As this year's batch of graduates bask in the glory of their success Ian Lamming talks to an extraordinary student who has overcome extreme difficulties to achieve his goal.

EXAMS over, results in the bag, David lies in bed. It's 11am. The television is on, so is his laptop and one of seemingly hundreds of music CDs that litter his room plays in the background. In so many ways, it's a typical scene. A young man, 22, one of the country's newest graduates, a 2:1 BSc in social sciences nicely tucked under his belt with everything to look forward to - or so any casual observer would imagine.

But something is awry. His bed has the look of a hospital about it and there is a mechanical winch hanging from the ceiling. A little black box is attached to his chest and there's a valve in his throat. The woman at his bedside - and there is always someone at his bedside - he has come to know well, but she is in no way related and is not even a friend.

It's the summer and David Beckett has plans but they are not to go on holiday. The last time he did that he was just 14 and it changed his life forever. It was August 1995 when he went to the South of France with his mother Ruth and father Kevin. Like most 14-year-olds he couldn't wait to swim in the Mediterranean, to splash in the surf, to dive beneath the waves. Tragically for David he misjudged his dive. The water was little more than 12ins deep and he crashed into a sandbank, irreversibly damaging his spine. Since then he has been a tetraplegic, unable to move any part of his body below the neck. There's a dull feeling in his limbs and he can feel the spasms that on one occasion threw him from his bed.

"What's the prognosis? What prognosis? This is it," says David, of Darlington. "If I'd been going to get any better it would have happened within six months of the accident." But what about Superman Christopher Reeve, who suffered the same injury at the same time, in his case after falling from a horse. "Oh yeah, he has made some progress but then he's spent millions of pounds and had all sorts of electric shock treatment."

He's off colour today. Just to add to everything else a cold bug and an upset stomach. But normally David makes the most of his life, his shiny new degree from the University of Teesside testimony to his active mind and lifestyle.

If he had been feeling better he would have been up and dressed, a day planned out before him. Like most students, some of his studying was done at home. But his disability didn't prevent him attending lectures and seminars. But he admits he owes his degree in large part to the 24-hour nursing care he receives.

"You could say they have been slightly important," he says, a wry smile appearing as he looks at community staff nurse Heather Thistlethwaite. "Oh all right, without my nurses I wouldn't have been able to get to university in the first place." They also help him by taking down his dictation, as does his father, Kevin. He will need even more of their help if he is to study for his Masters in International Studies and later for a PhD, as he wants to next.

Durham University officials are currently working out whether the ancient building can cope with the difficulties of a tetraplegic on the books. Queen Elizabeth Sixth Form College, Darlington, managed - they built him a ramp so he could get in the building.

After the accident, David spent months in the spinal unit of Hexham General Hospital. While he was there his family and friends raised money through an appeal supported by The Northern Echo to enable him to buy a voice-operated computer and to adapt the family home in Staindrop Road, Darlington, for his return.

Now, three shifts of community nurses tend David's every need, some more personal than others. The day crew starts at 7.45am and works with him until 3.15pm, the late shift comes on at 3pm and stays until 10.30pm and the nightshift starts at 10.30pm, providing cover until 8.30am the next day. Feeding, washing, gofering, they work tirelessly to keep his spirits up - he's no longer on anti-depressants. They exercise his useless limbs, ensuring the blood keeps flowing, muscles and joints keep supple and the skin stays free from pressure sores. This passive exercise also keeps at bay potentially dangerous deep vein thrombosis.

'Did you hear about that bloke who has just come out of a coma after 19 years?," asks David. "Well, his limbs are no use because they haven't been exercised and have seized up." Just to emphasise the point, Heather uncurls his fingers on both hands. "They also look after my breathing, the phrenic pacer (the black box on his chest) which stimulates my diaphragm and helps me breathe. Mind you I get to know about all their trials and tribulations - it's like been trapped in a soap opera."

The nurses are also exposed to the youth culture David enjoys. "He makes us listen to his music, which is a bit hard going sometimes," says Heather. "He usually has the TV on and his computer and his music, which can be a bit mind blowing." He also loves to read, surf the net and watch films, which the nurses help him to do. At night the nurse sits next door to the front room, which has become David's all-purpose bedroom. If he needs help he has to "click" the baby monitor which connects the two rooms because a special humidifying bung inserted in his tracheotomy at night prevents him from speaking. "If they are really bored that's good - it means I have had a good night's sleep," says David.

During the day, if he wants to go out then he needs to take two nurses with him to carry the paraphernalia that would keep him alive should something go wrong. And he does want to go out, to lectures, the cinema and gigs. "I've got tickets to see Radiohead and Eddie Izzard," says David with relish as Heather rolls her eyes. "We do work well together to sort things out," adds Heather. "If he gets a last minute appointment the girls are very good at fitting him in. They even do his hair. What was it you had last year David? A red and green Mohican." And they both laugh - not so atypical after all then.