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Poetry Blog: Prince

Album review: Prince's '1999′ keeps on giving in 2019 - Chicago ...

During lockdown many important things happened. People had birthdays, weddings, funerals even, and all were dealt with in as appropriate a way as was possible, given the circumstances. A notable thing that happened in my world was the anniversary of Prince’s death in April. He’d been gone for four years. What a loss. I loved him when I was younger. His music was ace, never failing to make me smile or want to dance or sing along. As a short skinny fella when I was younger, Prince’s legendary swordsmanship reassured me that you didn’t have to be a conventional ‘hunk’ to get any attention off the ladies. I later learnt that while not being a conventional hunk wasn’t always required, it probably really helped being Prince though! What a guy! So, I wrote a poem for him. As is kind of usual for me, it wasn’t particularly serious. I’d like to think that he’d have the kind of sense of humour that would have appreciated it. Maybe he’d call me up, invite me to Paisley Park to just hang out…

We’re four years down the road without you in a world now where unscrupulous retailers sell hand sanitiser for 19.99, Isolation’s brand of selfishness, a terrible crime. No funk, no sex dwarf to admire and no soul. Everyone’s stopped lovin’ to search for toilet roll. We need a multi-instrumentalist psexopath who used baby oil, not water when he was having a bath, A man turned on by a raspberry beret, a walking erection at any time of day. You told me to jerk my body like a horny pony would, Well, I’d try anything if you said it was good. Purple suits, stack heels and an Errol Flynn ‘tache,a sexy motherfucker, shakin’ that ass. An encyclopedic knowledge of sexy time know how, impregnating anyone with the suggestive raise of an eyebrow. With twenty three positions in a one night stand, that’s sexual flexibility like a rubber band. Lockdown might have been made for you, Prince, but adapted to incorporate a harem and no social distance. PE with Joe, telly, snacks, the odd role in the hay, you put the right letters together to make a better day.

Some Notes

I wrote the poem because I genuinely loved Prince and I was surprised that it had been four years since we lost him. As a much younger man, in a band, we’d been quite heavily influenced by his music, spending hours listening to albums like Lovesexy and Sign ‘O The Times and debating what we thought the lyrics were or what they meant. I wanted my poem to be affectionate, but with a sense of humour. And it had to reflect the times that we were now living through. I couldn’t help but wonder what someone like Prince would have made of being locked down.

That first line about hand sanitiser is referring to the fact that people who had it when it was in short supply were selling it at inflated prices – if you were into awful puns you could say it was a sign ‘o the times…

Is it possible to hear tumbleweed on a blog? I also wanted to reference a Prince song – 1999 – and I never actually saw any hand sanitiser at that price!

I think the term sex-dwarf came from either the comic Viz – and very English institution – or a radio show that I used to listen to. I can’t remember which, but I’ve always remembered it and thought of it as affectionate and amusing, rather than offensive.

The line about toilet roll is again referencing selfishness during lockdown. In the UK some people went panic buying as we were locked down, buying trolleys full of toilet roll, as if chronic diarrhoea was the thing that might get them, rather than a flu-like virus.

I came up with the word ‘psexopath’ and it really made me smile. Prince had a bit of a reputation as a ladies’ man, so I liked the idea of him just running round frantically having sex with anything that moved…when he wasn’t making music! It’s definitely how I like to think he lived his life and as a young man in the late eighties it was a lifestyle that just seemed to be a great choice! Thre are a few other references to his sex life in the poem too, none of them meant to be judgemental and all written with a smile on my face.

Finally, because I loved his lyrics, I wanted to get some of them into the poem. I managed a few, but I really like the line ‘jerk your body like a horny pony would’ from the rap in Alphabet Street, so I wanted that in the poem, albeit slightly paraphrased. It’s always fascinated me where that idea came from and always made me laugh a little bit.

I hope you like the poem. I hope it made you smile because that was very much the intention – a light-hearted tribute to someone I very much admired. I’d love to hear what people thought, so feel free to leave me a comment.

