With the last piece of furniture – at least for the moment – now delivered, I’ve been pressing ahead with the general project of ‘sorting things out.’ Which means, in practice, filing and chucking out. While it takes me a considerable time to build up speed in these activities, neither is without its rewards.
One completely random thing I came across today is the visitors’ guidebook for my degree ceremony, more than a decade ago. While I can remember the day at least reasonably clearly, none of it made any sense at the time since the evidently important bits were conducted in Latin. Mix in some genuinely arcane tradition – grabbing a finger and being led forward by it? – and it was all delightfully baffling. Now that I’ve actually read the accompanying notes, however, it starts to make a semblance of sense.
In the same pile of papers was my degree certificate, which makes up for the florid extravagance of the ceremony by being the least flowery formal document I think I’ve ever seen. It’s so plain, it’s not even vaguely convincing. Mercifully, I’ve never had to produce it. I doubt anyone would believe it.