I tiptoe through the house as a brooding silence rolls down
like gothic mist from the bedrooms. My
twins are writing their personal statements.
Perran is trying delicately to phrase the semi-achievement of
Silver Duke of Edinburgh where he completed a year of ballet and of saxophone
and acted as music librarian for his school, but never submitted the paperwork
to prove any of these. Carenza is trying
to judge whether her successful feminist campaign to have some of the school
Houses named after women will count for or against her.
But hardest of all is to demonstrate your subject CV. As a mathematician and philosopher, what is
Perran to say – “When my Mum tells me off for not listening to her, that is when I am thinking most deeply”. Carenza, wishing to study history, has been volunteering
at the museum. The fact that this has
mainly involved painting walls and shifting boxes will surely not matter – in a
museum you just absorb history through your skin, don’t you? At the same time, at school, they are being
alert, attentive, diligent and almost manically polite – let’s hope their
tutors predict them some good A2 grades.
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