Miss Kit is going from strength to strength. She has touched noses with both dogs, is being a good clean kitten, & generally a credit. I look forward to her rampaging round the house in another day or so; she is essentially confined to the bedroom and the Northern Professor’s study, exerting her tiny charms to keep one or other of us with her, because she’s not keen to venture further.
Miss T, by the way, has now started going to a proper school, complete with oversized blazer & other traditional accoutrements. She seems to be having a wonderful time. I was thinking as I made dinner this evening that it is a grim comment on the experience of bright working-class youngsters that the state was, last year, prepared to give her a great deal of the time of an educational pyschiatrist and an educational social worker, but not actually to educate her. I talked to the social worker, who was a decent bloke, if sad, who said that off the record, he had sent his own kids to independent schools and if it could be managed it was in every way the best possible answer to the problem she represented. But the state could, and would, do nothing to facilitate this. Which leaves one asking what the educational psychiatrist and social worker were for. To convince Miss T she was wrong in aspiring above her station? That, I think, was why the nice social worker was so evidently living in a permanent state of quiet anguish.
Meanwhile her older brother, the Apparitional Gamekeeper, is off next week to start being a farrier. He keeps reminding us, ‘I’m not going to be here’, but I think it’s himself he’s trying to convince. He’s hugely looking forward to it, but terrified, bless him.