A Heap of Broken Images

Tags

Alex Salmond, Andy Murray, Bradshaw's Guide, David Dinnie, Edinburgh Military Tattoo, Eurozone, Fifty Shades of Grey, Forth Rail Bridge, Highland games, Iron Brew, Isaac, Lysistrata, Merlot, Michael Portillo, Neil Oliver, New Orleans, Only Connect, Patrick Moore, Perlmutter, Scotland the Brave, The Sun, The Waste Land, Togo, Top Secret, University Challenge, Victoria Coren

Bank Holiday Monday

Someone sent me an attachment this morning which was headed Fifty Shades of Grey for Men.  It was a paint chart.  There is nothing remotely sexual about Elephant’s Breath, I think.

Tropical storm Isaac is heading for New Orleans on the 7^th anniversary of Katrina’s cataclysm.

The geographical feature that is characterised by cataclysm is deluge and not earthquake, as one panellist on University Challenge mistook tonight.

It was an evening of quizzes, with the return of a slightly more overweight Victoria Coren on Only Connect. Watching this programme, I feel like a character in The Waste Land:

I can connect

Nothing with nothing..

Victoria is like Madame Sosostris, the wisest woman in Europe, with a wicked pack of cards.  She apparently loves poker.  She stands by The Wall which is a heap of broken images and :

 uncorseted, her friendly bust

 Gives promise of pneumatic bliss.

I wish that she had retained the Greek letters of the alphabet on the question choice blocks.  These were replaced through attacks on elitism.  Now, if the women of Togo read The Lysistrata, then why the general dumbing down in this country?  After all, the substituted hieroglyphics are just as refined, though pictorially evident, I suppose.  My favourite is horned viper.

Curiously, Victoria’s dresses are becoming tighter and tighter and her fantasies more curious too- she admitted to a desire to find a naked Michael Portillo in her dressing room, seated on a case of Merlot.  The Merlot you could understand… Personally, I would prefer to read Bradshaw through, cover to cover, in a single sitting.  Still, there’s nowt so queer as fowk.

The Edinburgh Military Tattoo was next and the best bit was the drumming cohort from Switzerland, Top Secret.  I looked carefully but our friend, Roger, was not of their number. The second best bit was the mass formation for Scotland the Brave. You can keep all thon fancy film scorey type tunes and I think Alex Salmond would have been pretty annoyed at them playing There’ll Always be an England, unless it conveyed the proviso:  doon there and no’ up here.

The whole evening was devoted to tartan programmes about Highland Games all over the world, in places such as North Carolina. There are more games held worldwide than in Scotia itself.

The only interesting programme was Horizon with its explanation of the infinite expansion of the universe. If Scotland keeps expanding exponentially then it should be good for Pitlochry looms and kiltmakers in general.  As a nation it will grow vaster than empires and more slow, no probably even faster.  However, the programme stressed that we were all in this together and could not go it alone, as multiple galaxies are swallowed.  So, Alex, we need to remain united so that we can fight all the dark matter in the Eurozone and in other global economies together.

A programme on the Highland Games showcased David Dinnie who had been the world’s most renowned athlete in times gone by.  Women used to faint away at the sight of his torso, in much the same way as they do now when they see pictures in The Sun of every Tom, Dick and Harry letting their hair down. (Not.)  Leave the hair business to Neil Oliver, I say.

Anyway, Dinnie used to endorse Iron Brew, as I think it was spelled back then- (Scotland’s other national beverage- made frae girders.)  He looked as if he had licked the Forth Rail Bridge.  Maybe a wee taste of A G Barr’s fizzy drink’s 0.002% ammonium ferric citrate was what Andy Murray had doped himself on before winning Olympic gold.  Aye, Alex Salmond, ye can take the man oot o’ Scotland, but ye cannae tak’ the iron oot o’ his soul.

Alba gu brath!

Tuesday 28^th

My scientific observations seem to be confirming Professor Perlmutter’s Nobel prizewinning research about exponential expansion of the Universe.  I am quite taken with cosmology now.  I noticed a very large, docile dog on a lead at the local Lavender café.  It was very like a lurcher, but much larger.  I asked its owner what breed it was and she said, A fat greyhound.  Also there are all these sightings of lions in Clacton-on-Sea etc which turn out to be large feral cats.  Some can be four foot in length so you could be mistaken for thinking that they are pumas, especially if you have been on the old Merlot for the evening.  Stick to Irn- Bru, I say.  It puts hairs on your chest and dampens down the Portillo fantasies.

