The world from my window

I stood at the side of the stage. A woman in a gown a bit like mine and a very cheery face whispered: 'Don't worry, you'll be fine.' And then my name was read out, there was applause and I walked out across to the pro-vice chancellor of The Open University. He congratulated me as he shook my hand. 'Was it an enjoyable experience?' he said. 'Fantastic,' I said. 'What next?' 'I think I'm going to cry.' 'Ah, best not,' he said, as he squeezed my shoulder and sent me on my way. There, in the audience, was my sister, my brother-in-law, my parents, my friend Pelly and Number One Son. And there in the aisle to greet me, camera in hand, was Mr Grigg. 'I'm so proud of you,' he said. 'Well done.' And that nearly set me off again. The audience fanned themselves with the OU programme, which gave details of the honorary degrees being conferred this year. Among the recipients are physicist, tel...

I am home five minutes and I find I have to alter my cast list. Not only is my son no longer a university student, he is a very smart graduate. His degree ceremony was one of the proudest moments of my life. Hundreds of Harry Potter cloaks and a great hall straight out of Hogwarts, just yards from where Number One son studied environmental geoscience at Bristol University. The organ played Bach and the masters in their assorted coloured cloaks and hats took to the stage dresses as Dumbledore and Co. Back in the village, however, something is not quite right. My morning dog walks are usually punctuated by the sound of Russell's Crow across the valley, cocka-doodle-dooing. But not any longer. While I was away, the noisy blighter discovered the invisibility cloak. He is no more. He is a dead bird. He has gone to meet his maker. The end was short and sweet, I am reliably informed. And he went very well with a glass of red wine, apparently. Which is a relief, really, because an a...