The English Mistress

The twelve year old, K, is well known to you, the reader by now. Some of you have even met her, though she remains blissfully unaware of her online fame.

The other night it was the parent teacher thing for K and I was the parent that had to do the attending, something that is always embarrassingly good when it's this particular child. I picked her up from their place and we drove to the school. We parked up and I received my instructions from her.

There were three particular teachers to see; the English teacher, the Maths teacher and the Science teacher. K had made appointments for me and was to accompany me on each of them, mostly to hear how great these bastions of learning and knowledge think she is.

We started with the Science teacher. She had a certain anaemic look to her, eyes popping out as if she had just taken some acid, but clothes and general demeanour that suggested that, to her, acid is something that people only experiment with in Science lessons. There was a startled expression in her face too, which startled me.

I've met her a few times before and each time I get the feeling that the parents' evening has taken her by surprise, which clearly it hasn't. She's all jittery movements and nervy words. She may be a Science teacher but I wouldn't want her to defuse a bomb for me.

Nevertheless she gave K a wholly expected glowing report. K, sitting next to me in her new skinny jeans and Converse (s), nearly succeeded in appearing nonchalent about it. I, sitting there in my slim jeans and Converse (s), also nearly succeeded in appearing nonchalent about it. You'll be pleased to know that I tried on and rejected some skinny jeans whilst in Singapore. Even I can't carry it off without looking like some kind of twat.

Then, purely to try to find something remotely bad or negative Miss Anaemic searched her mental database and said the one thing K could improve on was her concentration, as she had had to tell her about it recently, talking to others or some such thing. Afterwards K moaned about this in that sulky teenager way.

"Aaaah Dad, that's so unfair. This happened once about 4 months ago and she's going on about it now. Aaaah that's so harsh and out of order, uuuurgh."

I knew that it was nothing, that it was also slightly sad that Miss Anaemic had to try to find a baddish thing to say just to do what she thought was right. No big deal though.

Next up was her form tutor, also her Maths teacher. He was another big K fan. I feel guilty here, knowing that life is full of parents who rave about their own kids and see them through "my child is brilliant" tinted glasses. I assure you that I'm wearing no glasses here, ask Java or one of these people who've met K.

The Maths geezer told me more of the same, how her analytical thinking was brilliant and she could understand some advanced mathematical concepts quite easily. No surprises there. I won't bore you with the details.

Up next and last was the English mistress. She was English, which amused me in a way that only you, a regular, would appreciate. She was quite cute too. In that way that made me think of her as a "mistress" rather than a teacher. She was about ninety years younger than me. By the time you read this she'll be about ninety years and two days younger than me.

The list of good things about K continued. Miss English commented on the fact that K reads a lot and writes a lot. I don't know where she gets it from. She said that K reads some quite advanced things and that she's currently devouring "To kill a mocking bird" which is serious stuff. I had thought that she was reading it because she had been told to for English. Apparently not, it's just something K chose for some entertainment.

This amazed but didn't surprise me, rather like the specific daughter. I've never read the book, all I know is that it's about birds and and death, I guess it's something Gallicissa would use in the field.

That was it really. We left. I considered how I could report the reports to K's mother. I'm yet to decide.

In the car we argued. I wanted to listen to the Killers and K wanted to listen to Meet Me At Six, her newest discovery. Some of you younger people will probably know them. We settled on the Killers through the car stereo and Meet Me At Six on K's iPod.

It worked well until I had to ask her to stop singing. She did, but did that childish thing when she mimed without actually making any noise, just to frustrate me. I considered my tactics carefully, using all my guile, cunning and intelligence.

Finally I got her to stop the annoying and childish behaviour. My experience and sharpness of my mind was no match for her.

I threatened to confiscate the iPod.