Poetry Blog – A New Normal

I wrote this one lockdown morning, a few weeks ago in the early hours. I couldn’t sleep, as has been the case all too often lately. I felt creative – what had kept me awake was that phrase, ‘a new normal’ that we’ve all been trying to get used to lately. I had a few lines swimming round in my head and decided to get up and try and write something. It’s no understatement to say that COVID-19 and lockdown/quarantine has changed everybody’s lives immeasurably. One thing that it has done for me is boost my creativity and on this particular early morning, that feeling of having to write something, combined with fear and uncertainty had me scribbling for a good hour. Amongst other things this poem was the result.

A New Normal

And from our fearful hibernation a new normal emerges.
Where faded lines on the ground tell us where to stand and judgemental frowns tell us how to do it.
Elsewhere, no lines are drawn in the sand and crowds flock like fearless pilgrims to beaches and beauty spots.
No one can count to six anymore.
Those we have lost, it seems, are easily forgotten for a burger or an ice cream.
You paid your dues in Thursday night applause, after all. This is the least you should expect.

Meanwhile, some still huddle together, scarred by the past and frightened of this new way of life, feeling our way back tentatively, occasionally forgetting ourselves at the sight of a friendly face, then paranoid that we stood too close.
Our children leave us but remain in bubbles for safety.
Life has to move on, yet we wish to stay this way forever. Confused like a swirl of spinning leaves, we have no answer.
We are passengers, resisting yet blown along all the same. Powerless. Frightened of a silent, faceless foe.

We frown at those who attempt to live again, but know we must submit ourselves back to the crowd sometime.
Sometime.
We don’t know when.
It is a devilish inevitability that awaits us. And we know we cannot shake its hand and be done.
We scold ourselves for feeling afraid, for not daring.
Life, it seems might simply never be the same again.
However brave, wherever you stand in that crowd, the back of your mind will always echo with the voice that warns against the new normal.

Some notes…

I’m not returning to work yet, but have many friends who are. The world scares me a bit at the minute. I keep hearing that phrase ‘new normal’ but I’m yet to discover mine because I’m so isolated. That made me write the poem.

It’s amazed me watching some people, who rather than adapt, seem to think that they’ve been locked down enough and that somehow time has healed things. That’s there in the line about ‘pilgrims’ and the line about ‘Thursday night applause’ refers to the Clap for Carers campaign in the UK, where people have stood outside their homes every Thursday night to applaud and acknowledge the work of our NHS. I think it’s a brilliant gesture, but have always wondered if some see it as some kind of badge of honour that allows them to take the moral high ground and then and go and do whatever they want. The fact that ‘no one can count to six anymore’ references the government ruling that people could gather in groups of six when certain lockdown rules were relaxed and many people seemed to just believe that what they actually meant was groups of over six or just multiples of six!

The line about feeling paranoid was just me referencing the fact that when I have bumped into people on our lovely government sanctioned walks, I always leave the situation wondering if I’d dropped my guard and mistakenly stood too close. I’m not the most tactile person, but nor am I a natural at standing two metres away from people I’m talking to!

The final verse was meant to represent the uncertainty of some people. I know in our house, we’d rather stay locked down, while understanding that this all has to stop somewhere and that things are undoubtedly a lot safer now.

Anyway, I hope you like the poem. It was an attempt to get out some of the frustration and fear that I have felt over these last couple of months and also at the situation that we find ourselves in now amidst the prospect of the ‘new normal’.

Feel free to leave comments – it’s always interesting to hear what people think of something so personal.

Book Review – ‘Set The Boy Free’ by Johnny Marr

One of the greatest compliments I ever received was when a mate at university told me, “You look like a young Johnny Marr.” I really wanted to be considered cool and this was music to my ears. I was thrilled at the time. I still am. As someone with a huge love of music who simply can’t play an instrument, unless you count the bongos, if the closest I can get to one of my musical heroes is looking like him, then I’ll take it!

For those who don’t know, Johnny Marr was the guitarist and founder member of The Smiths, a legendary English band. And sadly for a lot of people, that’s where the story stops. But fans know that Marr then went on to be part of several other influential bands across the decades and as such, to a lot of us he’s an absolute legend.

