'Have you ever heard of Market Snodsbury Grammar School?'

she cried in a voice that hit me between the eyebrows and went out at the back of my head.

I goggled. Her words did not appear to make sense. They seemed the mere aimless vapouring of an aunt who has been sitting out in the sun without a hat.

My Aunt Agatha, the curse of the Home Counties and a menace to one and all.

'Whom are you?' he said, for he had been to night school.

Some people say 'Oh, I wish I was a transvestite!' and I say, 'Well, if you work hard at school, maybe one day, you know: After your exams:'

As we read the school reports on our children, we realize a sense of relief that can rise to delight that thank Heaven nobody is reporting in this fashion on u…