Okay, Bob wanted an early night and I’m not quite ready yet, so I got to thinking. This is always a dangerous occupation I find, being of a philosophical nature. I started to think about my objectives in life. When I was a little girl I always viewed my parents as safe. I thought they lived their life in a kind of insulating tube, never touching the sides, not leaving an imprint, nothing controversial or meaningful, nothing that could leave a trace. I always resolved I would leave a mark, have an impact, make people remember me, although how this would happen was a bit of a mystery. I suspect I thought I would be a great author, that somehow my imagination would transport people to another world, somewhere they wouldn’t want to leave, a world that would make their own existence a little richer just by visiting through my magical words. Yep, well it’s still a dream and this summer I aim to finish my book, the one I started 7 years ago, and become the next J.K. Rowling, or, even better, the next Anthony Horowitz. I’m not sure how I was going to make this powerful impression on the world, but it did get me to thinking (I told you I was a philosopher) how all the children I taught would make their impact, leave their mark and exist outside the tube. Of course I now realize that we all leave our mark, all unique and making an impression on the world as individual as our finger prints or DNA, and, I also question whether it is important. After all, no-one else will be us, no-one else will live the exact cocktail mix of interests, responsibilities, skills and achievements that we live. Perhaps my parent’s tube was crystal, cut in a way that only they could craft and my adolescent scorn was as immature and inexperienced as one would expect of one so young. Whatever the truth, I am still awake and no nearer the intellectual peace that my age should promise.