Anyway, everything is becoming larger- Patrick Moore, Victoria Coren and the whole Universe.  No wonder I can’t get into my favourite jeans.

© Candia Dixon Stuart and Candiacomesclean.wordpress.com, 2012

Not Bovvered

Tags

Anglo the Musical, Anglo-Irish bank, Bargain Hunt, Canada geese, Danny Boyle, David Barby, David Cameron, Elysian Quartet, FT, House of Lords, House of Lords Reform, Ian McEwan, Lysistrata, Mastermind, MI5, Nick Clegg, Pointless, Stockhausen, Togo

Saturday, 25^th August

Pouring.  Stayed in and read Lunch with the FT.  Ian McEwan has brought out a new book, so he was being wined and dined. On a previous occasion, he remarked, he married his interviewer.  No pressure then.  He explained that he had once applied for a job with MI5, online, and ended up by having to answer questions on the migratory patterns of Canada Geese.  I became over-excited as this is a topic I have mentioned before in my blog and so I might have been in with a chance. It is another topic useful for Pointless or Mastermind general knowledge section.

(I really must apply to be a contestant soon.  Once I met David Barby, entirely by accident, I hasten to add, and he commented that I would be good on Bargain Hunt, but I told him that I thought the mandatory fleeces were a bit last century.)

The frequency of spotting helicopters in the skies might not have been anything to do with Prince William after all.  It might have had everything to do with rehearsals for Stockhausen’s Mittwoch aus Licht, even if I hadn’t necessarily only seen them on a Wednesday.

We have had to wait seventeen years for a full premiere.  Four members of The Elysian Quartet- well, there would be four in a quartet, wouldn’t there?-went up singly, in separate helicopters, and made a scraping noise which was beamed down to four screens at ground level.  Nine soloists played on trapezes.  There were long periods of silence and nothingness which puzzled the audience, just as had been a feature of the Olympic ceremonies.  It was meant to be an outpouring of the ego on an intergalactic scale.  So, something in common with Danny Boyle productions, then?

Remaining on the musical theme, I see that Dublin theatregoers are buying tickets for Anglo: the Musical, which is about the Anglo-Irish Bank and its role in boom and bust.  The tagline is: because all it takes is a few muppets to screw an entire country.  We have to wait till November for the opening, and I expect they will be able to add a few more song and dances numbers to the show by then.

I see that women in Togo are denying their men sexual favours, in order to encourage reform.  Maybe they read the Lysistrata over there.  Already Nick Clegg is being inspired and is refusing to get into bed with David Cameron, metaphorically speaking, unless he is granted House of Lords reform.  Unfortunately, Cameron is so not bovvered.

© Candia Dixon Stuart and Candiacomesclean.wordpress.com, 2012

Bears of Very Little Brain

Tags

Alexander Beetle, Alice in Wonderland, All Shall have Prizes, Christopher Robin, Cottleston Pie, Dr Giles Fraser, Eeyore, genealogy, Jesus, John Tyerman Williams, Malt extract, Pooh and the Philosophers, Popper, Prince Harry, Prince William, St Paul’s Cathedral, St Swithun's Day, The Prodigal Son, The Queen, Thought for the Day, Tractatus, Winnie-the-Pooh, Wittgenstein

Thursday

Dr Giles Fraser, former Canon Chancellor to St Paul’s Cathedral was on Thought for the Day and he spoke about The Caucus Race in Alice in Wonderland and the Dodo’s ethos of All Shall have Prizes.

It is forty days after St Swithun’s Day and I must say that we have not had constant rain, so there is a level of truth in the old adage.

Anyway, the Rev Dr declared that rewarding everyone undermined a sense of achievement.  However, success should not influence the degree of parental love.  The Prodigal Son found that the Father’s love was not dependent on his performance.   Dr Fraser spoke about the apparent unfairness of the parable of the workers in the vineyard all receiving the same wages, but explained it as how love behaves.  You can imagine Wills being annoyed that Harry gets away with his signature behaviour while he, closer in line, is expected, as the Elder Brother, to keep his nose clean.

