Chris Dry: Daddy Cool

MY MUM still hasn't forgiven me for refusing to go to my graduation ceremony 25 years ago. I don't think it's the lack of mortarboard, gown and scroll photo that brings on that beaten puppy look whenever the subject comes up, so much as having missed me shake the hand of the Princess Royal.

So there was a three-line whip in my head when it came to No 1 son going to Holyrood to receive his Duke of Edinburgh Gold from Big Phil himself. An oblique chance to make amends, I thought, though I would have to take a precious morning off work.

Come the day, it looked as if rain would ruin the garden reception, but slowly the sun broke through. As it happened, there were several other pupils from the school present to receive awards, and the small talk started flowing among the parents as we were corralled to our places by, of all people, the boys' beaming, bearded former maths teacher.

So seldom am I seen at such events, my wife jokes that she hires me from an agency whenever I make an appearance. But that morning, the teacher proved a far worthier target for the mums' withering persiflage.

Just as well. My mind was in another place, where unread e-mails piled into an untended inbox and the voicemail light on my phone glowed like an unlanced boil.

The talk drifted on to the token celebrities in our circle, noting that Justin and Colin, the interior decorators off the telly, were present in an adjacent circle. That, and how anyone trying to take pictures of the Duke would be bundled away by MI5 heavies and sent to the Tower ... then, there he was among us.

It was overcast again, yet from the faces of the assembled you'd have thought a dazzling glow had broken through the clouds. Even I felt a childlike awe as the urbane and polished prince talked to the boys and girls. I cooed inwardly as he shared a few pleasantries with No 1 son himself. And when he turned the full beam of his effulgence on the mums and dads, for a confused moment I wondered if he wouldn't single me out for congratulation on having made it, and assure me his daughter bore me no ill will for being stood up all those years ago.

Perhaps I was a little touched by the sun. Otherwise it's hard to explain why, when their certificates were later handed out, I jumped in front of the parental cameras. Perhaps I just wanted to ensure the boy would have a memento of the momentous day — a picture of me and him with our own celebrity: the head of quality and development services in North Lanarkshire council's education department.

• This article was first published in Scotland on Sunday, August 1, 2010