Perran and Carenza have taken their revision outside. The last person I saw in our garden had a carrot for a nose and pieces of coal for buttons.
I marvel at the twins’ concentration – there are plenty of distractions. After the long icy start to the year, spring is arriving all at once, like one of those speeded up time-lapse sequences in a David Attenborough film. Daffodils and tulips are blooming simultaneously and there’s a froth of blossom on the Mirabelle tree.
And it’s noisy – the birds are making up for lost time, squabbling with rivals and trilling to attract a mate. How on earth can Perran and Carenza focus through this cacophony? Bumble bees are zooming ponderously about and frogs are croaking happily in the pond. In the background there is a symphony of distant lawn-mowers and hedge trimmers. But the twins’ heads remain bent over their papers.
I decide to take them out a cup of tea to reward their diligence. As I approach, Carenza asks Perran,
“What do you think of this big funeral for Maggie T then?”
“Ridiculous,” he replies.
Hmmm. They are reading the Sunday papers, not revising at all.
But they’re right about Margaret Thatcher. I give them their tea and go to fetch biscuits for them.