Talking of lines to the throne, isn’t the genealogy bug gripping more and more people?  Apparently, if you go back 30 generations, then you would find that Jesus was related to King David, after all.  But so was every other inhabitant of Israel.

Trees become ever more branched if one widens the search and includes friends and relations, such as Rabbit and Alexander Beetle. Very Small Beetle was obviously staying overnight at Christopher Robin’s at the time of a census, but he may have gone round a gorse bush the wrong way and so disappeared off ancestry.co.uk and the International Genealogical Index.  That was why Rabbit couldn’t find him in subsequent records.

Too many amateur genealogists are not paying sufficient attention to Popper (Sir Karl, 1902-94) and his theory of falsifiability.  He said that no accumulation of instances could prove a theory to be correct.  However, one counter-instance could disprove it, at least partly. Got that?

You see, all swans might be white, but an instance of a black one would falsify the proposition.

We need a conceivable test for our propositions.  So, if we place a Rover robot with a plutonium battery that lasts ten years in a Las Vegas hotel room, we can verify if all Royals are white sheep, or if one black sheep exists.  That means that we can make a scientific judgement. (see Pooh and the Philosophers by John Tyerman Williams, p 103-4)

So, Harry must return to Grandmamma and hear what the Crustimoney Proseedcake is to be, for he is a bear of very little brain and long words probably bother him.  When he is asked why he behaved so stupidly, he will in all likelihood reply:

Cottleston, Cottleston, Cottleston Pie,

Why does a chicken? I don’t know why.

Eeyore could explain the whole sorry activity as Bon-hommy.

The Palace could refer to Wittgenstein and his observation in the Tractatus that what we cannot talk about we must pass over in silence.

Eventually HM might find a form of words:

Hello, Harry, wasn’t that you?

No, says Harry in a different voice.

Harry, says HM kindly, You haven’t any brain.

I know, says the Prince, humbly and then sort of boffs nervously as he swallows a spoonful of Extract of Malt. It’s just that it’s bad enough, granny, being miserable, what with no presents and no cake and no crown and no proper notice taken of me at all…

Well, now you know how your father feels  We can’t all, and some of us don’t. That’s all there is to it

Can’t all what?

Gaiety..song-and-dance…bon-hommy.. There it is!

So what shall I do with this pole?

Give it back to the nice girl at the club, Harry. These friends – they are the wrong sort of friends..so I should think they would make the wrong sort of headlines.

So, what should I do now, Grandmamma?

Go on an expotition and keep out of trouble

It will rain tonight

Let it come down!

(Exit Harry, pursued but not bare.)

It is going to be squelching over the Bank Holiday Weekend.

© Candia Dixon Stuart and Candiacomesclean.wordpress.com, 2012

Restoration

Tags

Cecilia Giminez, Curiosity, Ecce Homo, NASA, Prince Harry, Zaragoza

Wednesday

I think the NASA rover Curiosity has been roaming over a certain hotel in Las Vegas, picking up some interesting pictures of alien behaviour.

Headlines have included: Flash Harry and Bare to the Throne.

If he wants his image restored, then he had better not ask octogenarian Cecilia Giminez, the pensioner from Zaragoza, who took it upon herself to turn Ecce Homo – Behold The Man- into Ecce Mono – Behold the Gingery Monkey.

Apparently she has brought her village some publicity for its speciality blood sausage, but I don’t think Dirty Harry would welcome her attentions or, indeed, will embrace with joy the attentions of his commanding officer on Monday morning.

There was 65mm of rain in Lerwick and York had most sunshine.

© Candia Dixon Stuart and Candiacomesclean.wordpress.com, 2012

Recognition

Tags

Antarctica, Argentina, Billy Connolly, Blairgowrie, Border Terrier, Buckingham Palace, Buenos Aires, Canongate, Charles Rennie Mackintosh, coffee, fritillaria, gardens, Holy Fools, honey, Jenny Geddes, Kate Winslet, Lion Rampant, manukah, Mount of Olives, Neil Oliver, Perth, piper, post office, Prince Philip, Princess Alice of Greece, Robert Falcon Scott, Saltire, Scotland, Suttonford, Waterworlds, William Speirs Bruce

Tuesday

Stickily oppressive.  No rain, but grey and the first signs of hay fever appear.  Probably the effects of mould spores from rotting vegetation.

