By the time you read this, my son, along with millions of others, will have gone back to school. Having had his GCSE results based on “centre-assessment” grades, ie determined by his teachers, he is now entering the Sixth Form to study for A-Levels. Ideally, he would have opted for courses in “Arguing”, “Stubbornness” and “Gazing Lovingly at his Phone”, but the school is apparently unable to offer these more niche options in this slimmed-down Covid-19 era. Instead, he will be studying History, English, and Government & Politics.

This last subject is probably unnecessary because he is already an expert on the government. I know this because every time I say something of the sort that any Jewish mother is bound to say, such as: “Remember to take a mask if you’re going on the bus!” (before corona, the equivalent comment was: “Are you wearing a vest? It’s getting a bit nippy”) or: “How many people will be at this definitely-not-a-party-just-a-few-friends thing?” he says: “For God’s sake, Mum, you shouldn’t believe everything the government says. Haven’t you noticed that they have no idea what they’re doing?”

I wish I’d studied politics. That way, I’d presumably have a much better grasp of these things. I had assumed that the government was highly competent and handling the challenges brought by the pandemic in an efficient and consistent manner. I thought that all their communications to the populace were models of clarity. But now my son tells me that this is not the case. Who knew?

A friend who is a teacher at a secondary state school reports that, just before the start of term, they had a general inset day to update staff with the new measures. They weren’t allowed to sit down in the staff room but could go in to get coffee. She tells me: “The same number of people as usual milled around the staff room but all just standing up.” This is interesting because it runs directly contrary to all advice: it’s safer if people sit down and stay put rather than walking around breathing all over each other, which is why customers are supposed to have table-service in pubs rather than ordering at the bar.

Not surprisingly, she felt anxious: “After controlling interactions all summer, I felt completely jangled by touching so many door handles and by being in rooms with so many people.” There are one-way stickers on the stairs – up on the left, down on the right – but, as no doubt would be the case in most schools, there simply isn’t enough space so pupils will pass immediately next to each other, making the system meaningless.

Many parents might feel anxious about waving their darling offspring back to school (not me — we are all sick of the sight of each other after months of excessive family time), but there’s really no need. After all, Gavin Williamson — still Secretary of State for Education at the time of writing, but I wouldn’t like to offer any guarantee that that will still be the case by the time you read this – said, “I want to assure you that the wellbeing of your children is the absolute top priority for every single one of us.”

I do hope you’re reassured by this. Perhaps you imagined that his department’s handling of the A-Level results, leaving thousands of teenagers distraught and in many cases devastated by the loss of their expected university place, might well have indicated that the government regarded the safeguarding of pubs and restaurants as more important than the wellbeing of our children? But that shows how little you understand about politics.

In the event of a surge in local coronavirus cases, the Department of Education has a contingency plan to use a rota system for schools. This would mean that pupils could be kept off school every other fortnight. The Education Secretary insists that the document is only in the event of a “worst-case scenario”. But I think the government might well be underestimating the value that a rota system could offer. For example, we could stand down the entire cabinet every other fortnight, let them have a nice rest, time to have a little think about the mess the country is in and what they might do about it.

As Boris has a young baby and is still recovering from the aftermath of Covid-19, maybe he’d love an on-off rota where he could take a break from the disappointing realities of being Prime Minister. Who knew that his childhood aspiration to be ‘World King’ would end in such a fun-free existence? While he’s being furloughed, I’d like to volunteer my son for the position. His debating skills have been honed by years of arguing with me. When it comes to Brexit, the EU would surely capitulate in the face of his formidable negotiating tactics. Like me, they’d eventually run out of energy and say yes, yes, do whatever you want and then have to go and lie down in a darkened room until their heads cleared. Plus he can wrangle money out of me even when I’ve 100% decided in advance that I’m not giving him any – and that’s got to be useful in government surely?

And this is before he’s even begun his politics course…

Claire Calman’s latest novel, Growing Up for Beginners, is on sale.