This press junket thing has now gone too far. As I wait for Ned to do his interviw at Wesleyan I wonder back to another admissions reception room with not a soul in it but a huge Four Seasons style spread of bagels, muffins, danish pastries and variously swirled cinnamon confections. There is a nicely rouched navy table cloth, three shimmering urns of coffee and three bowls of glossy brown coffee beans.

All the east coast mothers are wearing hose and skirts and shoes and carry Coach bags. The fathers sport waterproof jackets or fleeces and topsiders. Ned feels self conscious in his new blue blazer and Brooks Bros button down but he looks so handsome to me that I just stare in open-mouthed pride. We drove here from Springfield after a jolly detour through the drive-thru Starbucks and, armed with iced caramel machiatos, attacked the 91 freeway.

It is a fine day, the sky a little mackerelled, but blue peeps through which is a welcome relief from yesterday's monsoon-like rain. I am now the proud owner of a big white waterproof cloak, with the red and black Wesleyan logo on the front. Amusingly, when the rain pours down like that, you really don't care how stupid you look.

N is calmer now that he has two or three interviews under his belt. I tell him that he has so much to offer, that his world view is unique, and slowly, being here on the east coast, he is beginning to become comfortable with that. He wants to go to a school where he is challenged and I find that so commendable.

Being here, surrounded by these old red brick buildings, is very, very inspiring and it was worth yesterday's soaking.