David Davis
I saw this just now.
I’ll tell you a story.
The attached picture, if it looks like two little attentive girls, is misleading. The father described won his case. That is the first thing to say.
That said….the discussion of what to do about bringing up one’s own children as a nuclear family – the enemy of GramscoFabiaNazis, SJWs and NWOperatroids, centres on what is best for one’s own children. Attendance in British-State-bog-standard-comprehensives (not my words but theirs) is not so wonderfully-orgasmic for learning, as our little fella will tell you freely, that one ought even to bust a gut to try to go every day.
Last March, having to take My Dear Wife to OFSTED interviews in Nottingham, I decided to give the young man a “Sickie” for the day. He came with us. While the Dear Wife was being Ofsted-grilled for a few hours, he and I looked at a map, and decided where _HE_ would like to go. I gave him advice, but I did not press the case for any particular destination. “Daddy will take you to any town or place you want to go”. He chose the City of Lincoln. It took us about an hour and a bit to drive there.
We had a nice “brunch” together in a tiny cafe where I was taught how to play “Yugio cards” by him. We discussed the layout of Lincoln, as the Mediaeval “City upon the Hill”, which it is. Seeing it from about nine miles away, towering like a grand watcher of all about it, he was gobsmacked. I explained that RAF Bomber Command crews, on their way out, would see it as the Last Thing, and would hope it was The First on their way down home. He didn’t cry (I almost did) but he did understand.
We went round the Cathedral, surely one of the most grand and noble Churches ever that the Hands Of Man have built for God. He saw the “Norman House” and the “Jew’s House”, now each almost 900 years old and in use. We regarded the shopfront of “J Birkett”, full of old RAF surplus electronic parts over which Daddy salivated loudly, but it was sadly closed that day. Otherwise I would have bankrupted myself. This kindled the Dear Boy’s current interest in electronics, seeing his father’s enthusiasm.
Later we went to a Burger King, and you know what that means.
We visited Nottingham, as we had time. The Dear boy, scurrying between traffic with his father, described it as “A Hole”. We decided Nottingham is not as high on our priorities for a re-visit as its “council” and “tourist authority” would like us to place it.
On the way to collect Mummy, he had the internal combustion engine explained to him for the first time. He was ten. What the fc^$ is to prevent primary schools doing this? Why do they have to discuss how “Asif shares 36 sweets between his friends Jayden and Jameela in the ratio 3:2”?
I pause for a reply.
