HERE it is, August, and young students' minds turn not so lightly to thoughts of exam results.

It's that time again, time for the ripping open of anxious envelopes and clicking of nervous text messages. Time for relief, tears, clearing and for those whose school exams are well behind them to opine how much more difficult it was in days gone past.

Aside for the most confident of students, this is a horrible time during which no amount of "there's nothing you can do about it now" can help.

And perhaps this won't either, but since my own school days the one gem I have learned is that no matter all the nights of smudging with sweat and/or tears, flash cards decorated with French verbs, the vagaries of the periodic table or the steps of the Eightfold Path, it gets to a point when your Higher results just don't matter any more.

Not once have I needed to ponder the sine, cosine, and tangent properties of an angle, never again had to ponder Heathcliff: Hero or Villain; only on occasional dreamy moments while waiting for the kettle to boil do I gaze at Zeus, my mint plant, and idly surmise that his extreme leaning towards the kitchen window is the result of photo­­synthesis.

I'm not saying that none of this matters but, if your results aren't what you'd hoped then don't despair.

Of all the many and varied things we do wrong in this country one is sending our young folk to university too early. The expectation still is to whip straight off to the halls of academe when, really, there are other, better options out there.

Don't go to university as a teenager. Do anything else first. Go travelling. Get a job. Get a job and save up to go travelling. Absolutely go to university, but live first.

I studied English Literature due to quite liking books and a complete lack of imagination. Now, equipped for little, I would love to go back and do it again. I would study something vocational, something with a purpose, something that wouldn't sap the joy from one of my favourite pastimes.

I had no clue what was going on. I didn't realise that there were books about books until nearly third year. For first and most of second year my bibliographies were largely blank. I spent my time confusedly trundling between lectures, tutorials and the Queen Margaret Union, staring goggle-eyed at the kids who seemed to know the right things to do, the right things to ask and the right people to know.

Sweden has some of the oldest students in the world. My Swedish friend is 26 and at university in the final year of her dream course but it took her three years to work out what her dream course would be. The thought of going beginning a degree course at 18 is madness to her.

Another friend is at university for the first time as a mature student and I am so jealous that I fantasise about locking her in a cupboard and stealing her place, just for a week or a day even, to see what it would be like to actually have a desire to be there, a solid general knowledge and some basic competence. Learning in your twenties, I find, feels more about fulfilling a need than overcoming yet another hurdle on the path to adulthood. I think that's the difference.

Good luck for Tuesday, students everywhere. Don't panic and don't rush. If you must rush to university then work part-time, volunteer, join a lot of clubs, take the library tour, question everything and have at least one friend who is ludicrously rich - they will know where all the best parties are.

But mostly, don't panic and don't rush.