We never forgive those who make us blush – Jean Francois De La Harpe

I happened to be taking a group of first-years back to their classroom today when a mother of one of the girls came to talk to her. I thought I’d earn some brownie points, and explain to the mother that this particular pupil was very good at English (which she is) and works well (she does).

All I got from the mother was a half-shocked look and a gesture that implied she did not understand me, so I asked one of the other girls in the class to come and help translate. I was determined to let her know just how good her daughter was.

The lady’s shock became understandable when she informed me that she was the girl’s sister. Her shock became my embarrassment, which increased exponentially when she also told me she was also a pupil in the same school I work in. This means she is between twelve and fifteen years old.

In my defence, this girl began last year, when I was on paternity leave, and I do not have classes 7-9 any more. She wears a shawl, like many of the girls, and is not one of the boisterous pupils.

It’s an ice-breaker, though, providing she doesn’t take offence at my blunder.