Just in Tim

I had to furtle in my crimson-backed National Record of Achievement for my education certificates, required for proceeding with my Mozambique work permit application. The process sounds unnecessarily bureaucratic. Academic transcripts are demanded and I've just about got all electronic assignments from my MSc course but no earlier. People older than me applying to work in Mozambique have had to get official confirmation from their university departments that they studied during the pre-digital era.

Not sure which one normally acts more dynamically, but I may need both to in the coming months: a university admin office in the UK or the Mozambican Ministry of Labour. A rocky administrative road lies ahead.

I've definitely become more gobby and chaotic in adulthood. 'Robert is a conscientious pupil', was a phrase penned by teachers on various reports, along with comments about being a joy to teach and possessing a cheerful demeanour. Nowadays in a classroom I feel I'd likely be disruptive if someone misused a pronoun on a child identifying as non-binary. Sometimes it is interesting to think about being transplanted back to one's school days to put the nasty characters in their place, which as adults we're much more well equipped to do. Although I remember speaking up for bullied kids sometimes, it's all too easy to merge into the background to avoid any negative attention.

For a few days Tim, Clare and I had been on the cusp of arranging a meet-up, but plans were tentative until Clare had dealt with a particularly bad bout of diarrhoea in her baby. I'm pleased to say we managed to meet after work in London for burgers and cocktails. It was great fun. Tim waited with me at Kings Cross, dangerously here on the train that was to spirit me back to Cambridge, with no stops. If there's anyone in this world who would get carried away in a conversation and end up inadvertently remaining on the train as it pulled off, it's this man. Once he was travelling from Manchester to meet us at a party in Stoke but missed the stop and had to get off in Milton Keynes, a mere 110 miles away.

With a few minutes to spare he did alight with his Coop bag containing an office printer (never figured out why) and headed back towards Clapham. Two utterly good eggs with whom to spend an evening.