I was shocked recently by a photograph I took with my two grown-up children. Let’s get in the natural daylight, I said. That will be good. They both looked great – they always do. But I looked washed-out, pale, wrinkled, anaemic, baggy-eyed and, quite frankly, very very old. It was the end of the college year so I excused myself from responsibility for the mess I saw before me on the grounds of academic enervation. Still, I must admit I carry the marks of a lifetime in my face these days; crow’s feet, worry lines and forehead wrinkles marking me. I stand a marked man. It interests me how we mark ourselves. I have no tattoos, but it intrigues me that so many people do. What aspect of my inner self or being would I ever want to translate to my outer surface skin to display to the world? A tea cup, perhaps, since I am sure I am actually 80 per cent tea. Become a member for unlimited access to FE Week subscribe Our members enjoy early access to exclusive content and in-depth articles before anyone else. Get expert journalism on FE and skills, experience fewer ads, and unlock a growing range of member benefits.