Dusk

Graduation day went along without a hitch.

I managed, like everyone else, not to trip over on stage ( I wore boxers under my kilt just in case). In fact, the whole day went brilliantly and concluded as one of those life high-lights that will remain unparalleled.

But I suppose that the pinacle of your degree, the proof that you actually graduated, is the stereotypical portrait with your diploma (well, the stage prop which they provided due to the fact that, for some reason, St Andrews likes to give out its degrees in a poshed up poly-pocket).

It was here, at the photo, that I wasn't so smooth.

The Tempest woman shunted a massive pin cushion thing over in my direction. It turned out to be a leg propper-upper, but this had to be swiftly clarified to me as I adjusted myself to take a seat.

There I stood, then, proud and mighty in my kilt, clutching the empty vessel.

Chu-Flash!

I read her face as she looked at the results, "mnnn, not so much", it seemed to say.

Chu-Flash!

"Perhaps turn your head a little more, that's it".

Chu-Flash!

"Okay, that's you".

I was a little more than uncomfortable in that last pose, so I knew 'that wasn't me'

Alas, nothing more to do than to wait for the proof to print. Out I came, from the printer. What was revealed resembled a wanted poster for a bloke who hangs around public parks. Master of Creepology, with Honours.

My head was tilted slightly forward and my feeble attempt at a smile looked like I was beckoning someone into the back of my van behind the Rovers.

I offered a quick thanks and went over to show Mum and Dad, proud of their little boy finally graduating. Mum just burst out laughing.

Cheers, Mum...

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