Pointy hats

DESPITE what Mrs H says, they are pointy hats.
I got to wear one, but not for long. It had to go back to its rightful place, on the head of Older Daughter, whose graduation ceremony took place in Bristol Cathedral yesterday.
She's in this picture, so it's a 'Where's Wally' quest if you want to find her.

She went up and received the acknowledgement of someone called the Pro Chancellor. I was pleased that they hadn't sent an amateur one, but it was gently pointed out that that was not what it meant.
Then we drank champagne and ate caramel shortbreads in a marquee, and mingled with the rest of the graduates and their parents who, like us, were absolutely bursting with pride.
It seems such a short time since she was a baby in a peach blanket; since she was a bridesmaid in a purple dress and fell asleep on my shoulder during the disco; since she threw her shoes at the wall and shouted and hated her parents, and now she's a Bachelor of Science with the whole world at her feet.
I didn't cry, but it was close.
Her sister is close behind her, training to be a teacher and practising with children at a tiny backstreet school in Bristol, hemmed in by pubs and houses and little factories. On the wall of her student flat is a hand drawn picture from one of the children in her class. It says "Thank you Miss Henderson".
When I saw that I didn't cry again, but again it was close.