It is officially late March. The clocks are about to spring forward, the daffodils in the garden are looking suspiciously cheerful, and the collective blood pressure of A Level students across the country is beginning a slow, steady climb. I remember that feeling vividly. Back during my days at Cambridge, I spent many a frantic afternoon in a library that smelled of ancient vellum, floor wax, and the faint, illicit scent of the salt-and-vinegar crisps I had hidden in my bag (