Victorianitas

Let's recap.

I've passed the terrifying PhD initiation ritual. I've written eighty thousand words of passable academic prose in the guise of an Original Contribution To Research, which, in turn, met with the approval of my supervisor, the examiner from my own institution, and the examiner from somewhere else. I've passed the inquisition which calls itself a viva, even though I couldn't eat for about a week beforehand. I've fixed the fiddly little changes the examiners wanted me to fix. I've handed the final final copy and had it okayed by the relevant examiner.

And apparently, I've done all this to a sufficient standard that I can get an e-mail from Registry, this morning, inviting me to my graduation.

The last thing I want to do is annoy Registry, but damn it, Registry. When do I get to be called Doctor?

(I have a story to tell here about how I avoided deformity and blindness because somebody was an idiot about his title, but it'll wait for another day.)