‘Set The Boy Free’ is an absolutely fascinating read. From his early life and humble beginnings in the suburbs of Manchester, Johnny was always fascinated by guitars. And once he got his hands on one it was a relatively short time before he became responsible for some of the most memorable, iconic records ever produced. The Smiths changed lives and continued to change them long after their split.

Marr describes, sometimes in incredible detail, how some of the most amazing Smiths songs were written. And for him, it’s more than just coming up with words and adding some music. He makes the song writing process in The Smiths sound quite magical, giving as much credit to his guitars as to any of his own skills. The relationship between him and Morrissey sounds remarkably harmonious and the way they write some of the greatest pop of anyone’s lifetime is conveyed as being almost mystical. But then tensions set in and Marr makes the difficult decision to leave the band.

As a reader, this is where even more magic starts to happen. You forget how many great bands Johnny Marr has had a hand in. But we’re led through all chapters of his musical journey. And oh, what a journey! Let’s drop a few names to either jog your memories or give you a bit of a surprise – The Pretenders, The The, Electronic, Modest Mouse, The Healers, The Cribs. Marr’s contribution to music has been amazing. And it’s all here in the book.

And yet, Marr talks about his life as if nothing remarkable has happened. There is no ego whatsoever in the book. This is just the tale of a boy who fell in love with guitars and music and then went on to live his life around them. In many ways it’s like reading about some kind of dream and because of this it sends a message to people, young and old, everywhere – if you want something; go and get it! And while I realise that life isn’t that simple, well it’s nice to dream. But that said, Johnny Marr is proof positive that dreams do come true.

What a man and what a life! If you’re into your music this book will be very much for you. Get yourself a copy and enjoy a fantastic read! Even if I wasn’t a fan of The Smiths, Marr or any of the other bands featured, I’d recommend this. A fascinating insight into making music – I’d give ‘Set The Boy Free’…

5 Guitars…because everything musical is rated on the famous guitar scale, right?

Lockdown Literature

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Lockdown should have been a miserable time. If you’d been told that you’d have to stay indoors almost indefinitely because there was the kind of virus that you’d only ever witnessed in the realms of Hollywood and this was the only thing that would keep you safe, you’d have been terrified. As well as looking at the people you’d be living with and wondering which one you’d end up eating first. But then, of course, this is exactly what you were told. (Answers in the comments about who you’ve eaten or are eyeing up for the garlic and herb marinade, by the way).

I’m sure though I’m not alone when I tell you that lockdown has been far from miserable. Yes, it’s painful being away from family, friends, loved-ones and simple normality, but it doesn’t half test your resolve and your sense of creativity. I have two children – a 13-year-old and a 10-year-old – and the challenge of keeping them busy, both with home-schooling and just in terms of general entertainment is tricky to say the least! The challenge of actually continuing to like them has been even trickier at times!

But there have been bright spots and one of which has been the way that people have rallied round each other. Yes, we can’t be together, but that’s not stopped people being kind and resourceful. Some have volunteered and made deliveries, picked up shopping and prescriptions for the elderly or clapped for the NHS. Me? I’ve done some of that and offered my services out even more. However, easily one of the best things I’ve done is to form a Facebook group to help everyone people stay creative.

Lockdown Literature – although it seems to have fizzled out of late – has been great. It was a group that I started in order to encourage some of my friends to stay creative during isolation and to see what people would write. It would also be another good way of staying in touch. The response across the weeks has been amazing – poems, short stories, life writing, even some literary criticism.

The whole idea came about because a friend had done similar, but with an art group. A bunch of us were attempting to post artwork regularly and as I’d been keen to start sketching again, so it served a purpose too. It was definitely fun. I must admit though, that looking at other people’s art made me feel quite inferior and this played a part in forming the Lockdown Literature group. In short, I knew that I was a better writer than an artist!

Lockdown Literature has prompted me to write some poems. This was something I had last done a few years ago and something I’d considered starting using as part of this blog. Typically for me though, I couldn’t find the notebook containing previous poems. And so, I had to start all over again.

