There was so much going on in the corridors that it took a long time to get everyone into the room and the main characters around the table for the PhD supervision. The student had become so paranoid that she had invited a whole gang of witnesses to the meeting. She managed to do this quite subtly, saying that these were friends of hers just looking for somewhere to work quietly. They wouldn’t disturb us from another table at the end of the room. I had strong suspicions that at least one of them would be recording the conversation to use later as evidence of an illicit meeting during a period of suspended study.
There were others who needed to be chased from the room before we had to get down to business: a bunch of staff who were there for a chit chat. One gave IMcG a peck on the cheek and congratulated him on his PhD (several years late).
All conversation came to an abrupt halt when a brown and white wolf wandered into the room. He picked me out to sniff, clearly because I was the most terrified person there. Eventually I calmed down enough to stroke him. Then he lay under the piano while a woman in Victorian dress played a song about wolves.
Afterwards we drove north to coast. We stopped off at Whitby for a paddle. It took me a long time to do up my black sandals because I had put on so much weight and the Velcro could barely stretch across my chubby feet. XYZ, in contrast, insisted on wearing dress shoes on the beach.
I met a woman on the promenade at Whitby who boasted that her aunt had been awarded a knighthood for services to mental health. Although she had dementia, she was well-known for coordinating local ambulance services, and was a champion stretcher-thrower. It was for this that she had been honoured.