It's a piece of paper that says I'm qualified to do literally anything I fancy because then I can use science to reaffirm the fact that I am made of literal stardust and you don't see stars getting told off for booking a flight to the Canary Islands without any invitation.

Oh you're right. I suppose the mind of that one decrepit ol' physics supervisor is much less private than, say, a globally renowned writing platform. Whoops?

I don't know if I should be offended that, let's face it, you're probably right. I don't think I should be - but I'm choosing to be, just so I can hold it against you for a while. Fortunately for you though, I finished my dissertation before I began my harassment of you. So instead, I dedicated it to Biscoff.

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