It was only when the young man in our party on holiday in the highlands announced that he was going to phone in for his A level grades that I realised that (a) he was a school boy, and (b) it was results day.

I listened in on his call as he made his enquiry. The automated telephone answering system took him through a maze of menus until he finally reached the announcement of his own results. These were given in TV talent show style. When the voice said “Oh, son, what happened here? You’re going to be so disappointed” in the manner of Ant & Dec I thought it was a wind-up, but it wasn’t. My young friend had failed his single A level on the basis of a poor piece of course work, and would now have to resubmit a full photography project.

Now it was time for me to find out the results of my nephew. It was odd that my sister had not already rung me to share them. She answered my call with a series of riddles which roughly translated as “No, he didn’t get straight As, but he has still got into his first choice university”.