Dear Reader,

This afternoon I was busy thinking in my office when I heard a sound in the corridor outside.

I flung open my office door.

I flung open my second office door.*

An unsightly clump of postgraduates were clinging together, making their usual gargling sounds. When they saw me, they tore their hair and gestured towards the sign on their common room door.

Dear Reader.

It is fortunate I had my box-brownie to hand so that I can now share with you what I saw.



* Indeed, that’s right, dear Reader. Not for me one of those flimsy single doors indicative of lowly status and absence of ambition through which the cries gerundial declensions of students can be heard. My rooms have a inner door, and and outer door, made of the finest unsustainable hardwood.


2 thoughts on “The Postgraduates are Inconsolable

  1. So good of you to post, dear Ada, but your little pixels are having trouble filtering through here to the far reaches of Ireland – I sometimes suspect that the broadband wireless signal is adversely affected by the three (3) stout mahogany doors that lead to my office.

    I shall try your post again tomorrow. It would be such a shame if I couldn’t read it when your elephant’s foot waste-paper bin is full of crossed-out, worried drafts.

    1. I do so hope the pixels are beaming through loud and clear this morning, dear Mise, now that you have thrown wide the doors to your bijou hobbit-hole and given the whole place its annual airing. Do let me know if they are unable to get through any lingering fust, and I shall re-send in morse code, by telegraph.

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