What with all the dark wizards, quiditch and, if he was honest, a Facebook addiction, Harry hadn’t done so well in his A-levels.
So he decided to read media studies with cookery at the University of Basingstoke. He had always liked cooking and magazines.
Unfortunately, Harry didn’t do too well at university either, what with Bebo and Twitter and cannabis. He left with a hangover and a third.
Still, he’d been to a posh school. He knew people in the government. He’d be fine. Except for the, you know, global financial crisis.
No one was hiring. Not in his first career choice: pr in the food industry. And he was insufficiently qualified for choice two: a travel pr
Desperate for money (by now, Harry had moved on to more expensive drugs), he dropped his standards. He applied to be an estate agent
‘Overqualified,’ they said. So he thought, ‘I’ll be a Tube driver. They get paid loads and they take impromptu holiday whenever they like’
No dice. Apparently you had to work your way up from platform assistant but there were no vacancies on platforms.
Harry had hit rock bottom. He couldn’t remember a darker time. By now, he was chasing the dragon but not like he’d used to at school.
There was no other option. So he made the call he’d been resisting.' Defo', they said. 'You can start tomorrow.' Harry the hedge-fund manager