At the weekend Mrs M and I visited York St John’s University with our youngest daughter. We spent most of Saturday walking the halls and courtyards feeling both a sense of pride and excitement for our little girl.

She starts uni in just a few days’ time, and this marks a new season for my wife and I, as we will be alone in our home for the first time in 25 years.

We have had occasional nights where all the girls had gone out, but these seem to have been few and far between and, quite honestly, I cannot remember too many times of complete peace and quiet.

Still, we face this new era with a mixture of both passion and melancholy. Our little girls have all grown up.

I was concerned that when this happens we would find nothing to talk about, so suggested to my wife that perhaps we should stop talking for a few weeks prior, so that when the day came we would still have some subjects to discuss. This was not accepted by the household committee of one, and so we will just have to take our chances.

The university tour brought a mixture of emotions and memories for both of us, we spent the lunchtime talking about when the girls were younger.

It seemed that there was a time when we were fully-engaged with every aspect of our daughter’s education process. From parents’ evenings to carol services, summer fairs, and prize-giving evenings, we arranged our lives to ensure maximum participation.

Then there came a period of educational stillness as, one by one, the girls entered the strange and parent-resistant days of high school.

During this time, you are lucky if you get even the slightest indication of the requirement of parental involvement.

Not that the schools are not welcoming, but the offspring find ingenious ways of ensuring that invitations arrive home but stay hidden until the date has passed and it’s too late to respond. It is as if they become ashamed of you. Can’t think why.

During our visit to York, I glanced around at the other parents and students, and what struck me was how all parents have an instinctive ability to embarrass their children.

It seems that dads are not really supposed to ask questions when the tour guide gives opportunity, and mums are not really allowed to take photographs of a corner of the campus.

It all seemed like the perfect mixture of primary school and secondary school as our involvement was both welcomed and shunned at the same time.

I looked at my wife and was about to offer this thought, when I decided to save it for a future moment of silence. It seemed for the best.