Have you thought about what determines the way we are as we grow up? Remember the TV program Seven Up! It started following the lives of a group of children in 1963. We first meet them as wide-eyed seven-year-olds and then catch up with them at seven-year intervals (间隔): nervous 14-year-olds, serious 21-year-olds, then grown-ups.

    Some of the stories are inspiring, others sad, but what is interesting in almost all the cases is the way in which the children's early hopes and dreams are shown in their future lives, for example, at seven, Tony is a lively child who says he wants to become a sportsman or a taxi driver. When he grows up, he goes on to do both. Nicki says, “I'd like to find out about the moon.” and goes on to become a space scientist. As a child, soft-spoken Bruce says he wants to help “poor children” and ends up teaching in India.

    But if the lives of all the children had followed this pattern, the program would be far less interesting than it actually was. It was the children whose childhood did not prepare them for what was to come that made the program so inspiring. Where did their ideas come from about what they wanted to do when they grew up? Are children influenced by what their parents do, by what they see on television, or by what their teachers say? How great is the effect of a single important event? Many film directors, including Stephen Spielberg, say that an early visit to the cinema was the turning point in their lives. Dr Magaret Me Allister, who has done a lot of research in this area, thinks that the major influences are parents, friends and the wider society.

    After returning from her round trip, the angry woman stood outside the ticket office of the station. “The railway owes me 12 pounds，” she said to Harry Jenks, the young man working at the office. “You sold me a ticket for May 22nd, but there was no ship from Jersey that night. So my daughter and I had to stay in a hotel. It cost me 12 pounds.”

    Harry was worried. He remembered selling the woman a return ticket. “Come into the office, Madam，” he said politely. “I'll just check the Jersey timetable for May 22nd.”

    The woman and her little girl followed him inside. She was quite right, as Harry soon discovered. There was no sailing on May 22nd. How could he have made such a careless mistake? He shouldn't have sold her a ticket for that day. Wondering what to do, he smiled at the child. “You look sunburnt，” he said to her. “Did you have a nice holiday in Jersey？”

    “Yes，” she answered, shyly. “The beach was lovely. And I can swim too！”

    “That's fine，” said Harry. “My little girl can't swim a bit yet. Of course，she's only three ...”

    “I'm four，” the child said proudly. “I'll be four and a half.”

    Harry turned to the mother. “I remember your ticket, Madam，” he said. “But you didn't get one for your daughter, did you？”

    “Err, well ...” the woman looked at the child. “I mean …, she hasn't started school yet. She's only four.”

    “A four-year-old child must have a ticket, Madam. A child's return ticket from Jersey costs .., let me see ... 13.50 pounds. The law is the law, but since the mistake is mine ...”

    The woman stood up, took the child's hand and left the office.

    Before a new type of airplane goes into service, every part of it is tested again and again. But there are two tests that are more important than all the others.

    The first is called the "tank test". A modem airplane must fly very high in the sky. Air must be pumped into the plane so that the passengers can breathe. The metal structure (结构)of the plane has to be very strong for this reason. When the plane is filled with air, the air presses against the skin of the plane inside. The pressure (压力) on a small window is like a huge foot that is trying to get out. If a small part of the plane were to fail, the plane would explode in the sky. To test the structure of the plane, the plane is lowered into a huge tank or container of water. Then it is filled with air. Vne pressure inside the plane is greater than it ever will be when it is high up in the air. Finally, there is an explosion. This does not cause so much damage inside the water tank as it would anywhere else. Engineers can discover which part of the plane has broken. Then that part is made stronger.

    The most dangerous test happens when the new plane is going through test flights in the air. The test pilot must find out exactly what happens when the engines (发动机) are all shut off at once. The plane begins to fall like a stone. It is the pilot's job to find out how he can get control of the plane again. These two tests are examples of how planes are made safe before they ever carry passengers.

    As Simon Kindleysides, 34, took his first step in the London Marathon in April, he felt as if magic was in the air.

    "As we were walking toward the first mile, we actually started joining all the runners," he said. "Everyone was on the streets, cheering, and that was a magical moment." As time went on, the crowds and other racers spread around. Kindleysides and his team of eight supporters continued walking.

    Kindleysides, who is paralyzed(瘫痪的)from the waist down and typically uses a wheelchair, was equipped with an exoskeleton(体外骨骼)to help him walk. His supporters walked with him to change the batteries in his exoskeleton so he could keep moving.

