we're all just pushing along

It must be nearly the end of term; I've seen two of my colleagues cry this week, and virtually everywhere you go there are huddles of people muttering angrily to one another and looking hastily over their shoulders to check who might be eavesdropping. Not a happy school, mine.

There's an end of term play on at the moment; performed by one of our more psychopathic year groups. This means that apart from all the normal entertainments such as small children dressed up as dwarves and rabbits and the occasional fudging of lines we have extra added interest such as the trumpet which wouldn't play because someone had shoved a blue wig inside it, one of the kids sitting at the front of the stage calmly destroying part of his costume in the middle of a song, and a girl wearing long grey socks with her sparkly leotard because she point blank refuses to take them off, possibly because she is worried that someone will steal them for further trumpet muffling duty. I've spent a bit of time over the past few weeks helping to rehearse them, and it's been an uphill struggle of the hair pulling description all of the way. Despite (or perhaps because of) all this I was reduced to hormonal rubble yesterday by the sight of one of the more combative boys singing solo in a sweet albeit deeply embarrassed soprano. You can't help but love the little fuckers sometimes.