Since only two universities in the country offer this course, I was chuffed to be invited for tests and interview and prepared hard –not easy as, just before the interview, Pascoe, my eldest son, turned twenty-one and my husband fifty and we had a giant party at our house with a ska punk band (Lead Shot Hazard http://www.facebook.com/LeadShotHazard – brilliant), amateur fireworks (also a hazard). Not to mention me making acres of quiche and enough humus to drown a sheep.
I almost succeeded in forgetting about the result over Christmas. Only when we were driving back from visiting the Northumbrian grandparents, on a wet night, did it occur to me that today was the vital date. Surreptitiously, I checked my mobile. An email announced something had changed on UCAS. I opened the website. Everything was microscopic on my screen. Perran asked me why I was swearing.
I explained. In no time, Pascoe had fixed up my phone as a mobile wi-fi hotspot and connected a laptop to it.
“Now, Mum, what’s your ID and password for UCAS? Mum? You have got it haven’t you?”
To be continued