Heels

Part of the qualifications for getting a degree should surely be the power to pass on information.

Luckily for me Carenza has gained this skill.

For, on Saturday, it was her graduation, the type of event where one wears a hat and high heels (or at least the Mums do, though not most of the Dads).

In the end, there were very few hats although Will did mention he’d seen some unusual “fascinators”.  I explained to him that these were mortar boards.

Shoes, however, were de rigeur and there was a fair sprinkling of vertiginous heels.

And this is where the bit about passing on information comes in.

Once robed up, the graduands of St Hugh’s process around a mile to the Sheldonian Theatre where the ceremony takes place.

They process accompanied by friends and family.

In their heels.

It seemed that not all the proud Mums had been expecting this and by the time we reached the Sheldonian, not all the tears were tears of sentiment.

Ironically, within the Sheldonian, the junior proctors who were conducting the ceremony were dashing young women in shiny black high heels and sashayed up and down the aisle as if it were a catwalk.  Presumably neither of them had had to walk quite such a long way to the ceremony.

My flat sandals were dowdy by comparison, but at least when it was time to walk back to lovely the reception at St Hugh’s, I was ready!