Protest! Revolt!
2002-12-17 || 9:30 p.m.

Picture the scene if you will.

Its Laura's leaving concert. All the classes have to prepare an act. A song, a poem, a drama, you get the picture.

I get the short, short straw. I'm on duty. The teachers are performing too. A dance. I've practised it once. Me and Helen grabbed at each other when they said 'find a partner' and shuffled to the back, hidden behind the caretaker. Being on duty is a pain. It means I can't get changed into my costume during break like all the others. It means I need to find someone to come into my class to allow me to go to the loo. But of course no-one will come, they're all too busy sorting their own costumes etc out.

Anyway, I decide not to worry about it. I have to remember my vow of not passing on bad vibes to others.

I get two, yes TWO messages from Maria, 'can year 4 please hurry up and come down'.

Oh God. We go into the hall.

Every, EVERY class is still in uniform. Every class sing a nice song or recite a poem. My class come in looking like a drag act. Fuck me. What is wrong with me? My boys are wearing dresses. And wigs. And carrying handbags. Maria has a poker face. There are two priests there watching. But oh fuck, I'd do it if the frigging pope was there.

We do a re-telling of Cinderella. We go to a disco instead of a ball. Dance to 'Dancing Queen'. Its fucking funny. The kids are howling with laughter. Kylie is nearly crying.

Well, it is pantomime season I thought.