My first idea came when I was pegging washing out on the line to dry. I was looking around the washing at my neighbour’s garden and it just occurred to me that his shed was massive. I was humbled by his shed! And a bit jealous, if I’m honest. So, I finished the hanging the washing out, dashed inside and started scribbling stuff down in my notebook. In about 20 minutes I had a poem and by the time half an hour had passed I’d posted it in the group.

I see my poetry as generally being a bit silly really. I like to try to use humour and to experiment with language, if I can. ‘My Neighbour’s Shed’ was exactly that. Silly, sarcastic and, at times, just me having fun with language. There was nothing here to change anyone’s life, nothing to move anyone to tears…or even think, really! Just an attempt to make people smile.

Since then, I’ve written poems about exercise gurus, home-schooling, nature and Prince amongst other things. And yes, that did say Prince, as in the little funky, purply adorned fella. But, inspired by others in the group, who it has to be said have written with real beauty and maturity, I’ve also written much more personal poems about family, which I’ll be posting in the blog in the coming weeks and months.

At the moment the group seems to have hit an almost terminal low. I’ve continued to contribute, but I feel like people might start to think I’m using it as some kind of showcase soon. A bit of a ‘Hey guys, this is me…’ kind of thing and that would never be my intention. So, I’m trying to come up with ways of getting people interested again, but it’s tricky without appearing to be annoyed at people, which I’m really not. I’d just love to read some more of the poems and stories that I’d read before.

So – and apart from me it seems to be an exclusively female group of contributors – here’s a little push, I guess. Laura – I’d like to see more life writing, Karen, that short story never ended, Ruth, Kath, Kylie, Emma, Hannah and anyone else in the group who I’ve missed, more of your poems, please! I’m clearly pals with a lot of very talented people! I’ve loved reading the things that my friends have written and for a month or so it felt like Lockdown Literature was a tiny force for good. And although I’m sure it’s not the most original idea anyone’s ever had, I’d definitely recommend setting up such a group with other like-minded souls. You could let me know about our own groups in the comments.

It seems appropriate to end with a poem. So, I will! This was a poem I wrote that was a little different from my other ones. I wrote it a while ago now having been forced out of bed by an idea. I knew I had to get up and get some words down on the page. I’m still unsure about this poem, but, as I said when I posted it in the group, it might be apt for the times that we’re all living through.

Happen

Don’t.
Don’t forever wait.
For the right time, the perfect place, the ideal feeling.
Make something happen.

Pick up the phone, write the letter, click send,
speak to him, speak to her, write the song, do the thing.
Make something happen.

Don’t.
Don’t sit on the fence.
Don’t leave it for tomorrow, count to ten, count to a thousand.
Make something happen.

Life will not wait. There is no perfect time.
There is no perfect. The wind won’t change and the cracks in the pavement don’t actually matter.
Before you know it time has flown, things have changed, they’ve found someone else who said or did what you should have, could have…
Make something happen.

Book Review: Apocalypse Z – The Beginning of The End.

Just when you thought the boredom, paranoia and all round drag of lockdown had become too much, along comes the recommendation of a book about a virus hit dystopian world. Well, at the very least, you should have plenty of time to give it a read!

Apocalypse Z – The Beginning of The End is actually a book that I read before the days of lockdown. Coronavirus was a mere shadow on the other side of the planet when I started it; a twinkle in its father’s eye (that is if viruses have dads – hey, I’m no scientist). I must admit though, the parallels to what was clearly approaching made for an exciting read and although we were never heading for a full zombie nightmare scenario, the book was thought provoking to say the least, throwing up any number of questions and moral dilemmas for the reader.

Apocalypse Z is actually set in Spain – it was originally published in Spanish and was translated into English in 2012 – and we live through a global pandemic via the main protagonist, a lawyer in Galicia, in the North-West of the country. The book takes the form of his blog, which starts off with short entries, mainly about the minutiae of his daily life, but always with at least a passing reference to what gradually becomes a shocking situation in a former Russian state. As news leaks out, we gradually learn more as the tension grows. We’re told that it seems to have been a terrorist attack on a Russian military facility and informed of the chilling images of troops taking to the streets. But information coming out is highly restricted. Hundreds have died, but it’s on the other side of the world, right? Not for long!

