Peter Rhodes on big spiders, rule by whining and a dramatic definition of infancy

The authorities probably guessed exam grades based on teachers' assessments were unreliable when one school gave every pupil an A* in every subject and awarded an A** in divinity to the school bully. Or something on those lines.

In the exam row, we seem to be creating a society where well-considered and evidence-based principles crumble at the first hint of public dissent. This is rule not by logic or democracy but by whining.

On the other hand, I spy an opportunity. I failed maths O-level three times. If I make enough of a fuss might I be able to commute those three dismal grade-eights into a PhD in Applied Maths?

There's nothing like a few summer thunder storms for driving spiders as big as saucers into your home. For us arachnophobes this year's crop of big black Borisses is horrendous. I take the view that if God wanted us to share our homes with tarantulas, he would not have given us vacuum cleaners. In our enlightened times killing spiders if frowned upon (although I found an online guide which cheerfully suggests: “Using your shoe . . . is a great natural way to get rid of spiders."). You might invest in a cat but be warned, even the most heroic mouse-killer and bird-slayer can crumple into a trembling pile of fur at the sight of a big spider. You might try peppermint oil spray. On the spider, not the cat

Borisses? From Boris the Spider (The Who, 1966).

One of the golden rules in journalism is that when you ask an actor why they took a certain role, they always tell you it was the script, darling. The moment they saw this wonderful script, they simply had to be part of it. They never mention the pay cheque. In my new role as a grandfather I have become hooked on In the Night Garden, the excellent CBeebies series narrated by Derek Jacobi. I keep wondering how Jacobi, one of our most distinguished and adored actors, reacted when he opened the script and found: “Makka pakka akka yakka mikka makka moo! Makka pakka akka yakka ikka akka oo! ” Not exactly Richard III, is it?

Meanwhile, the daily interaction with our grandson continues. Being a baby is like slowly emerging from a dense fog of incomprehension. Every day, life gets a little better. This strange and frightening world makes more sense and becomes less frightening. You begin to recognise faces and tunes. You learn your own name and remember other names. As the weeks pass, your progress is a source of great joy to your family and friends. Everybody wants to see you and cuddle you. As a friend remarked solemnly the other day, babyhood is exactly like dementia in reverse.

In the Night Garden does a fine job of introducing tiny folk to the little dramas of life. The Tombliboos have left their trousers behind on the Ninky Nonk train. Well, we've all done it, haven't we?