Tuesday was graduation day for me, despite the fact that I finished my Goldsmiths MA over a year ago. But all went without a hitch: digital cameras were wielded, the chancellor was charmingly Dumbledore-like (despite baldness and lack of beard) and gowns were returned largely unripped.
After the ceremony, it was all out to the field out the back to tussle over canapés, meet parents and help selves to glasses of free wine. Me and Darren went over to say hello to ex-Blur guitarist Graham Coxon, a previous alumni of the College who was there getting an honourary degree. Bizarrely, the three of us then chatted as if we all knew each other quite well. No small talk needed when you know exactly what it is they do for a living and how they beat their alcohol problem.
Coxo was very nice. I asked what kind of privileges you get with an honourary degree. "They gave me a folder of stuff I'm supposed to read," he said vaguely. Left is a picture of him desperately trying to get the annoying woman to leave him alone, so he can continue his glorious conversation with us.
Well, then the booze ran out and the place emptied out pretty quickly. Death of a Party all right. So we went to a pub up the road in New Cross. Then we went to a pub in Greenwich. Then to a restaurant. Then to a rather hideous bar off Leicester Square that played disgracefully cheesy music and charged far too much for a beer. It was amazing.