Free What You See Is What You Get: My Autobiography by Alan Sugar

you into? A doctor? A lawyer? An accountant?'
    My answer was that I wanted to do something in the science professions. As far as my mother and father were concerned, that meant maybe a chemist or a pharmacist. They wouldn't have even thought about the job of a researcher (who doesn't actually work in a shop dispensing pills) or somebody inventing something in a high-technology industry.
    You have to sympathise with their outlook on life and employment. Understandably, it came as a great disappointment to them when I told them, halfway through studying for A Levels, that I was going to jack it in. I made the decision shortly after my return from the summer holidays, a week or so into the upper-sixth. They wanted to know: 'Why did you bother to get these GCEs? What are you going to do now?'
    This was further aggravated by Shirley's husband Harold, who had a weird sense of humour and would try to capitalise on the dilemma facing me and my parents over choosing a career. He famously interjected once by saying, 'Why are you bothering? Become a dustman - they pay them loads of money these days.' This little chant of Harold's was one he would repeat at certain milestones in my life - not in a nasty way, I hasten to add, but to remind himself of what he'd said so many years earlier.
    My reason for leaving school was that my best friends were taking on jobs. Malcolm was working in a radio and TV store as a television engineer. Funnily enough this store was opposite Mr Allen's, and we'd often meet each other on Saturdays and discuss what we were getting up to that night. Geoff was trying to pursue a career in the fashion industry on the administration and sales side. Steve was working for his parents' firm, making lemonade. And Tony - well, sorry, but he was just a rich man's son. He was talking about going to Africa to do some goody-goody work, but if you ask me, it was to bunk off getting a real job. They all had cars except me. So, in summary, the reason for me leaving school was to get a job with wheels.
    I went to see the headmaster to tell him about my decision. Mr Harris wasn't happy at all. He felt I had the potential to stay on and complete the A Level courses. Nevertheless, he accepted my decision and pointed me in the direction of the careers officer who informed me of the opportunities available in technology. Apparently, being a computer programmer was becoming very popular and he arranged for me to take IBM's aptitude test - a way of evaluating if a candidate had what it takes to be a programmer. Thinking of this now puts a smile on my face, having employed hundreds of computer programmers in my lifetime and watched them sitting around in their sandals and jeans flicking elastic bands at each other.
    I went along to IBM's offices in Wigmore Street where the staff were very polite. Once we'd finished our exam papers, they sent us off to have lunch in the canteen while they marked them. They let the people who were clearly of no interest to them go and I was one of those people.
    I also sat a similar exam at ICL in Putney. Once again, I got the Dear John letter. Obviously I wasn't cut out for computer programming.
    Funny how things work out. Twenty-four years later I entered into a Licensing Agreement with IBM which resulted in me taking 30 per cent of the European personal computer market away from them. And, please excuse my boast, I now own IBM's European headquarters building on London's South Bank, which I bought for PS112 million. Anyway, moving on . . .
    News of my failure at both IBM and ICL filtered back to the school and Iwas summoned to Mr Harris's office. Again he told me that I should stay and pursue my A Levels in subjects more suitable to me, such as economics. I reminded him again that I was not in the economics division but in science and engineering, but he simply could not accept it. There was no moving him. I was equally adamant that I was going to leave school.
    I didn't tell my mother and father about