Class has shaped every stage of my experience of academia - often in ways I could never quite put my finger on at the time.

If you have no economic cushion, you can't afford to give yourself time to rest and develop. When ill as a postgraduate, I couldn't take the leave of absence I needed, because if I didn't get any doctoral funding that year, I knew my only option was our grim welfare system.

When fixed-term posts were coming to an end, I found myself counting the number of months I could survive on my savings before I'd be evicted. That was not something that could be mentioned in polite conversation with a manager.

My decision to reject a lectureship at a prestigious university in order to teach primarily working-class students is often met by utter incomprehension by academics. I'm never so conscious of academic hierarchies as when someone is trying to conceal derision for my institution.

Success in academia often relies on projecting a delicate mix of authority and conformability. That is particularly difficult when operating in an environment dominated by the upper middle-classes, whose temperaments and formative life experiences are poles apart from your own.

That disconnect hangs over hiring decisions too. A well-known philosopher once started a job interview by asking whether I liked to go yachting at this time of year. That plays on your mind when you're rejected for jobs on the basis of vague criteria like your 'overall fit'.