...your sister was to blame for me not going to Oxford University"
When I was a lad, although we weren't in any way short of toys, there were some things that we loved playing with that weren't bought from the shops.
I remember making a 'Jodrell Bank' radio telescope out of matchboxes.
There was always a cotton reel around, we knocked some nails into it and did some knitting with Mum's wool....long thin knits which had no use what so ever. Was this called French knitting? Seems appropriate to me.
Egg boxes were fantastic source materials, and galleons were the best things to make. I have a feeling, although I can't remember, that they went in the bath without water proofing and sank honourably. No doubt Grandma in Cyprus will put me right on that. At the weekend we usually have a cooked breakfast/brunch, usually involving eggs, and this inspired me to relive my childhood. Naturally The Boy joined in...and in fact took over. The result was splendid:
If I can persuade The Cat to give me one of her cotton reels (or if not, I will have to go on a dawn raid), my plan is to make one of these:
Anyway, back to my Dinner on Friday night. I was chatting to a woman who had in fact married one of the teachers. As we spoke it soon became apparent that we had met a very long time ago. I didn't know her too well, but I knew her sister very well indeed. In fact I had known her sister so well that I had been completely distracted from my studies when I should have been trying to get into Oxford. I'll never know if I was capable, but I didn't get in. If I had, my life would have been quite different. Not to worry, different doesn't mean better; just different.
It was, if nothing else, a good life lesson. And perhaps that's why I'm so firm when I think The Boy is allowing romantic thoughts get in the way of academic success