Visited my friend’s professionally landscaped garden which was established at the start of the summer.  Yellowing box edging is probably dying from early drought, excessive waterlogging later on, or simply from the peeing habits of a new Border Terrier.

Our garden is suffering from mordant animals which gnaw every bulb that one plants.  Altruistic bird feeders may encourage rodents.  Seventy six snakes head fritillaria that I bought from The Telegraph failed to materialise, so I won’t be able to recreate the floral watercolours of Charles Rennie Mackintosh, not that I have the skills, anyway, but that is not the point.

Went to Costamuchamullah for a very skinny latte and noticed honey for sale from Perth. It reminded me of a joke told by Billy Connolly – but he might have pinched it from Chick Murray – about how he had stayed at a B&B in the Highlands and the proprietor had served him a breakfast tray with an individual pot of heather honey on it.  He had remarked, I see you keep a bee.

 It took me a moment to work out that it was probably Australian honey.  Is it Manukah? I wondered.

When I returned home, I simply had to check the facts on Wikipedia. Oh yes, you do find it in Perth, Oz, and it is produced by apis mellifera and, to be called manukah, it has to have a 70% pollen count from tea tree Leptospermium scoparium.

The disappointing part was that it also said that: “alongside other antibacterial products, [it} does not reduce the risk of infections following treatment for ingrown toenails.”

So, probably not a best-selling product for Aquanibble then.  Might be fun to say to one of the four optimistically termed assistants in Costamuchamullah, I’ll have a pot of your honey.  Oh, by the way, only if it reduces the risk of infection from my ingrown toenails.

 They would probably just ignore me in the way that they usually do when they are too busy wiping a perfectly clean surface while a serpentine queue builds up and spirals out of the door into the street.  Perhaps I will have to stop wearing my invisibility cloak- you know, the one that envelops females after the age of fifty.

Apparently there are honey outlets in Perth, Scotland too:  Heather Hills Farm and Scarletts in Blairgowrie produce masses, in spite of the predatory nature of a single honey buzzard that seems to have been circling since 2010.

Scientists have confirmed that there are planets out in the far beyond called Waterworlds, but they are not huge theme parks.  In fact they are composed of hot ice.

Ice was a theme this evening with a Neil Oliver repeat of his journey to the Weddell Sea and South Atlantic.  After he had left The Falkland Islands, it took him four days until he reached the first icebergs.

I thought he might stand, lashed to the prow of the boat, and let his hair flow behind him, but he sensibly stayed in the cabin.  I don’t think he would fancy Kate Winslet, but I haven’t asked him.  Maybe a nautical Jenny Geddes might be more up his Canongate. Anyway, he very commendably seemed resistant to seasickness.  You wouldn’t want his macho Celtic image to be undermined by a shot of him leaning over the side, or taking Quells.

Of course, the whole point of the expotition seems to have been to draw attention to the Scot, William Speirs Bruce, who had discovered many firsts, rather than that Sassenach Scott, who might have had the correct name, but wasn’t related, at least by surname, to Robert the. Scott had an interesting middle name, though – Falcon.  Another Pointless question to which I shouldn’t know the answer.

Anyway, Bruce had filmed penguin colonies and measured ice and been a thorough scientific Scot – self-conscious flick of the hair.  He hadn’t been as shocked as Levick, a scientist on Scott’s team who witnessed the sexually delinquent behaviour of the Adelies.

I’m sure Neil just loved the opportunity to transmit old photos of a piper in full Highland regalia, playing the bagpipes, surrounded by Saltires and Lions Rampant on huge ice floes.

The irony is that if Bruce hadn’t been so stereotypically parsimonious, then he might have bought his fuel nearer to the South Atlantic base, instead of trying to save a bawbee by sailing up the coast to Buenos Aires, where he took on board some Argentinian scientists and cut-price provisions.  The Argies set up a post office with a franking machine and this influences territorial rights to this day.

Meanwhile Scott and even his stoker were awarded polar medals and Bruce didn’t even get a packet of Fox’s Glacier Mints.

 Explorer Bruce went to his ice hoose

To get his poor husky a bone,

But when he got there

The cupboard was bare.

He found a wee note

Saying, “Taken your boat

And your seal blubber lamps,

But have left you some stamps.

We don’t want to seem mean

But our franking machine

Proves this land is for Argies,

So no argy-bargies.

And we’ll claim the minerals, Bruce.”

