Held Together With Spit And A Prayer.

So, I’m back in bonny Bangor and pretty much recovered from my exploits in Scotland last weekend. First off, it was great to see old friends again: Big Chris, Champion Kev and his good friend Lesley. It was lovely hanging out in my old stomping ground of Dundee, to observe how the city has changed (for the better) and added new shops, restaurants and other cooler-than-ice-cool bars for the up-and-coming trendies – of which there are so many in Dundee.

Of course, there is the small matter of my Viva, which, praise God, couldn’t have gone much better.

It’s weird to think that after months and months of agony and angst, hard work and far-too-late late nights, writing and rewriting, heartache and disappointment, not to mention barrels full of blood, sweat and tears, that it call could be resolved in a few minutes shy of two hours.

Thankfully, the people chosen as my examiners were ideal. They were really nice and encouraging and were not – as is often the case with poncey academics – there to score points off one another and appear smart. They were really kind, asking me questions that were fair and responding with murmurs of “Hmm… that’s interesting” when I finished rambling for sentence after sentence.

It all turned out better than I could have hoped. I had been so worried about the moment for so long that I couldn’t believe it when the convener said, “Well, we are all in agreement that we feel that you deserve to be awarded a doctorate.”

Further, there are no rewrites or revisions. They said that my submission was a very “clean” copy, which apparently is academic speak for no major errors. Just a handful of typos and silly Microsoft Word-related mistakes.

Phew, I said to myself. I don’t have to go back to Ireland with my tail (and my thesis) between my legs, and proclaim myself a total ass-hat.

It was still fairly rigorous, however, and about three quarters of the way through I did feel as if my brain was going to melt out of my ears.

Thankfully, it did end, and the three examiners, myself and my supervisor all headed out for drinks in the local arts centre, which was all very swish. They feasted on lagers and martinis and gin-and-tonics, and I partook of ginger beer.

After that, Chris, Kev and Lesley came down and more ginger beers arrived. We chatted and chatted and laughed and reminisced about the years gone by. Chris and Kev are doctors too, you see, so you can imagine that the conversation was rather arsey.

It was quite bittersweet, thinking about friends who aren’t around any more, and times which we can never possibly recapture, but it was nice too, and warm and familiar and pretty special.

That night, after we stuffed ourselves at a local restaurant then partook of yet more ginger beers (well, I did), Chris and I walked the one hour plus journey to his house on the edge of the city. It was the middle of the night, but still warm, so I wore only a t-shirt. The streets were pretty much empty, so it did feel as if we were passing through a ghost town, but the sky was wide and open and full of stars.

With all of my thesis writing behind me, it did feel as if a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders. Even now, nearly a week later, I still cannot really believe it.