And so Mr Smooth's appearance took her by surprise. He seemed a little distracted, and muttered about The Prince phoning this morning to announce that he would, after all, be attending his son's graduation, and wished to cap him. This afternoon.
The Prince, it must be noted, does not travel alone. This is not a question of merely squeezing in another chair into Jammie Hall. The Prince, like every other politician, is surrounded by an army of MIBs. The "Fewer Cars on Campus" moves likewise run headfirst into his mile-long cavalcade, and media coverage needs to be rather more than a single Nostril Photographer. All of which needed to be sorted at very short notice, and, judging by the relatively unfurrowed state of Mr Smooth's brow, had been.
Carnivorous Cow had had no idea that The Prince had a son enrolled here. She imagined that The Prince's children would be rather older, older perhaps than the princes she had taught, who would have been cousins of this Prince. She wondered if The Prince was happy that his son was studying here, rather than at the institution that bore his name, or the one of which he was the Chancellor, or one closer to home.
But the musings were interrupted by more pressing matters - the coffee cup was hot, and the chocolate chip muffin cries deafening - so she completed her purchase at the coffee outlet and returned to her office. Besides which, she had no desire to be run over by a seething cavalcade, unable to find parking on Campus.