I spoke at a school speech day this week, at a big Catholic state school in west London. For the occasion I dug out the book I chose as my reward for winning the A-level English prize at school in 1986. I chose it to impress my teachers. It was Anthony Burgess’s biography of DH Lawrence, and I’m ashamed to say that, nearly 34 years later, I have still not read a word of it. I was on the lookout for similar choices made by today’s young men and women but, cynical as I am, I only saw intelligent stuff that I reckoned they would actually read. There were lots of new novels and biographies, as well as thoughtful tomes on political thought, philosophy, geopolitics, science and – my favourite – jazz harmonies. All these books chosen by the students suggested the recipients knew lots of stuff, and were curious enough to want to know more. They will doubtless go far.
However, there is one life skill I don’t believe they are taught at either school or university. It’s something – in fact, the only thing – I truly believe I excelled at and that is the fine art of work experience. I was brilliant at it.
I first wandered into BBC Television Centre in 1992 on work experience. My placement was in the business programmes department. I didn’t leave that office until 15 years later, so I must have done something right. What I quickly grasped was this: I plainly wasn’t going to be allowed to put any of what I had learned about journalism at college into practice in the short unpaid stint I had been given. Instead, I resolved to make myself as useful as possible in whatever role, however menial, I could find. If that meant just making tea, so be it. All I wanted was for them to notice I had gone when my three weeks were up, if not actually miss me. I made an awful lot of tea.
I should add that I had the advantage of a West Midlands accent, which everybody assumed was an indicator of stupidity. Embracing their low expectations, I found it easy to impress everybody. All I had to do was come out with a series of words in the right order – something like, “Yes, of course. Ordinary tea? Earl Grey? Lapsang souchong? Milk? Sugar? Coming right up” – and they would look at me in wonder. This lad was destined to go far.
I have come across hundreds of work experience people since then. Almost none of them has asked if they could make me some tea. It’s for all the world as if they think great A-levels, a first from Oxbridge and a post-grad in journalism will get them straight into production. Often, feeling half sorry for them, half intimidated, I end up making tea for them.
Of course, I only have experience of working in the media, but I can’t imagine it’s much different in banking, law or anything else. As an intern you are not going to get near the big stuff. But make enough tea and, trust me, the recipients will be incredibly grateful, speak highly of you and offer whatever advice they can. And they will miss you when you have gone.
• Adrian Chiles is a writer, broadcaster and Guardian columnist
