Fault Lines Opening Up All Around

It's time to talk to Josh about what next. This takes far less time than Max and I anticipate. Josh says he is not going back to school to re-sit his A-levels, nor is he going to go to the local FE college to do so.

"It's not as if I even want to go to university," he says. "I'm not cut out for academic crap, I have no patience with stupid teachers, and anyway you and Dad can't afford it. Plus I don't want all that debt."

Connie is infuriated, and keeps saying,"Crap? Crap?" while I try to reassure Josh that, however broke Max and I might be, we'd still manage it somehow, just like we've done for Connie. This sets Connie off again about why she has had to spend all summer working, just to raise the money she needs for next year.

Max keeps completely quiet throughout the whole discussion and all of a sudden it feels like the girls against the boys, or the university-educated against those who are of the University of Life school of thought.

It's not as if I'm actually in favour of everyone going to university anyway, despite what the boys may think. When I was at university, I was amongst only 6% of the population who went, and although I'm not suggesting that that was fair, I do seriously doubt that there's been a 44% increase in the number of truly academic kids who will either enjoy or get the best out of studying.

I'm not at all in favour of this stupid 50% target for university attendance as a result - I'd rather we also valued the contributions of engineers, carpenters and other skilled tradesmen. If Josh wanted to learn a trade skill, it is entirely possible that he might find this both more satisfying and lucrative than getting what could easily be - knowing Josh's lack of tolerance for academia - a poor degree in a made-up subject; after which he'd have to spend years trying to pay off his loans, while probably delivering pizzas for a living.

And yes, I know that was a non-PC thing to say, but I don't care. It's not as if sending so many more kids to university seems to have increased social mobility. No bloody wonder, when you take into account tuition fees and student loans. I am absolutely positive that they put off bright kids from poorer backgrounds, who are often quite terrified by the prospect of debt, in my experience.

I'm still cross about the reply I got from the Secretary of State when I wrote to him about this. In it, he claimed that no-one was that debt-averse these days, as everyone had mortgages. I wanted to suggest he ask his poorer constituents exactly how many of them had mortgages before he started jumping to conclusions like that, but I wimped out. He wasn't going to "get" it, no matter how many times I tried to explain to him - any more than most MPs would, especially those who make it to a seat in Cabinet.

If there's one thing I've learned over the years, it's that the concept of being broke is a very moveable feast. For some people it means not being able to afford a second holiday, or to buy the Mulberry handbag they've fallen in love with, while for others it means that they've cleaned out all their pockets, searched down the back of the sofa, and still can't come up with enough money for a pint of milk. It's those in the latter group who are freaked out by even a hundred pounds of debt, let alone tens of thousands of pounds.

Anyway, getting back to the 50% target: my old college tutor occasionally takes me out to dinner, and spends the entire time moaning about how his smallest seminar group comprises 25 students, when there used to be a 3:1 ratio of students to staff in the good old days. He also says that he now has to teach to the lowest common denominator in the class - much to his frustration and that of the brighter members of the group.

In fact, he reckons that half of his students can't even spell when they arrive, and he rants on for hours about why the hell they've chosen to study English Literature, if they're so unfamiliar with the written word. Josh was once given detention for pointing out his English teacher's poor spelling, which she had clearly demonstrated in a short passage she had written on the board, so I find this all too easy to believe. (She's a friend of Annoying Ellen's, so spelling probably comes low down on her list of priorities, certainly behind getting laid and shoving coke up her nose.)

I'm getting sidetracked, and sounding like Mr Beales again - though hopefully slightly more rational. Back to the Bennett household. When I tell Josh that I think that academic study is not the be-all and end-all, and that we'll support him in whatever he decides to do, Connie goes ballistic, and reminds me that she still has another two years at university to go. Honestly, it's like walking on eggshells around here - or across the San Andreas fault.

In the end, the whole conversation becomes impossible to continue while both kids are in the same room. I am wriggling like a fish on a line, and Josh seems to take pity on me. He goes upstairs to indulge in hideous X-Box violence, probably virtually murdering a posse of sisters, or university students - while Connie stays downstairs with Max and me, looking through details of houses to rent.

She starts her internship next month, so time's getting short for her to sign the contracts on somewhere to live. Back in the Spring, Connie was one of only five interns - chosen from an international field of candidates - to be awarded a paid internship at a world-renowned research centre for the next academic year.

That's where her ability has got her, but now hard cash is coming into the equation. The interns have agreed to share a house, if they can find one in time - but whereas the others only seem worried about whether the houses have Sky or Virginmedia, and whether they're near a pub and a gym, Connie is desperately worried about how she's going to pay the deposit and first month's rent.

"Mum," she says. "Do you think I'm wasting my time with all this study, then?"

"No, of course I don't, Con," I say. "I am very proud of you."

"So why is it right for me, but a waste of time for Josh?" she says. "It's not as if he's stupid. Though he is a tosser. He did score two points higher than me on that bloody Big Intelligence Test, after all."

"Well, Con - I don't know," I say. "Max, you explain it."

There's no reply. Max has dozed off. Honestly, how can you sleep with family fault lines opening up in every direction? That's obviously a skill gleaned via the University of Life.