Today’s the day the teddy bears leave the picnic. Well ok, the EU has never been a picnic, but Boris must be a direct descendant of Paddington. Even with a vastly reduced news staff, the BBC is inevitably full of the B word. Don’t know about you, but it’s all feeling a bit of a damp squib after the years of wrangling. Maybe it will be more exciting at the end of the year?
I met a really interesting lady yesterday. Our respective children were attending Eastbourne College to audition for Drama and Music Scholarships and we ended up going to Barley Sugar (my favourite coffee emporium) for a lengthy chat over a flat white. Early in the conversation it transpired she is a Conductor; not one that shouts “any more fares please”, but the kind that stands on a podium and waves frantically at a bunch of talented people making weird looking instruments produce pleasing sounds. Her speciality is turning large groups of soloists into a cohesive vocal ensemble, which she now does to a very high level. I am always instantly impressed with anyone who can make beautiful music, as I have spent so much of my life trying and failing miserably. Emma (that is her name) has a Masters from Cambridge in some high-powered psychology type thing, so she also specialises in helping (often very senior) people understand their inner selves; at least I think that’s what she said. In the course of a broad discussion about everything from school bus transportation to local cheeses, we alighted upon the subject of evil gameboys and their ilk. She explained that when teenagers get lost in the unreal world of gaming they become the masters, they are in charge and make all the decisions. Hence, when they come off and return to reality they are still wired as rulers of all they survey. This was a light bulb moment. It fits Master Oliver’s moods to a tee and probably explains why his behaviour can be quite disruptive at school. Not just his come to that. In the surreal world of gaming we have unleashed a monster. The genie is out of the bottle and is going to be very hard to put back. It totally explains his sense of “right” and “entitlement”, that has confused and irritated me for so long. Thank you, Emma. (You forgot to give me the remedy prescription!)
We have to wait until 14th February to know whether our little darlings have found scholastic favour with the examining thespians here. Will a Valentine’s Card pop through the letterbox with a heart-shaped thumbs up or will they all be summoned to the stage and dismissed, Ant and Dec style, until only the top three remain? It will be so disappointing if it’s just an email saying “we’re sorry to inform you that your daughter, who performed most impressively, has not been granted a scholarship to Eastbourne College, but we wish her all the best in the future”.
At least it’ll be a cut and dried decision. We don’t have to negotiate with Jean Claude Juncker or Michel Barnier. It bothers me it’s the Year of the Rat.
ADayInTheStrifeOf 