Within a few blog entries there are mentions of ‘infection’ and ‘bird flu’ and it’s clear that whatever the problem had been in Russia, it’s spreading across the globe. The blogs get longer and the lawyer’s daily life simply becomes survival. Within weeks Spain and the rest of the world is ‘infected’, there is talk of hot spots, safe havens and it is clear that the situation is getting out of control. Clearly, life will never be the same again and our protagonist is fighting for his life.

From here on in things go from bad to worse and it’s fair to say that the action is utterly gripping. Whether it was down to my love of a good apocalyptic thriller or just that I was reading the novel while living through a global pandemic, I devoured every word, finding myself rooting for our hero as he went through all manner of high octane situations.

In many ways, it’s fair to say that the plot is somewhat far-fetched, but for me that’s part of the fun. We can believe in a teenage wizard, an and all manner of battles in space with hundreds of different kinds of alien life-forms, so why not the end of the world? Certainly, recent events should have at least made people take the possibility a little more serious. And in my opinion you definitely shouldn’t let it get in the way of a good read. Suspend your disbelief and crack on!

Apocalypse Z – The Beginning of The End is a thoroughly well written novel. Our hero comes up against many terrifying scenarios across the course of the novel and Manel Loureiro’s writing makes them all believable. Just when you think that there’s some kind of salvation, another twist comes along to keep you on your toes. There’s no padding here; just an all-action zombie romp to remember! And as I found out when I’d finished reading, it’s the first book in a trilogy, so I’ll definitely be ordering the other two!

Just for the fact that for a short while it made me wonder what if, I give Apocalypse Z

SleepHero 5 Star Reviews – SleepHero

Another poetry blog – from sheds to ducks. The natural next step.

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Another poem from my Lockdown Literature group today. This one came about around the start of lockdown, when it was all new and in a way, quite exciting. You know, despite the terror and all that less exciting stuff?

I’d noticed lots of people on Facebook and Twitter posting stuff about nature ‘returning’ and it made me chuckle a little bit. Especially the really earnest ones where people were claiming that nature was re-claiming the streets or teaching us a lesson because, as humans, we’d got it all wrong. It was none of this. Animals have been adapting to their surroundings for longer than we care to imagine. Most likely it was just that things were quieter and animals had noticed and got a bit bolder about where they were wandering and when. Lots of people seemed to be reacting quite hysterically and yet the only evidence I’d seen at the time was the video of some pigs walking through the streets of Bergamo in Italy.

We have bird feeders at the back of our garden in the trees and while we were probably seeing more birds than usual, I was yet to see an eagle, a condor or a Terrahawk (I know that they’re fictional by the way – that was the joke). Admittedly I’d gained a rat in my shed (sadly for comedy purposes, not my kitchen), but other than that, nature was definitely not trying to teach me a lesson by parading up and down our road. And so, I began to think about how ridiculous the posts could get and whether people might start to outdo each other. From this came the poem that follows.

Guess who’s back?

It started with those cute pigs in Bergamo.
There were probably some ducks somewhere as well. There’s always ducks.

And then…

A giraffe stooping to get into Bargain Booze,
An ostrich in Hyde Park singing the blues,
An antelope out for a jog,
A lion combing his mane with a perplexed hedgehog,
A wombat on a BMX giving a backa to a pikachu and the pikachu’s listening to DMX and just staring hard at you.
Nature’s back.

In the park, after dark there’s a gathering of starlings,
They’re meeting up with collared doves and riding penny farthings.
Nature’s back. And it’s brought hipsters.

Foxes sketching landscapes while hunt beagles go climbing at Go Ape.
And of course, there’s meerkats trying to sell you insurance while panda bears do triathlons to test their bear endurance.
Out the window there’s more nature hourly,
We’ve even had a brontosaurus in our cul-de-sac in Morley…

While we’re locked down, sick with cabin fever ready to attack,
Comfort yourselves folks, nature’s very definitely back.

