But let's just say that you go through all the rigmarole, all over again, work assidously and seriously, what do you end up with? You're at home one dull morning and the thing gets thrown through your letterbox to flop uselessly on the floor. You tear open the envelope and pull out the glossy, shiny computerised certificate inscribed with your tiny little passes and failures. This means that you turned up at the correct time for the exam and went and sat down with the perfect right amount of contentment and the proper degree of anxious worry, and, by luck more than anything else, you managed in spite of yourself to remember the correct amount of facts and figures and were able to present them in a clear and precise manner which showed the expected appearance of thought of knowledge. This is what qualification is a result of, this silly balancing act taking place in a short period of time as the last act of a long period of studiousness and rote learning. For myself, i always found qualification to be meaningless. I saw no connection between myself and the numbers and letters on the page, and i couldn't fathom what i had done, or failed to do, to gain them. I knew that my performance in exams was almost always bad, mainly due to my lack of interest, or faith in the subjects i was studying. So i never felt one twinge of excitement when i received my results, in fact i was ashamed and tried to hide them, while i knew other kids who had their's framed and stuck on the wall.