Last weekend I returned home to Scotland for graduation. My Mum's graduation! After several years of a fair bit of strife, by Mum can now be called a
Master of Science Master of the Universe - no small deal. The ceremony at Edinburgh's Usher Hall was followed by a reception at the top of one of the city's seven hills, at Craighouse, where a spectacular old academic hall was the backdrop for the reception. I was completely mesmerised by the interior, in fact I was rather mesmerised by everything: the nostalgia of returning home to arguably one of the most beautiful cities in the world, the perfect 'Northern Light' - that hung purple-blue and ethereal over us and the fast-russetting leaves. And the city itself- it too hanging, as if suspended between its seven hills, with gothic spires of varying reaches marking out memoried haunts of mine across town.
Now that my Mum is officially a
Master of Science Master of the Universe, I feel it's high time she was given a platform on this old blog. Not just because she is responsible for a few of the photos, and the correction of (*cough* very few) spelling and grammatical errors, when I occasionally get an email including the phrase 'by the way, its hebdomadaire with an a' or 'THEY're, remember? If you want to be a journalist...' Then there are logistical favours, seeing as I gave up learning to drive at 18 after I failed my test the first time, and yes, as it turns out, you can't go everywhere on the bus, especially not with 3 suitcases of furs and hats, a sewing machine and a papier maché elephant sculpture. And she won't want to forget the 70kg hardwood hippo sculptures that had to carried out of my Uni halls either. Then there's the huge acts of self-sacrifice, the smallest perhaps being the sacrifice of said Master of the Universe degree work to devote a ridiculous amount of time to organising my outrageously ostentatious, D-I-Y bollywood themed 21st birthday party this summer. There was a fair bit of time spent driving (thank you!), but also quite a bit spent covered in scratches, nettles, and later mud, as you single handedly complied with my plans to remodel the whole garden in the name of a party. And then there are the things that no amount of expensive education, work experience placements in different industries, or documentaries can teach me. Only my Mum can diagnose my illness from a different country, or tell me where to find the gas meter, or always have change for the bus when I never do, or remind me to wear my retainer when she's seen a facebook photo where my teeth are getting a bit squiffy, or teach me a few simple recipes which will always impress boys, and will actually get out of bed and come running to the kitchen in the middle of the night when I scream "Oh god! My pavlova mix! It's all sloppy, quick! HELP ME, HELP ME!'
So to my Mum, who I know will be reading this (and checking for grammatical errors), congratulations on your degree, lord knows I'm proud. You really are Master of the Universe. And to everyone else, think about how amazing your Mum is, and then tell her. And then you can join Audrey and I's 'Amazing Babe Mom Club'.
My Mum, looking disgracefully young, working a classic Eight London blogger pose.