Apologies if you find that one a little bit cynical. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe, by July we’ll be overrun with wildlife carrying placards and marching through our city centres declaring that the humans should be made to pay! Maybe wildfowl will start looting supermarkets and electrical wholesalers after hours and setting light to stuff. And then I’ll be sorry, won’t I?

Anyway, I hope you like my silly poem. Feel free to drop me a comment or click the Like button. And if you really like your literature with a large helping of nonsense, the feel free to Follow. Thanks for reading!

Lockdown Literature – my stab at a poetry blog.

Shortly after our state of lockdown was declared I received an invitation to join a group on Facebook. A friend of mine – Helen, an Art teacher – was setting up a creative group for people to post their art work. It seemed a good way to help squash lockdown boredom and I had been fairly keen to start sketching again for quite a while. My daughter is a gifted artist as well, so I thought it would be nice to post some of her stuff. I could also involve the kids through Art lessons during home schooling. So off I went…

A couple of days later and having watched numerous people posting their artwork I had an idea for a literature version of the group. If people were avidly sharing their drawing and painting, surely I could get some to post poems and writing in my own group. After consulting my friend Laura about whether it was a good idea, I formed the group, invited a ton of friends and Lockdown Literature was born.

It had been a while since I’d written any poetry, but the group inspired me. It wasn’t long before I was being kept awake by ideas and lines from potential poems.

It was on the very afternoon that the group was formed, while pegging my washing out on the line in the sun, I found myself staring at the behemoth in my neighbour’s garden. Bigger, cleaner, tidier, better than mine. What I then wrote has no intellectual value whatsoever. There is no literary genius here or any great amount of thought. It’s not any kind of metaphor for anything else, just a poem about sheds and me feeling a bit jealous. The result of my envy – a silly, sarcastic and frankly daft poem – is below.

My Neighbour’s Shed

My neighbour’s shed has electric lighting.
It has those plastic boxes on the wall containing nails, screws, hooks and all manner of shediphanalia.

My shed is packed with football gear.
It’s a mess and makes me feel like a total shed failure.

My neighbour’s shed contains a high-viz jacket.
Placed neatly round he has a vice, a work bench, a grinder, a sander and drills, drills, drills aplenty.

My shed has some shelving full of spiders’ webs, grass seed, wild bird feed and a stain on the floor that’s a bit cementy.

My neighbour’s shed is a hive of activity – just like good sheds should be.
It’s been extended – by him, the smart arse – and it’s made safe by alarm led security.

My shed has bikes balanced on one wheel perilously, a lawn mower jammed underneath a Halfords roof box and it smells of whatever the opposite is of purity.

My neighbour’s shed is a lockdown dream. Clean, ordered and full of interesting tools. The biggest tool in my shed is undoubtedly me.

I hate my neighbour’s shed.

So, there you have it. My first poetry blog. I will post other poems and give people a little bit of insight into what I was thinking when I wrote them. I think I mainly write things that are supposed to be mildly amusing but some are actually quite serious! As for what I’ve just posted, I’d be interested to know what people think, so feel free to leave a comment. Thanks for reading!

The lengths we go to: A review of ‘A Christmas Carol’ as performed by the English Department (and a Maths teacher) of Thornhill Community Academy

Bob Cratchit’s sideline as a gangsta rapper was clearly of no interest to Scrooge who much preferred grime.

Labelled as ‘Laura’s Ridiculous Idea’ and granted its own Facebook Messenger group in order to get things organised this version of a Christmas classic was always going to be a tall order to pull off. But boy, did they manage it!

Late last year and indeed last decade, following a casual phone conversation, the idea was put to staff that the English Department at Thornhill Community Academy in Dewsbury should attempt to put on a version of Charles Dickens’ ‘A Christmas Carol’. The usual avenue of getting an outside theatre group in had proven far too expensive, but we still wanted our kids to have some sort of theatre experience. In a school that prides itself on doing things our own way and constantly striving to go the extra mile there was nothing else for it. We’d do it ourselves.

