Whilst The Boy spent Friday rehearsing at The Royal Albert Hall, back at the school it was the Old Boys Dinner. When I say old Boys, I'm including the old girls in that. This year was different, because as Head of House The Cat was invited. And there was a dilemma...to what extent did I need to behave myself more than usual? Fortunately she was on a table far, far away so I stayed calm and carried on. Our perspectives at the end of the evening where somewhat different. I'd had a lovely time, drinking and chatting with guys who's acquaintance I had first made some forty years ago...we groaned at the speeches, were not amused by the raucous youngsters at the back of the room but felt the evening had served us all well as we staggered off home. By contrast, the delicate nature of an eighteen-year old was exposed as she was horrified by the whole event, feeling that it was a throwback to the seventies (though I'm not sure how she knows what we were all like forty years ago). I don't think she will ever again. Fascinating.
After arriving home at about one, somewhat the worse for wear, I managed to grab five hours sleep before I had to get up and give The Boy a lift back into London again for the main event. Having dropped him off through various police barricades, I parked up and went to see The Lord Mayor's show. It's something I'd never done before, so feel that it's one of things to do before I die. The British and Pomp & Ceremony just go together, don't they? Around St Paul's it was desperately crowded, and it was quite fun to see...especially the floating chop (!)...I giggled when I saw the 'Worshipful company of Public Relations Practitioners - the only one who didn't have one of those carriers for their flag - typical PRs...and I was equalled amused by the mumbles when the new Lord Mayor went past...evidently he's a banker and I'm not the only who thinks no banker should be cheered.
The evening was spent waiting in eager anticipation of The Boy appearing at The Festival of Remembrance. It would be fair to say that it was The Cat's Mother who was shouting at the TV because it was impossible to spot him...I was more sanguine; it would have been nice, but for him it was the honour of participating that mattered most. When he returned home, he was able to point out which pixelated blurs were him.
(That is indeed him right in the middle in the khaki uniform and white flag holder)
Another early start this morning...as RSM, he was in charge of the Cadets for the school parade and remembrance service. It was a cold, sunny morning, and The Boy had his starring part. It was hard to recognise the man in uniform barking out orders to the contingent. He was every inch the soldier, very much in control, very much in command. It was impressive from the parade before the service to the laying of the wreath. He did his job outstandingly well. and The Last Post was as moving as it always is, and particularly poignant at the school, which has lost two in the war in Afghanistan.
Of course I would have loved to have taken a picture for posterity, but this was all about remembering the fallen, and I have a hearty dislike of parents taking pictures of their children at this time. Instead I waited until afterwards:
