Reflected Glory.

Four days after my daughter was offered a place to read English at Cambridge, I’m still almost tearful with pride. Though pride, even of the most chest-puffing variety, doesn’t come close to describing how I feel. I’d love to claim some sort of credit but I can’t. Although I write for a living, I was never a great student of English literature. I haven’t even read Wuthering Heights. Though I have listened to it many, many times.