Next week I shall be travelling to Bristol to attend my eldest daughter’s graduation. I mean, how on earth did that happen? Was it that long ago that I left hospital holding this little bundle of cells in my arms full of both fear and love? I guess it was – just one glance in the mirror can show me that.
I know that when children go to university often parents talk of how they have left home, but the truth is that college is not full time in any sense of the word. Students seem to have almost as much time on holiday as they do attending lectures. Nice life if you have the chance.
It is only when our children start to work, if indeed they are lucky enough to find a job, that they are off into the big bad world. That’s when they have to learn to only spend what they earn, pay council tax and discover that all their holidays have to be fitted into five weeks.
On top of that there’s the knowledge that there are only two days a week for lounging about on the sofa, because we all know that’s what most students do for the majority of their time.
So my daughter has found some work and located a flat in London. I sort of knew that she would end up there, what with it not only being the place of her birth but also the hub of all things media which is the field where she sees her future.
Of course, by the time she has paid her rent and travel I have a feeling that baked beans on toast will be a luxury. Money really doesn’t go far in the big smoke.
So when she gets up on stage in her gown I shall be so proud although I suspect that the tears in my eyes might not just be caused by delight.