The whole “Pupil of the Week” thing at primary schools is a little bit contentious: while some teachers award them only when they feel it has truly been earned, others dole them out every single week to a rotating roster of students for things like “For doing your personal best”, “For being next in line to receive Pupil of the Week” and probably even “Because it’s all good” (Is it? Is it??).
However, I’m extremely proud to announce that Mr Justice’s recent award was for his “extreme enthusiasm and creativity when story-writing”. I got a big kick out of the word “extreme” because I imagined his teacher and fellow students all cowering in the corner, a bit fearful that Mr Justice’s creative enthusiasm might blow any minute, much like his mother’s cold sore. Or even, as one of my readers (and facebook friends) Nellie remarked, he might have been “writing stories while balancing a chain saw on his nose while walking on a wire.” A remark I chose not to share with Mr Justice just in case he got himself any wild ideas.
Anyway, Mr Justice’s award meant I had to go to assembly for the first time this year. Since The Pixie’s one and only kindergarten session is on the same morning, that time slot represents the only two and a half hours in a week where I regularly just have one child at home with me. Those mornings, it feels like I’ve died and gone to heaven, except that I’m A) still in dire need of a apronectomy and B) still in charge of one child. But what the hey, at least it’s not three (and I still have somewhere nifty to balance my champagne glass when watching TV). So, call me selfish, but I’m not going to blow even ten minutes of that precious precious time hanging out at the school, much like a dog returning to its own vomit, unless I absolutely have to. So because Mr Justice was getting his award, I duly lugged Tiddles to the school gymnasium with the intention of hotfooting it to the cafe for some urgent recaffeination at the earliest opportunity – my own little reward for enduring Mr J’s award.
And so my heart sank just a little when the first thing the Principal told us was that this was to be a very special assembly. It turns out some of the senior school boys had been taking part in an African drumming workshop and were going to put on a “special show” for us. And by “special”, I immediately assumed that he just meant “long”. It was like someone had been dangling a latte on a string in front of me and then suddenly yoiked it away – I think I might have even teared up a little.
However, the first bit of drumming was great and I soon perked up. The teacher – a handsome man from the Horn of Africa whom I shall call S – had obviously worked long and hard with these boys, who were drumming with great (extreme?) enthusiasm. Then everyone on the stage swapped instruments and they appeared to do the same song again. And then they swapped instruments a third time and I felt one of my caffeine-withdrawal headaches coming on until suddenly… S got up to dance. It was like some of Mr Justice’s finest and most manic moves all rolled into one routine – including a cheeky waggle of his bottom at the crowd. S was working that crowd like it was Live 8: he grabbed hold of the microphone, he got the kids, parents and teachers all up on their feet to dance and – just when we thought it couldn’t get any more exciting – he took off his shirt.
Oh yes. Shirt. Off.
The kids went wild but their enthusiasm came nowhere near that of the (predominantly female) staff and the mothers in the room, whose suddenly beaming faces betrayed them all, every single one. Later on, after school, Mr Justice said he really liked it when S took his shirt off because he thought he was going to take his undies off too. “It wasn’t that kind of ‘special show’,” I replied, with just a hint of regret in my voice.
After the drumming spectacular finished, the principal thanked S and the boys and went back to reading out notices, stopping from time to time to say what a memorable assembly it had been. I looked around the room and by the flushed looks on the faces of the women in the room, I doubted they could even remember their own names at that moment, let alone register that their own child’s name had just been called to take their Pupil of the Week Award. But hell, if every assembly is like that, here’s hoping Mr Justice’s next Student of the Week Award ain’t too far away, rewarding of mediocrity and all that.
Oh my god! Can anyone go to these assemblies?
I want tickets for the next one…
Who knew that assemblies where so exciting? Makes you wonder what else you’ve missed.
Me! Me! Me! I’ll come to the next assembly. Even if Mr. Justice is at home sick… I will SELFLESSLY represent the family on behalf of your first born. That’s the kind of honourable [and old with no sexual juices left…ahem] person I am. So yes. Me! Me! Me!
Hmm. It kinda makes you wonder if the school hasn’t got hold of some up-to-the-minute focus group data, in the effort to know what will keep assembly audience numbers up. money well spent, it would seem.
Oh, my, heavens, I think I just wet myself laughing.
The image of you, wistfully wishing you were at home resting a glass of bubbly on your child’s head (I’m assuming you use an old-fashioned glass for the purpose, even at the risk of diminishing bubbles) as Regis and Kelly take a break, scalded by the latte yanked out of your mental gasp and into your lap, perking up at the drumming, then the drumming, then the partial nudity is hi-la-ri-ous.
That Mr. J. wanted his undies off, too, brought me crashing back to my own home.
A most excellent post, to honor a most excellent titillation. Here’s hoping parent-teacher conferences are henceforth clothing optional.
“Apronectomy” LOL. OMG! WTF?
And I’m the one with the reputation?
Loved it! Thinking that maybe Little Lord Fauntleroy should change schools – our assemblies are nothing like this!
Wow – and all the parents over this-a-way thought last year’s assembly where our jolly, rather roly poly (ie. fat as) deputy principal donned a zany Hawaiian shirt and did a few crazy moves to ‘Surfin’ USA’ was a real hoot! What shite.
Not a soul in da house would have wanted THAT shirt to come off, let me tell ya.
Surely some parent was filming some video you can post? Go on, let us all get a little flushed.
4 weeks of his first year at school left for his higness lord F and i haven’t been to a single assembly…….WHY?!!!!!!!!!!!!
This is getting scary.
i’ve just enrolled my two at that school…bugger the price of petrol…
I think I saw S sitting quietly in the office waiting area reading something intellectual…..who knew what lay beneath???
Hahahahaha! I bet as he was dancing you were all secretly wondering what he looked like shirtless. Maybe it was the culmination of all the combined subconscious desires of the women present that lead his topless dancing…… S better be careful at the next school assembly…..