06:15 Notice my shirt is missing one crucial element: buttons or cufflinks. With no time to find said items, I sellotape my shirt cuffs together with Rymans’ finest 99p tape. Leave tape behind.
06:27 Head to the subway, dragging my girlfriend Laura with my right arm while she attempts to decrease my walking speed from panicky haste to standard urban saunter.
06:35 Arrive on subway platform to find a fault on the outer circle line before the first train engine has even been turned on. Clench my toes, grit my teeth, and hurl obscenities at invisible engineers.
06:50 Get on train. Look at watch nine hundred times.
07:05 Drag Laura towards bus station. Note the disproportion in our leg sizes and get blasted for being too tall. Have a brief argumental blow-up on Buchanan Street before resuming our walk.
07:14 Buy a Mars bar.
07:20 Get on the bus to Edinburgh. Mellow down and resume the anxiety trance. Read an obscure absurdist text that doesn’t help unknot the tension ropes. Eat half the Mars bar.
09:00 Meet my sister Kathleen at Usher Hall. Discuss safety when crossing the road in pairs: if nothing is coming along the small road you intend to cross, but the neighbouring road looks busy, is it all right to cross at red? If others are crossing is this not a sign of safety? Lose argument.
09:03 Go into the wrong door.
09:10 Leave my companions and get robed up.
09:13 Ask my companions to return when I realise the sellotape has not held my cufflinks together. My sister is forced to gobble down her bacon roll while I stand outside like a lemon holding my coat.
09:25 Send my companions off to buy a roll of sellotape.
09:35 Companions return with tape and Laura bites off several strands to keep the shirt sleeves together. I keep the tape in my trouser pocket in case the strands don’t hold for the duration.
10:00 Head inside to graduate with my dangerously talented writing cohorts.
11:43 Graduate. (See picture). Hold cuffs up to prevent the tape snapping off while shaking the chancellor’s hand. (See picture).
12:30 Dick around in the corridors getting squashed and jostled and shunted. Make a choice and ditch the robes. Meet someone who has graduated with a degree in television. We voice our disgust at not receiving a red cylinder with our degree certificates before departing forever.
12: 45 Get out of there. Get on a bus to Craighouse campus.
13:05 Ditch the shirt and tie on the top deck for a fetching black T-shirt ensemble.
13:15 Arrive at the ceremony. Drink two glasses of orange, nudge through the sea of parents and unknowns, endure boredom. Eat a few salmon and prawn canapés and one that looks like a squid eye.
13:45 Fail to spot most of my co-students, then ditch the scene. Discover a squished Mars bar in my coat pocket lining.
14:00 Sit on a bench. Walk around the campus one last time. Close the book with tearful farewells.