The keen observer (as all the readers of this piece naturally are) will notice that I’ve written anything for the last couple of weeks.  This isn’t idleness (well, not entirely, anyway) but computer gliches.  It’s still not entirely sorted out, but it’s getting there – I hope.  I spent last week off-line altogether and it’s weird how cut-off it makes you feel. Considering that only a few years ago, computers were the stuff of science-fiction, it’s astonishing how necessary they’ve become.  I sometimes feel we’re all going to end up like one of those races they used to have in Star Trek, who are just pure brains and no bodies.  Mind you, I think the Youth of the future will probably have enormous thumbs, because of all the texting they do.

Talking of Youth – mine – we travelled down to Egham, Surrey, to watch Helen’s graduation.  Here’s a picture of all the graduates throwing their hats in the air after the celebration.  It was a wonderful day, set in the architecturally wacky late-Victorian dream of Thomas Holloway’s Royal Holloway.  Royal Holloway is now part of London University but when Thos. built it – it opened in 1886 – it was a women’s only college inspired by his wife, Jane, who reckoned it was a good use of quarter of a million or so.  There’s a statue of Thomas presenting the college to Jane in the middle of the quad and he looks fairly smug about it – and with good reason, too.  There’s few buildings which bear the imprint of their designer quite so blatantly.  It looks like a French château run mad.  It’s impressive but always makes me want to laugh, too – so result!  The graduation started with sparkling wine and Haribos (you know, those squashy sweets) outside the History Department, and then, after this laid-back introduction, we moved into the very formal surroundings of the Chapel.  The Chapel, as you might expect from such a sturdy individualist as Thos, is decorated without a trace of English restraint, but in an exuberant Italian-with-attitude style, glowing with colour and with lots of women saints on the walls.  Here’s a bit of the roof.  Trumpeters sounded, the graduates walked in, received their degrees and the whole thing went like clockwork.  Then it was off outside, into the gigantic Quads, for more sparkling wine and nibbles (if you could get to them; graduating gives the Young a fairly hearty appetite.)   It was a wonderful day; it all ran to plan and even the sun shone. 

The other event worthy of note is that the cat establishment of the Gordon-Smith household is now back up to full strength.  Tospy, The Ancient Of Days, handed in her chips a while ago at the grand old age of 19.  Post of Most Senior Animal was then taken by Snooker (aka “Grumpy”) who is impartially bad-tempered with dog, cat and human alike.  She just can’t see why any other animal is needed and knows just who to blame for disturbing the even tenor of her days. She reminds me of Maurice in Suzette Hill’s “Bones” stories.  Her life didn’t get any better when we arrived home with a new kitten.  Peter had naming rights and – because he’s a bit of a Francophile – chose “Minou”.  Apparently every French children’s story has a cat called Minou.  Perhaps we should try and find her a blue-and-white stripy collar with an onion motif.  Here she is, helping The Graduate at work.  I'm off to Sunny Cornwall (fingers crossed) next week so I'll talk more when I get back.