The Reader of Books
It's a funny thing about mothers and fathers. Even when their own child is the most disgusting
little blister¹ you could ever imagine, they still think that he or she is wonderful.
Some parents go further. They become so blinded by adoration² they manage to convince
themselves their child has qualities of genius.
Well, there is nothing very wrong with all this. It's the way of the world. It is only when the
parents begin telling us about the brilliance³ of their own revolting offspring, that we start shouting,
"Bring us a basin! We're going to be sick!"

School teachers suffer a good deal from having to listen to this sort of twaddle from proud parents,
but they usually get their own back when the time comes to write the end-of-term reports. If I were
a teacher I would cook up some real scorchers for the children of doting⁴ parents. "Your son
Maximilian", I would write, "is a total wash-out. I hope you have a family business you can push
him into when he leaves school because he sure as heck won't get a job anywhere else." Or if I
were feeling lyrical that day, I might write, "It is a curious truth that grasshoppers⁵ have their
hearing-organs in the sides of the abdomen⁶. Your daughter Vanessa, judging by what she's learnt
this term, has no hearing-organs at all."

I might even delve⁷ deeper into natural history and say, "The periodical cicada spends six years as a

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