When the University of Wollongong rang to discuss the academic robes I'd be wearing to receive my honorary doctorate they requested my head measurement. "Well, it was much smaller before you asked me that question!" I confessed.

Receiving an honorary doctorate from UOW is one of the most thrilling experiences of my life, mainly because I left school at 16. The only examination I've ever passed is my cervical smear test. I'm an autodidact. Obviously, it's a word I taught myself. Consequently, I've always been more of an imminent than an eminent intellectual.

But not any more! My excitement is so great that, post-ceremony, I've welded that academic hat to my cranium. I've worn it shopping, bush walking and while jogging along Cronulla Beach, where I grew up. I think I'll get the hat waterproofed so that I can wear it when boogie-boarding to really flaunt the fact that this ex-surfie girl now surfs her brain-waves.

Dropping out of education at such a young age means that, despite having written 14 best-sellers published in 17 languages, I've had to endure a lot of condescension from the literary elite. Many of these snobs have been at university for so long they've got ivy growing up the backs of their legs. They seem to have majored in Advanced Smugness.

What's worse, they don't speak English; they speak euphemism. One needs those little United Nations headphones to decode them. For example, when a member of the literati set would say to me, "Oh, you're self-taught? How refreshing," at first I thought it was a compliment. It took me a while to realise that what this really means is "rack off, you loud-mouthed, suburban, nymphomaniac." (I know, I was shocked too … How dare they call me a 'loud mouth'! Please, I have my standards!)

But surely, now I am Dr Lette, these intellectual snobs can no longer condescend? ("Condescend … it means talking down to," a book critic once patronised me at a literary soiree.) Well, I couldn't have been more wrong. Since receiving this prestigious honour what's shocked me is the snobbery amongst city academics towards regional universities. "A gong from the Gong," a Sydney-based professor said to me at a party this week, "Faint praise indeed."

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For many Sydneysiders and Melburnians, academic life is defined by the sandstone institutions. They remain snootily oblivious to the wide range of innovative research and revolutionary teaching techniques coming from regional institutions.

The best judges of universities are the students themselves and UOW ranks number two in Australia on student satisfaction (according to the government's Quality Indicators for Learning and Teaching). And 14 out of 15 of the UOW's academic subject areas are ranked first or second in NSW.

Also, UOW's research is so cutting-edge you could shave your legs with it. One of their many grants is from the Gates Foundation to develop the next generation of condom. (I'm sure there's no shortage of students offering to complete the practical research on this particular project.) But UOW's biggest research investment is a world-leading $80 million molecular and life sciences centre researching new ways to detect and fight life-threatening diseases.

Not only is UOW my local uni (about a third of the student intake is from the "Shire") but the other joy in receiving an Australian academic accolade, is that I'm of convict stock. My ancestors were guilty of one thing – not running fast enough. But inverted snobbery means that their transportation to the colonies on the first fleet makes me the creme de la crim. I don't know if any of their convict blood still whispers in my veins, but I do know that I am a woman of many convictions – the latest of which is that academic snobbery is profoundly un-Australian.

Australia's success is irrevocable evidence that, unlike Britain, transformation and social mobility are possible. (Britain has the worst social mobility in Europe.) The graduation ceremony at UOW was warm and welcoming. Although done with great dignity and decorum, there was not a hint of elitism, ensuring that this autodidact felt right at home. In fact, I'm now so elated I'm waving to the Mir space station. Hell, I'm frightened I'm so exceeding the prescribed altitude I'll get shot down as a UFO.

Although when my friend Stephen Fry emailed me a congratulatory missive, he did put things into perspective. "Don't forget Kath," he quipped, "it's better to be an unqualified success than a qualified one."

Despite this, what I'm really holding out for is a Companion of Literature which is abbreviated, apparently, to C.Lit. What more could an irreverent feminist ask for?

Dr Kathy Lette's latest novel is Best Laid Plans.