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Text To Read 4
Barrister Dennis O'Riordan was caught out over his phoney credentials. He should have just stuck to 'I
am a highly motivated and enthusiastic employee'. In the absence of my own Wikipedia entry, allow
me to give you a potted rundown of my educational history. My first school was one of those lovely
little day schools that necessitated the wearing of a boater, after which I spent my gymslip years at
Cheltenham Ladies' College, tearing a strip off the lacrosse pitch and generally getting into all sorts of
scrapes (I had wanted Bedales but my parents thought it too progressive). After a few months at Swiss
finishing school while waiting for my unwanted pregnancy to go away, I went on to study PPE at one of
the middling Oxford colleges, where I became actively and sexually involved in the students' union,
forming an array of political contacts. I now work for the Guardian, where coincidentally my dad, mum,
Uncle Adrian, the ghost of my deceased great uncle Vernon, and my Grandma Jean also work. It's great.
Much like the CV of top barrister Dennis O'Riordan, who was this week suspended for having claimed to
have two first-class degrees and a doctorate from Oxford and a master's from Harvard, it's not actually
true. But it could be. No employer has ever asked to see my degree certificate, and to be honest with
you, I'm not sure where it is. This gives me less anxiety than the fact that, also somewhere in the flat I
share with my partner, is a list of all the people I had slept with by the age of 22, where I have marked
each one out of ten for various categories that I will not go into now. I live in fairly constant terror of its
discovery. But I digress. Everyone lies on their CV don't they (guys? Guys?). I'm not talking massive
great lies like O'Riordan's, who audaciously faked a stint at Harvard and a doctorate, but little lies, like
"I am a highly motivated and enthusiastic employee." Or bumping up your A-levels a grade or two. Or
saying you have A-Levels. You know, minor stuff.
Perhaps you'll remember Benedict Le Gauche, who two years ago made headlines with his truthful CV,
having listed some of his previous duties as "stealing ginger biscuits" and "pretending to be on the
phone", and some of his skills as being able to "lift more than it looks like I can lift" and "stand the
company of those I hold in contempt". Part of the reason people loved it so much is because everyone
knows that, in reality, CVs are waffly rubbish, and that the gulf between a big lie and a little lie
noticeably narrows when you're minutes from the application deadline and trying to think of a plausible
reason for why you left your last job that isn't "my boss was a total tosser". In O'Riordan's case, thems
were some big, big lies, but the fact that he felt he needed them tells us something about the way
things still work in this country. He chose the most prestigious institutions that he could, those which
are prized by his profession above all others, rather than admit who he really was. While colleagues,
one of whom anonymously posted on a forum for lawyers ("Had Gordon Brown style eruptions when
challenged now at least we know why. Had plenty to hide") were unsympathetic, I have to admit I felt
a pang. Many of us fall prey to status anxiety, especially when we come into contact with those coming
from lives of unimaginable privilege. I went, not to a school for "ladies" but one where all the girls were
regarded either as "slags" or "future slags" (not yet developed enough to be actual slags but showing
lots of potential.) It wasn't so much a Campbell-esque "bog standard comp" as it was a restaged Lord of
the Flies, except in one of those nice new buildings the last government were so keen on, the roof of
which a year seven boy once tried to jump from. When confronted with people who went to schools
with things like facilities and pastoral care, I am careful not to mention this.
It makes me wonder how many other people are up to their necks in high status careers, having
decided that the truth that they went to schools like mine was less appealing than a fantasy. Now
that jobs are vanishing overnight, there must be even more of a temptation to lie. If Oxford does
indeed raise its fees to 16,000 a year, as it proposed this week, I'll hazard that O'Riordan won't be the
only one opting for a phoney degree. After all, it's free, and it works. Until you get caught.