 

The other brilliant programme was about Princess Alice of Greece. She served as a nurse in the Balkan wars, but when her faith became too difficult for the rest of the family they had her detained and irradiated by early experimental psychiatrists and psychologists.

When she was released she protected a Jewish family in her own apartment and used her deafness to advantage in deflecting soldiers’ questions.

I loved the image of her being re-united with her son and roaming the corridors of Buckingham Palace in her nun’s habits, smoking Woodbines.  She only owned three dressing gowns at the end of her life, but had used her jewels and other assets to help the poor.  She is buried on the Mount of Olives.  If this be madness, then she is in the tradition of The Holy Fools and it makes me question who is sane and who is mad.  Prince Philip should be incredibly proud of her, as he very likely is.

© Candia Dixon Stuart and Candiacomesclean.wordpress.com, 2012

Mood Patterns

Tags

Cabinet of Animosities, David Cameron, Le Creuset, Nick Clegg, Zagreb

Monday

The warmest place yesterday was Cambridge @ 31degrees.  The wettest places were Cumbria and Wales.

There was a radio programme this morning called The Cabinet of Animosities about a museum in Zagreb which has a woebegone collection of items which have been donated by people who have experienced broken relationships.  Maybe David Cameron could send them a Le Creuset lasagne dish which had contained a country supper, or Nick Clegg could post them a pressed rose from Downing Street’s back garden, or even the entire coalition document.

A Professor Stone of some university which may be called Stonybroke (rather aptly) has written that Cultural myths may vastly over-emphasise actual day of the week mood patterns.  In other words we loathe Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays as much as Mondays.  The Friday feeling kicks in when we contemplate training for the Paralytic Olympics at the weekend, however.

© Candia Dixon Stuart and Candiacomesclean.wordpress.com, 2012

Antipasto

Tags

Assange, Boris Johnson, cathedral, husband, Lord Coe, Paralympics, Stoke Mandeville, The Queen, Trinity

The Eleventh Sunday after Trinity

Should I go to the pulpit side of the sanctuary for a gluten-free communion wafer, or should I just risk it?

It was so hot last evening that the husband and I collapsed on our sofas and watched The Best of Men on I-player. It was about the genesis of the Paralympics and the spinal unit at Stoke Mandeville.  Attitudes have changed since 1943 and now headlines are screaming: Thanks for the Warm-Up as there are ten days to go till the events begin.  Boris joined in with a declaration that the Olympics had just been the antipasto.

There was a warm-up today as it was hot in the cathedral and even hotter under the clerical collar for the Praecentor, who had to announce that the Close Vicar had not turned up for Mattins nor Eucharist and so he had been dropped in the proverbial at the last moment re/ the sermon.  I thought that I might have been able to step up and entertain the congregation with some of my diary entries, but clergy professionalism kicked in and the gap was covered.

Imagine if Sebastian Coe had not shown up to give his closing speech, or The Queen had refused to jump out of the helicopter on cue.  Mind you, it might have been preferable if one or two pop has-beens had slept in.

Timing and punctuality are the something beginning with p of princes.  Is it politesse?  Anyway, once at Midnight Mass in the cathedral a St John’s Ambulance team discreetly slipped a stretcher between the rows and extracted a dead body.  Being in the sanctuary, singing in the choir, I observed this although most of the congregation did not.  Later choristers were asking what had happened and the explanation went along the lines of: Oh, some old biddy popped her clogs just before the sermon.  Nice timing.

I remember being slightly shocked at such an attitude, but you can sympathise, especially when things go on too long, as in opening and closing ceremonies.  Just as well Philip took the night off.

Assange came out with perfect timing to give his balcony speech, a kind of drag queen Evita, as a journalist pointed out. I half-expected him to launch into Don’t Cry for Me, Helpful Quito. Andrew Lloyd Webber might have given him a lead role or an understudy part for an ageing Elaine Paige. He thanked the Ecuadorians- did anyone know the collective term before? – for offering him asylum.  However, it is an offer he can neither take up nor refuse.  There is no such thing as a free lunch, not even at an embassy.  Perhaps he had been mistakenly advised that it was part of The Sanctuary Hotel which has a spa and all those little bottles of goo and towelling robes and mules.  I do not think sleeping on the floor of a small office is what he might have expected. The mini bar is probably empty and freebie hair conditioners might not be forthcoming.  As far as we know, no one is offering him a Swedish massage.

