good bye, blah blah, and shut the door as you go

Readers of this blog will be familiar with the travails of Ms B and the ex-Mr B in dragging their kids through the educational system. You will also recall that I said I would take my middle kid, the Tall Blond Rock God, who is in what we very much hope will turn out to be his GCSE year, out for a pizza to see if anything could be done.

We went last night. He asked if he could being a friend. I like his friend, so I said yes, and I engaged them both on the subject of their plans, their courses, their aspirations.

The friend, whose parents moved away to Bristol last summer, comes down to London every chance he gets. In his rucksack he carries an old cigar box full of his writings. He has been known to study the Baroque poetry bookshelves with a casual intensity not lost on me, though clearly it wouldn't do to be seen liking someone's mother's books. He's in his A levels. Here's what he's studying: English Language, Philosophy, and Classical Civilisations.

English Language is a bitter disappointment. In answer to my excited questions, he told me they have not learned anything about how English developed through the Viking and then Norman invasions, losing its case declensions and developing the most powerful vocabulary in the world. They haven't examined the different kinds of words available in the language - say, the difference between Latinate and Anglo-Saxon words, etymologies, and how you can coin new words and control your tone through diction. There's no grammar. No linguistics of any kind that he can discern. Instead they've had modules on text messages, computer chat, etc. He says: "And I don't know why, but they refuse to look at any poetry."

Philosophy is very interesting. He's reading the books and enjoying it. Last time he was up he was reading Kant. He's a Boy Philosopher.

When I asked him about Classical Civilisations his face lit up: it's his favourite. I ask what they're teaching, and he says, "Right now we're reading Cicero." (In English, of course. It goes without saying that no one in state education, however bright or interested, learns any Latin. No class divisions, though, eh. A meritocracy.)

Now the Tall Blond Rock God springs to life, impatiently saying, "But what about Ancient Egypt? It's so connected - it's so connected - what about Ancient Egypt??" like that. Philosopher Boy looks at him. "It's just Greece and Rome," he said.

" 'Classical' means Greece and Rome, honey," I say, but he insists: "It's just so - connected - "

The Rock God was obsessed with Ancient Egypt all through primary school. In Year 3 it was the big class topic, and he had to draw in his book a picture of an Egyptian god. At parent's evening the teacher was showing us the book and said, pointing to an elephanty-looking thing: "he's made up his own god here, it's so sweet, I know it's not the same but I let him do it," or words to that effect, whereupon the (then infant) Rock God burst in: "I didn't make it up! It's the goddess Taweret!" The who? We discussed our shared ignorance of any such goddess, and the teacher tried to correct him a couple of times, saying elephants weren't in Egyptian mythology, but he was adamant. Taweret was the goddess of pregnant women and was a hippo goddess. And it is true. She was.

The Rock God wanted to be an archaeologist all through his childhood. He is currently in his history GCSE and hates it - even though it's about the Russian Revolution, which he admits is fascinating. He spoke very cogently last night about how all they want to do is cram facts down you for the exam. If you ask a question about something because you're interested - let's say you love it, and want to learn more - they'll say, "That isn't in the exam." He doesn't want to study any more history in case they ruin it for him.

Speaking of which, the Boy Philosopher, questioned about Homer, confirms that they have only looked at the Odyssey. Not the Iliad?? "The Iliad's the one you'll need," I say, thinking of his poetic proclivities.

"I know," he says. "But they do the Odyssey because they don't think most of the kids could cope with the Iliad."

I tell the Boy Philosopher about Roddy Lumsden's poetry workshops at City University, along with anecdotes about very young people I have known who have gone that kind of route - even Oxford students - so he might think of it as a real option. He says, "Well, I'd have to find something in Bristol."

As to the Rock God, he can't bear the thought of A levels next year. He wants a year out. We discussed the options - he wants to try to get an internship at a recording studio.

He also told me that he had gone on the internet and done the most authoritative-looking IQ test he could find, and that his IQ was 139.

Funny, that. This morning I found a pertinent little snippet on Jenny Diski's blog, from February 7th:

...here is a quote from Mark Steel in today's Independent.

In his book, Robin Cook recalled a conversation in which Tony Blair justified sending his son to a selective school, saying he didn't want his kids to end up like those of Harold Wilson. It was pointed out that Wilson's sons went to a comprehensive school, and one became a headmaster, the other a professor. To which Blair said: "Well, I certainly hope my children do better than that."