Some blue-uniformed stragglers slipped into my sister J’s class. While she continued to teach from the front of the classroom a couple of pupils started asking me questions about university entrance qualifications and fees. As I told them of the old system where only very few places were offered to the highest performing students, I realised just how long ago it was since we were students ourselves. My explanation represented an impossible fantasy of a mythical golden age of higher education. The former funding arrangements where the fees were paid for all students, and even those from the wealthiest backgrounds were awarded some form of maintenance grant, sounded truly fabulous.

The pupils were also interested in my own school education, so I told them all about THS and SSFC. When the class ended my sister told me that I had wasted my time raising the hopes of the blue-uniformed children because their school was terrible. I responded that even the worst of schools had its top pupils, and that they should be encouraged. J then started returning homework to members of the class. When it was obvious who would respond when J called out “And please could my favourite pupil come and collect her work?” I was further appalled by J’s lack of professionalism. “Just imagine if our parents regularly reminded us which of their three daughters was their favourite” I said.

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AC had parked his car facing uphill on the wrong side of Leith Street outside John Lewis in Edinburgh. I jumped in and he passed over the Starbucks sheet. He was convinced that he would win the latest big cash prize by drinking gallons of coffee and submitting his completed sticker sheet to the company. I couldn’t see how I could help: I don’t even drink coffee.