Leaving the Department to drink wheat beer in a favourite bar with the boys, they take a biro and scribble out the terrifying "Referred to Faculty Board" heading with my candidate number underneath, and replace it with "First Class Honours".
Unable to stop giggling on the fairground rides in the rain at Graduate Ball, grabbing at my dress to stop my breasts from overflowing and knowing the sparkly plastic seats will bruise my ribs badly.
Dancing to live jazz in AM's front room, an evening I will hold dear forever.
Handing my handbag to TH in the middle of a country estate lawn so that I can tighten Miss McG's navy corset, again at Grad Ball, again in the rain, and smiling drunkenly as I know the three of us are finding this just a little bit thrilling.
Listening to more live jazz on the steps of the Music Department in the centre of the city, hearing friends play improvised solos for the last time.
A mark of 75 for my dissertation, with subsequent pangs of longing for an MA and PhD.
Realisation that I am in the UK for the sum total of two weeks this summer.
Many more. Very tired. Very happy.
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