Am-dram, at the local theatre. An Evening with Charles Dickens.
Interview with the writer, readings, dramatisations, fond resurrections of those moments we know from the books; you get the idea.
No, I don't expect the theatre critic of the Observer or The New York Times to tell you that. But I am working hard to support local am drams in the face of the steamroller that is the Lloyd Webber franchise. So what if occasionally I have to clench my buttocks, curl my toes, and bite my knuckles? It is no more than I do on any ordinary home educating day spent in the company of my own children.
Anyway, I have to support am dram now for another reason. Last month Tiger wondered if she might not become an illustrator after all; she might like to design theatre costumes and sets for a living instead.
I do what any home educating parent does who believes practical experience trumps 20 starred A-grade passes at GCSE, and that is, shove her in with the practitioners of her wondering career, let her think about the practicalities of the choice, and find out what skills she needs to win her way in or create the job for herself. Do it, don't sit and swallow facts about it while sat behind a desk.
So far, that philosophy and practical approach has worked fine. I have submerged Shark in the local lake with a dive team and sent Squirrel down a quarry with a bunch of geologists. Theatre visits should be straightforward, considering they continue a family way of life.
Of course it will all fail when Tiger reaches the age of 17 with one GCSE pass in Art taken part-time at the local college and declares what she really, really wanted all along was 10 starred A-grades in Science.