faustus | Lost Weekend #94

I went to graduation this weekend. This is only the third I've gone to - my own, back in 1991, at Hull City Hall, one at High Wycombe, in the Swan Theatre (oh yes, it was 9/11), and now this, in the Big Church. (I didn't go to my PhD one, partly because I was pissed at the university at the time, and partly because I didn't feel it would bring me closure.)

Why the change this year?

I noticed a while ago that I'm on a three year cycle - 1988, 1991, 1994, 1997, 2000, 2003, 2006 - of life changes, with either my or other people moving in those years. I'm in such a trough now. It also means that the first cohort I've taught from cradle to graduation are leaving (and in some cases I want to escort them off the premises), plus I know half a dozen of the graduands in real life, and it felt right to celebrate their degrees. I think I wanted a kind of closure.

Typically I left it until the last minute to get organised, and with one thing and another I wasn't sure I'd have the gown, nor did I have a reception ticket. And I left it too late to check up on the reception due to General Exhaustion. Saturday was also looking to be a damp day. November isn't the best time for these events, but it is presumably cheaper to hire, being in the lull between the tourist season and the Christmas rush.

I had to pick my gown up from the Secret Campus, in fact from the department building I work in - which was like a greenhouse with hundreds of slightly damp and nervous graduands and their parents steaming in the queue. I ran into E, and then M and his father in the queue, before I started queue-jumping. The robers were suddenly all sweetness and light when they realised I was staff, and they helped me on with the cloak, hood and floppy hat. E had told me N was in the union, with A, and I went to see if I could catch them. They were drinking already, but I said no thanks as I knew I'd be trapped in the Big Church for three hours, and didn't fancy having a full bladder. I managed to scalp a reception ticket off N, which was one issue solved.

Then across to the Big Church where, naturally, my name wasn't on the list, and I sat and waited for things to start. I got talking to someone who turns out to be a counciller and a governer, so hopefully I didn't speak out of turn. I was struck again that it is such a wonderful building - I used to be able to see the top end from office, especially if I stood on the desk, although instead I know have the remains of the abbey, until the new building obscures it. I should get my pass and go in there more often - of an evening you can wander in for free in the grounds, but you don't get to go in. And one of these days I should see a concert there.

We processed from the north steps entrance, down the aisle, nodding to N, M, E and C as I passed them, and noticed a couple of my own students on the turn before I got to walk up the central aisle to the reserved seating. Then it was eyes down for the duration; national anthem, waffle from the suits, gratuitous Shakespearean quotes, Professor Hancox bigging up Sir Peter Maxwell Davis - whose acceptance speech was mercifully short - and mostly nice music, although surely barbershop quartets consist of four vocalists.

And the endless names, although some amusement can be wrung from middle names (someone's parents were clearly Elvis fans). And endless clapping. The graduand got to shake the hand of a deputy VC, be asked a question - which threw most of them - and then emerged onto the stage with the whole big church ahead of them. I think some of them got stage fright. Most of them were staring straight ahead, so I didn't catch my friends' eyes. M looked terrified. Then there was D, who may still think I'm a gangster. There was an itch or something in my eye - I'm proud of these guys.

Eventually we got to leave, and followed part of the route in reverse, although sadly I wasn't able to walk past the gang to congratulate them again. I ended up in a chapel which was used as a storeroom, and, not quite clear what I was doing there, left the building. By then then heavens had opened - ruining the chances for photos against the Big Church. I went back over for the buffet in the refectory. I got there first. Oops. I waited until the Business School arrived before I dug into the food. E and his parents were there first, then M and his, and eventually N with his dad and brother. G even turned up, which was a pleasant surprise. I nearly spilt wine over someone, trying to deal with the plastic wine glass holder clipped to my plate, which is what I often do at these things. In fact I spilt orange juice over Nige's mum in an overenthusiastic hug.

An era had ended. There were more photos, and M and N's parents dressed up in the capes and cloaks, and N posed with his brother, and sooner or later it was time to shift the clan to a pub. I hadn't planned to tag along, but it felt the right thing to do and I must thank them for letting me do so. It was a bit like herding cats, but I work with academics so I'm used to that. We got them downstairs - hey they can ignore the no students beyond this sign now - and everyone but M, M's dad, N and myself decided to wait whilst we dumped various bits of gear and picked up photographs. I needed to fetch my coat as well. We then went in search of the rugby, at a point when it sounded that England might win, and I suggested the Jolly Sailor, a pub I do like but which I've rarely drunk in since I don't get further than the Bell& these days, although if I do I would end up in Simple Simon's. In fact I once met N there, about the second time we went out drinking together, as he didn't know where Simple Simon's was at that point. The pints of Guinness kept flowing, and we kept drinking, and sooner or later there was a father vs son pool grudge match which I ended up referring, and which the older generation won.

But eventually we left, and grabbed some chips, before heading down to The Doves. The gang only stayed for one, having decided to go onto a club or the graduation ball, and I decided not to tag along, although I later felt I'd jumped the wrong way. That might have prevented the rest of the evening. I'd been drinking steadily for seven hours by then, and the only response was to start drinking unsteadily. I chatted to NW, who was working, and nearly fell asleep, but I got the second wind to go down the Bell&. Oh dear. At some point I got told it was time to leave. At some point I got home. At some point I did hang my keys in the safe place. At some point I lost my debit card. As far as I know I didn't lose my dignity, but I suspect it was a close run thing. M the Barman seemed fine tonight - but I was mullered.

I woke with the light still on, and most of my suit, but the door was bolted, locked and the catch had been slid across. The autopilot works. I can only guess the ring road was quiet, since I don't recall crossing it. Most of the day was spent in bed, exhausted rather than hungover, and ventured out at three to clean up the chipper then further afield to get some to calm my bowels, which is my hangover symptom of choice these days. It was on the way down that I found that I'd lost the card, and cancelled it when I got home. I either forgot to remove it from the machine, or stuck it in a pocket which wasn't there. I gave the food fair a miss on Sunday - especially as they were pissy about free samples on Friday.

At seven I ventured out again to The Doves for some hair of the dog, and to go up to the campus on the hill to watch Clerks II with N again, having half expected him to cancel the evning after the night before. Certainly we needn't have booked, but I didn't want to walk or take a cab or a bus and find it full. For me the film wasn't as funny the second time, and the heavy telegraphing of a number of twists wasn't an issue. We caught a bus back into town, and walked back to the Doves. Time for one more for me, as the body slowly found its poise again. Only the realisation that I still had a pile of clips to get sorted for Monday's lecture got in the way of full enjoyment - so I didn't go down to the Bell& with NW to lock it up. Probably just as well, to be honest.

There's a contradiction here. I did kinda feel that I now ought to go to graduation each year, that I owe it to the students - and not just to make sure they leave. I didn't want that closure on my PhD. I knew it was a day for parents. And now I'm closer to M's parents' ages than to M's. I'm old enough for it to be reasonable to be the father of a first year student. It's a kind of growing up, I guess. And still I got trollied.

H'mm. Maybe that was the point.