“Exams and the Titanic” series of Childhood Blog articles

2012

Header: "Exams and the Titanic" series of articles

2012 Jan

Jan 15 Mon

I had a Maths exam today, and one of the questions was as follows:

“Using a straight edge and pair of compasses, construct a regular octopus.”

At my desk in the silent exam-room, I lacked the tentacles and brain and time and electric currants (or currents - I’m not sure what good the currants would do) needed to construct a live octopus, and the front-page of the question-booklet read “Materials required for this exam: ruler, protractor, amateurtractor, pair of compasses...” without mentioning octopus-parts.

So I decided to not create a Frankenstein’s mollusc; instead I simply drew an eight-legged cephalopod, though I suspect I won’t get many marks for it, as mine looks more like a squid (there are even a few ink-stains beside it). Nevertheless, my drawing does have artistic merit, and I did use the straight-edge and a pair of compasses to do the head - my octopus’ head is eight-sided, and each of the eight edges is pretty much the same length. And the angles in the corners of the octopus’ head are equal. I checked with my professional tractor.

Jan 24 Tue

Today I had the following lessons, in the following order: Art, Maths, Geography, double Dutch (a.k.a. English), and Oneiromancy. That’s the interpretation of dreams; it is a new addition to the curriculum. I envisioned its arrival a few months ago.

Anyway, listing the subjects by their two-letter subject-codes gives “Ar Ma Ge Dd On”. No wonder 2012 will be the final year of the world’s existence!

Incidentally, I have several exams tomorrow, at least one of which shall be invigilated by the Almighty; on Thursday, having endured what I shall call the Day of Judgement, I shall either have a nice holiday, or feverish revision. Despite my new knowledge of oneiromancy, I cannot foretell with certainty which it will be. God only knows. Well, He will tomorrow.

2012 Mar

Mar 29 Thu Map: for 2012Mar29 showing Southampton, New York, the course of RMS Titanic, etc.

Having survived Jan 24’s apocalypse, I wanted to do some more surviving. Thus I became part of a play about the Titanic. I’ve had some odd responses to this.

One of my mates: Hey Duncan,
Duncan: Yeah?
Mate: I’ve a load of maths homework to do in the library after school. Coming?
Duncan: As appealing as that sounds, I’ve got a performance at seven.
Mate: What you watching?
Duncan: The sinking of the greatest ship of the time. Quite tragic, really.
Mate: What ship’s this?
Duncan: Titanic. I have to cry at the end.
Mate: Cry? Why?
Duncan: I have a sad monologue. I’m reading out a letter to my family.
Mate: I thought you said you were watching?
Duncan: When I’m in the life-boat I’ll be watching, when I’m not rowing the boat to safety.
Mate: But you can’t row. Anyway, what part are you playing?
Duncan: Look-out.
Mate: [glances behind him] Why? What’s there?
Duncan: Oh, please. Your acting’s worse than mine.
Mate: Bah, your writing’s worse. There’s no way this conversation would actually happen in real life.
Another mate: So, how’s it doing?
First mate: All right. Duncan’s been telling me about his new play.
Second mate: Not the one in which you were a flower-pot?
Duncan: Twenty-four carat gold encrusted Plantagenet earthenware vessel deluxe furnished with rare minerals for displaying the anemones of Richard the Third, the Plant-agenet king.
Second mate: It was a flower-pot.
Duncan: It was a flower-pot. But in this play, I’m one of the crew of the Titanic. I’m playing a look-out.
Second mate: Well you can’t be a very good look-out.
Duncan: Why’s that?
Second mate: You didn’t see the blooming ice-berg.
First mate: And you wear glasses.
Duncan: Very funny. Can I just point out some-thing?
Second mate: Be my guest.
Duncan: One. It was night-time. Two. There was no moonlight. Three. The water was calm and glassy, much the same as the ice-berg. Four. Though there were no binoculars in the crow’s nest, that was not my fault. Five. I wasn’t on duty when the iceberg was sighted. Six. Try looking out for icebergs when you’re getting some needed shut-eye below deck. Seven. The look-out who was on duty, Fred Fleet, saw the iceberg and immediately informed the officers. Eight. At the Inquiry into the Titanic’s sinking, my character Archie Jewell was not found guilty of being a bad look-out. Nine. Fred Fleet also was not found guilty. Ten. Archie Jewell didn’t wear glasses. Eleven. Jewell only survived because he was ordered to man a lifeboat. Twelve. The only reason why I personally wasn’t paying attention to the water on the night of the 14th of April 1912 is because I hadn’t yet been born.
First mate: What’s he on about?
Second mate: No idea. Let’s leave him to his monologue, or we’ll be late for History.
Duncan: Do that and you’ll be history. Mr Ismay [the History teacher] seems even frostier than the ice-berg. No wonder his first name begins with D for “dismay”.
First mate: Well said, lad, well said.
Second mate: For once.

Mar 30 Fri

Near-rhymes for “Titanic”:

Nearer rhymes for “Titanic”:

Footer: end of "Exams and the Titanic" series of articles

Previous: “De Tail on the Birds”

Next: “Paris”