I decided much later when I was about 19, and when I was already publishing here and there, and living at home and eating food provided by my father and so on, that I wanted to go to university. So I went to the University of Witwatersrand as an occasional student for one year, no degree, and then left. And of course it was interesting because it was just after the war, and there was this big division. I was like the people who had come back from the war, the soldiers, who then were, you know, adult, and in my case I found that I had read far more than either they had — because they hadn’t had the opportunity — and also the younger ones who’d just come from school. So what they recommended reading, I had already done for my own pleasure and my own enlightenment. But what I did learn that year there was — indeed through one good lecturer — was to become, as I say, very self-critical. Not just to think that whatever I had written was just what I wanted to say, but to see how it could be critical that it didn’t. I then began to see where I was failing.