Why, that's the sound of me failing Maths O' Level three times! When I entered the sixth form (yes, even in the seventies when everything was brown, orange and yellow, women were allowed to enter the sixth form) a condition of entry was that you had passed Maths and English O' Levels. English I could have done with both hands tied behind someone else's back, and probably in a coma. I walked it. I aced it.
Maths...well let's just say our relationship is complicated. Once upon a time I was always top in English; second in Maths. And then it all went...funny. I blame that year when we had three different teachers and I lost the numerical plot. This, coupled with the deep sulk of teenage years meant that me and numbers just didn't talk any more.
And that was it. All through sixth form they kept making me take the damned exam again and I failed again and again. I began to believe over the years that I was innumerate. Even better, dyscalculiac. I was a bit special. I almost had a disability. Actually I suspect there are just massive holes in my knowledge which I have patched over with guesswork and my own homespun methods.
Today I did a sample numeracy test for the European Commission selection test.
The biggest surprise was that I could actually do most of it. But the problems were so mentally chewy that my brain feels like it has been to a really big gym for a really long time. And I realised there are still some gaps that need filling with proper Maths. So I'm going to get myself a GCSE Maths revision book. I will not be foxed by bloody numbers. I will walk it.
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