Wednesday, 18 May 2016

Dry Weetabix

I sat in the cafe today next to a group of posh gals revising for their GCSEs. They covered an enormous amount of ground, and I learned a great deal whilst listening to them. They revised biology and maths, but then spent a long period of time talking about religion, one assumes either as part of a human geography or RE paper or perhaps even philosophy or ethics. Posh gals study those sorts of things at GCSE, I suspect. 

It's amusing to hear what ludicrous questions these poor kids are asked to answer: "Does evolution prove that God doesn't exist?" Of course the immediate answer to this question is "who gives a shite? God doesn't exist because there's no evidence for his existence," but the perception amongst the girls was that there was a correct (somewhat convoluted) academically-sound answer to this question which they could learn by rote! 

I did feel sorry for them though. They were working incredibly hard and one of them had just worked out that she had 24 exams to do in the next six weeks. At that stage another said, somewhat forlornly, "how do you clear your head?" And the third said "How do you not panic?" The level of stress these kids are under is extreme. In my day coursework at least took some of the pressure off. It was more fun as well.

I had the strangest dream last night that a small child I was associated with wanted to grind a dry Weetabix into Ru Paul's face! The Weetabix grinding had been prearranged and there were television cameras. Ru Paul was going to turn up at a somewhat Suburban house, and the small child was going to open the door and let rip. I was waiting on the landing of the house feeling mortified. "Are you sure Ru Paul will be alright with this?" I asked. Then I was trying to suggest that a dry old Weetabix smeared across her face probably wouldn't have a great deal of impact. "Maybe a custard pie?" I suggested. As it happened, Ru Paul arrived, the door was opened and she graciously bent down to allow the small child to rub the Weetabix across her face like a crumbling pumice stone. And that was that! Now where on earth does a dream like that come from? 

No comments:

Post a Comment