At the beginning of term, we dropped Pascoe off in his student house. I sighed at the jumble in his bedroom. However, he had worked valiantly over Christmas and had completed several PhD applications. Surely more important than a tidy room. But there was something staring at me with glassy eyes – hanging on his wardrobe was a large, shaggy gorilla suit.
“I borrowed that for a Christmas party.”
A couple of days ago, I rang to ask if he had any PhD interviews.
“Yep. Two of them tomorrow.”
They were both Scottish Universities.
“The first at 2pm, the second at 4pm.”
My brain whirs.
“Darling, you’re never going to make it.”
“No, no, Mum,” in the friendly-yet-patronising tone one adopts with one’s geriatric mother, “They’re Skype interviews. We talk over the computer.”
“Okay, okay, I understand Skype.”
The next day at 2pm, I say a little prayer for his interview. They won’t see the junk on his floor on Skype as the webcam tilts upwards. All they’ll be able to see is his wardrobe and the…..gorilla suit!
Is there time to ring him before his interview? No.
An hour and a half later I ring him.
“Um, you might want to move your gorilla suit before the next interview. “
“Don’t be silly, Mum, I’ve booked a nice smart meeting room on campus.”