The lecture hall is sparsely attended, but the first person we see is a historian friend of mine, tucking into a croissant. My son is outraged. "How come you wouldn't even let me into the hall with an empty bag, when he's actually eating?" He asks the woman. "Because he is a professional academic, not a fifteen-year-old boy," she responds rather snottily.
I sigh inwardly, realising that the whole fuss is kind of ridiculous, but also feeling that I should stand up for my son. I become gloomily embroiled in the imbroglio.