The giraffe and the chandelier.

Our cab to the station in York stops at the traffic lights outside a 'property stylist ' specializing in inspirational interiors . The shop window has a display of plastic gnomes. Some are yellow, some orange although most are gilt. A large stylized giraffe head  holding an equally large and very sparkly chandelier completes the scene. We are left to wonder if these unusual elements are hallmarks of the owners 'unique' interior design style or are sold separately to householders wanting a gnomic makeover.

In the mid-19th century York station used to be the largest in the world. Now the railway network has contracted and the place has an aura of being two sizes too large for the off season crowds. The forecourt has a Starbucks, a Pret a Manger and a couple of small artisanal coffee outlets.  Despite the early hour all are busy with  frazzled teachers and bored looking foreign language tour groups on their way to London. On a bridge leading to the platform where the Aberdeen express is due we find a Caffe Nero with empty tables. We  order  croissants which turn out to be of a form and consistency that would surprise alarm any Frenchman. They manage to be both spongey and stodgy at one and the same time and fully warrant their 1/10 rating.

The advice about joining the Leeds train rather than one originating in London proved to be correct. We pretty much have the carriage to ourselves until we get to Durham where smartly dressed fifty and sixty something couples board the train. They're parents who have been to their offsprings graduation. Broad brimmed hats are much in evidence. There is polite conversation across the aisles and between tables. The lack of a good city centre hotel or Michelin starred restaurant is lamented. People never talk on British trains but graduation season is clearly an exception. A senior diplomat at the table across from us informs us she's writing a book on the structures of the bedouin tribes of the Najd in the 19th century. She says that Middle Eastern wars are an amalgam of local feuds and not one vast conflagration as the media would have us believe. Her husband, who has celebrated their youngest sons 2:1 in psychology with one glass of Macallan too many, dozes as far as Morpeth where he briefly wakens before falling asleep again. This time deeply.

Back here in town the last of the St Andrews graduations has finished. The weather became rather hit and miss as the week progressed but the sun made welcome, if fleeting, appearances every day. 

Now the ceremonies are done and dusted the youngsters all seem more relaxed and wear a  look on their faces that signals a combination of happiness and relief . Attention is now focused on partying the weekend away with an intensity that is reserved for those just entering their twenties. After a final lunch English parents in Range Rovers are dutifully waved off to begin their long journeys south . 

The consumption of champagne has been steadily rising during the week and will now come to a weekend crescendo.

There Is much evidence of the short back and sides haircut that is a marker of the soon to be trainee graduate.  This being Scotland the correctly worn kilt remains a feature of the processions. National customs and traits still survive in this small wind swept  town. With everyone gone this coming week will be shockingly quiet.

Pizza :https://www.gethistories.com/p/a-history-of-pizza

Aliens:https://derekthompson.substack.com/p/the-sunday-morning-post-glp1s-do

How do you describe a field or a meadow ?:https://clairelevans.substack.com/p/enter-the-meadow