    In 2013, Kindleysides was diagnosed with a brain tumor (肿瘤) that was growing in a way that pressed on certain nerves, leading to him losing feeling in his legs. He was told he would never walk again. Before his paralysis, the London-based singer and dancer had "always wanted to run a marathon," he said, but he never made the plan to do so--until this year.

    During the London Marathon, the last two miles were the hardest. "At that point, I was exhausted. It was freezing cold, and I was hurting emotionally," Kindleysides said. But he kept going. "I didn't want to let people down. I had a team of eight, and I was raising money for The Brain Tumour Charity," he said. "I didn't want to let them down, myself down, and I thought if I would get this far, I would have to continue."So he continued and made history as the first paralyzed man to complete the London Marathon on foot.

    Then, recovering at home, he shared his accomplishment with his three children. "They used to say I'm the only dad in their whole school who's in a wheelchair, and now they say I'm their dad, the only one who has walked a marathon," he said.

    Kindleysides is training to complete three more marathons next year, including the London Marathon again.

    I was desperately nervous about becoming car-free. But eight months ago our car was hit by a passing vehicle and it was destroyed. No problem, I thought: we'll buy another. But the insurance payout didn't even begin to cover the costs of buying a new car－I worked out that, with the loan, we'd need plus petrol, insurance, parking permits and tax, we would make a payment as much as £600 a month.

    And that's when I had my fancy idea. Why not just give up having a car at all? I live in London. We have a railway station behind our house, a tube station 10 minutes' walk away, and a bus stop at the end of the street. A new car club had just opened in our area, and one of its shiny little red Peugeots was parked nearby. If any family in Britain could live without a car, I reasoned, then surely we were that family.

    But my new car-free idea, sadly, wasn't shared by my family. My teenage daughters were horrified. What would their friends think about our family being "too poor to afford a car"? (I wasn't that bothered what they thought, and I suggested the girls should take the same approach.)

    My friends, too, were astonished at our plan. What would happen if someone got seriously ill overnight and needed to go to hospital? (an ambulance) How would the children get to and from their many events? (buses and trains) People smiled as though this was another of my mad ideas, before saying they were sure I'd soon realize that a car was a necessity.

    Eight months on, I wonder whether we'll ever own a car again. The idea that you "have to" own a car, especially if you live in a city, is all in the mind. I live—and many other citizens do too—in a place that has never been better served by public transport, and yet car ownership has never been higher. We worry about rising car costs, but we'd be better off asking something much more basic: do I really need a car? Certainly the answer is no, and I'm a lot richer because I dared to ask the question.

Upon my arrival at Falconwood Apiary, Kaat Kaye is already engrossed in the meticulous inspection of the apian domiciles, oblivious to my arrival. I find myself privy to her soft murmurings directed towards the bees, their mellifluous drone resonating through the atmosphere, interspersed with her gentle words of encouragement and compromise.

Kaye was born with profound auditory impairment. Although she has the capacity to perceive sounds with the aid of auditory prosthetics, she often dispenses with them during her labors. "Acoustic sensations are alien to my experience," she elucidates. "I revel in the tranquility and stillness. In the company of bees, aural perception is superfluous. My concentration is heightened when not beset by incessant auditory distractions."

Adorned with naught but her cowl, apiarian instrument, and device for the emission of smoke, Kaye proceeds with a measured and deliberate gait. In contrast, I am excessively attired, having donned a comprehensive protective garment for our encounter. She advises me to shed the gloves I've brought along and directs me to a position that will minimize the agitation of the bees. Kaye's tender and cautious methodology instills a sense of calm in my presence among her charges. As our time together accrues, my admiration for Kaye's fervor for apiculture and the manner in which her auditory limitations have sculpted her distinctive methodology deepens.

In her vocation, she champions organic apicultural practices that minimize the utilization of chemical treatments. Moreover, she gathers all the requisite intelligence for the stewardship of the hives by depending on her non-auditory senses. Perhaps most notably, what renders Kaye an extraordinary apiarist is almost metaphysical. Excelling in her vocation is inextricably linked to adaptability, navigating the myriad uncertainties that emerge on any given day. Is precipitation excessive? Scarce? When will the flora reach full bloom? Will it yield a bountiful harvest of honey? She responds with alacrity, ensuring not to disrupt the bees' cadence and equilibrium.

"There is a profound, almost spiritual dimension to the craft of beekeeping," she remarked. "You cannot exert absolute dominion over them, akin to any element of the natural world, indeed. Some years bestow upon us an abundant honey harvest. Other years are fraught with adversity, resulting in the loss of half of the hive. There is considerable sorrow but also considerable delight, too, in simply toiling in the great outdoors with these sentient beings—a living, complex superorganism."