Taking your place as the senior adult of your generation isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Somehow you still end up reliving the worst moments of your childhood, on a continuous loop. Namely Exams. As a mother of four I am currently experiencing the test season, being in the grips of three sets of end of term exams as well the absolutely shambolic AS exams, thoughtlessly slotted in between the GCSEs and the A levels for children and parents who aren’t already all tested out.

By leaving school at seventeen, I thought I’d dealt with my own poor exam performance simply by refusing to answer the questions. However, here I am, doing it all again by proxy. Estelle Morris’s emergency review will be an ambulance arriving too late to stop me worrying about revision techniques, or their patent non-existence,

But the test match is only a precursor to the season of failure - the seemingly endless round of sports days and speech days, prize givings where I sit on a folding chair and clap heartily for other people’s children. Surely the point of fee paying schools is that, included in the price, should be a prize for the consistent C student, low-achiever of the year or at least having a parent who pays by Direct Debit. My AS- level daughter is now head girl of her school and frankly, after five years, I’d give them a prize if only they could learn to pronounce her name properly.