Scott MacKenzie who wrote If You’re Going to San Francisco has died. Well, Julian, if you’re ultimately going to Guantanemo, be sure to wear some flowers in your hair.

© Candia Dixon Stuart and Candiacomesclean.wordpress.com, 2012

All Things Are Possible

Tags

Alistair Darling, George Osborne, husband, Katherine Jenkins, Shakespeare, spiders, Summer 2012, swimming, The Tempest

Saturday.

Too darn hot.

A new family of spiders has been discovered called Trogloraptor, or Cave Robber.  One of their genus was behind my headboard last night and it definitely had claws.  This is one situation where the husband can make himself useful.

The theme of the summer, i.e. that all things are possible is continued in news items about a limbless Frenchman who is swimming between all the continents and a sixty three year old American woman who is making her 4^th attempt to swim between Havana and Florida, without the protection of a shark cage.  Last time she had to call it off as she was stung by jellyfish.   Mind you, the American probably needn’t worry, as thresher sharks have been seen basking off the coast of Wales, so they may be on vacation and might prefer a nice nibble of Katherine Jenkins instead.  Who wouldn’t?

Nasty weather is spreading from Wales towards the Midlands.  Heavy rain is forecast for Scotland.  Plus ca change.

Alistair Darling has been writing open letters to George, or Gideon Osborne in The People, asking him to change direction.  The problem is that no one knows where the Chancellor is.  He is not called The Submarine for nothing.  He will come up when the coast is clear. At the moment he would be well-advised to stay below the radar.  He certainly should resist any desire to adopt a stovepipe hat and jump on to The Tempest bandwagon, quoting:

If I have too austerely punish’d you…

…all thy vexations

Were but my trials of thy love, and thou

Hast strangely stood the test…

…be more abstemious.. 

If he surfaced with that kind of talk I think a thousand Portuguese Men-of-War would sting him to death.  And they would be of his own party.

© Candia Dixon Stuart and Candiacomesclean.wordpress.com, 2012

Wildlife

Tags

Canada geese, Jeyes Fluid, Montbazillac, Peter Scott, pissaladiere

Friday

Too darn hot.  Stayed inside and made a pissaladiere for supper, which tastes better than it sounds.  We sat outside and demolished it with a bottle of Montbazillac, once the neighbours had graciously retired from their pool.  Silhouetted skeins of Canada geese flew in V-formations overhead, harbingers of Autumn and the necessity for Jeyes Fluid jetwash to be vigorously applied to every drive and paving that they crap on.  Peter Scott never dwelt on that aspect.

© Candia Dixon Stuart and Candiacomesclean.wordpress.com, 2012

Results Day

Tags

A-Levels, Assange, Boris Johnson, David Cameron, Ecuador, Inclusion Body Syndrome, Michelangelo, Sven-Goran Eriksson, Tom Daley, UCAS

Thursday

Now we are fighting with Ecuador.  They are probably just jealous that they did not win any medals.  Why are we becoming involved for a skinnier version of Boris Johnson whose name is half donkey/ half angel?  Maybe the London Mayor could hire an Ecuadorian costume- you know, white knickerbockers, poncho and a fake plait- and could zoom out of the front door as a decoy while Assange is enticed out of the rear exit, straight into an illegal tackle by Sven-Goran Eriksson and the Swedish Secret Police.

Cracks are showing in David.  Not Cameron.  Well, in Cameron too. Michelangelo’s statue is showing its age, apparently.  Maybe he should cover up a bit.  He’s not exactly a juvenile Tom Daley, though even he had to tone up for the Olympics.  A little pair of stone Speedos over the Florentine loins would cover a multitude of sins.

It’s A-level Results day and so the local papers will be full of screaming, teary girls giving each other group hugs.  Today is the date responsible for the content of so many nauseating round robins in the festive season.

Mothers will be haunting doormats for envelopes and shouting upstairs to their unrousable sons who are still coiled up under their duvets, as if victims of Inclusion Body Syndrome, that mysterious reptile affliction which causes snakes to tie themselves in knots, roll up and stargaze.  Little do the mums know that their sons already had their results on their mobiles hours before and have promptly gone back to sleep, ignoring UCAS and university entry.  Let mum do it.

© Candia Dixon Stuart and Candiacomesclean.wordpress.com, 2012