Bayonne, May 2017.
Today I met with AP in his office. The small kind of office you’d expect of any academic: wall to wall of books—all distractingly relevant to a student of my inclinations—a couple of tea-stained mugs, the bland, coarse carpet that decorates most 1960s English universities. I find such spaces deceptively homely. For the first half an hour we discussed my research. A stimulating exchange, in which almost all intellectual threads were were gently prised apart before being sown back together with tailored precision. Afterwards, the conversation turned more personal and we discussed a little about my future and the paths available to me after my masters. Conversely, little was clearer after this chat than when I had entered his sanctuary, and in fact now I left with even more available routes than I had previously thought possible. Although perhaps this was the point.