona fide science degree.

To anyone slogging through education, feeling like you’re barely scraping by, please know this: you’re not your grades. You’re not your teachers’ or parents’ expectations.

The knoll didn’t break me. It tried. But a spark survived somewhere in that maze of chalk dust, toilet duckings, playground holocaust games, soaked uniforms and stolen lunches. Enough to carry me to sixth form college (BHASVIC) and university. Enough to get me a double honours degree. Enough to prove that you don’t need a perfect start to end up somewhere extraordinary.

So here’s to every late bloomer. Every underdog. Every kid who was written off before they were even written up.

You never know what you can become—until you stop listening to what you were never meant to be. Leaving the Knoll School and discovering the joy of receiving an actual education was like changing from a caterpillar to a butterfly or a papillon.