A wild idea? Yes. A bridge too far? Well, given that this was the famous ‘Educating Yorkshire’ school, then surely nothing was impossible. Needless to say, following several meetings and conversations as well as a few begging requests for props and costumes on social media, an ensemble cast was put together and a play began to take shape. A script was found, music and scenery arranged and staff put themselves forward for several roles each, some with a great deal more enthusiasm than others *coughs* Mrs Sinclair. (Episode 3 of Educating Yorkshire if the name rings a bell. Believe me, she’d want you to know).

Our production was to be put on twice in one day. A morning performance for the whole of Year 11 – and any staff that could make it along – and then a matinee performance, if you will, for Year 10 during the last hour of a busy day.

By the day of the performances the cast had managed to run through a whole two (count ’em) rehearsals. After all, any English department is a busy one, but let me tell you, the work we do here at TCA takes up an extraordinary amount of time. And thus, rehearsal time was at a premium. However, everyone in the camp – and also a lot of the pupils who would be in attendance – were excited and showing no signs of nerves on the morning of the performance. I say everyone, but personally I was terrified and all I had to do was work backstage and press a button occasionally.

Now although ‘A Christmas Carol’ is quite a serious play it was evident from the time the curtain went up (I mean, we have no curtain, but when writing about theatre, dahling…) it was clear that the objective of the whole cast was to have some yuletide fun. And so, while Scrooge (TV’s Matthew Burton) made his entrance he was roundly, and in an exaggerated fashion, snubbed by those making merry on the stage before we cut skilfully to his counting house – a beautifully prepared couple of desks and a different backdrop.

The pre-Christmas merriment continued as the play went on. The undoubted star of the show, Mrs Sinclair, brought out many a laugh, not least with her portrayal of Scrooge’s charwoman. Bent double, moving like some kind of hunchbacked Mick Jagger and in possession of what can only be described as a hybrid regional accent it was hard to keep a straight face as she asked, “Warm yer bed, sir?” Of course, this was a moment that one wouldn’t find in the novella, but it kind of set the tone for the rest of the action.

Emma, Laura & Bryonny proving that for actors sometimes words just get in the way.

Other highlights would include the whole cast – those on and off-stage – gesturing furiously towards what we’ll laughingly call the mixing desk – in a vain attempt to get our ‘visual technician’ to change the background when Scrooge tried to talk to Marley’s face in a door knocker that hadn’t yet changed to a door knocker from a street scene. Our ‘visual technician’ was me, left in charge of the clicker for a screen with a PowerPoint on. It had taken me mere minutes to relax and enjoy the performance so much that I forgot my job. A little like my role in the school nativity as one of the three wise sheep (probably) about forty years ago when I got so distracted by concentrating for my prompt that I forgot my one line – ‘baaaah’ – entirely.

Personally, I enjoyed watching the sheer glee on the faces of my colleagues every time they took to the stage. I don’t mean that they were grinning like idiots, but their enjoyment of what they were doing was all too obvious. As a very shy bloke I wouldn’t have dared attempt to act and so the brilliance of the performances in front of me was a joy to watch. The play was worth an imaginary admission fee for the ad-libs alone, but the approach of our actors was just brilliant. Another thing to admire about our talented department.

Later, and much to the astonishment of the audience – and the audible delight of Mrs Bell – Mariah Carey showed up at Fezziwig’s party and the English department gave a master class in how not to dance and how to avoid the actual rhythm of the track. As Scrooge watched on accompanied by a ghost that appeared to be wearing a christening gown on her head, Fezziwig’s Christmas party fairly rocked to the sound of ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’. Nearby, the all female section of the cast involved at this juncture did their best dad-dancing and all of a sudden it wasn’t so clear to see why Scrooge missed his days with Fezziwig so much. Sadly my request that ‘Horny’ by Mousse T be playing was rather criminally ignored. I mean, what kind of party doesn’t feature Mousse T? And what kind of adaptation of a Dickens classic is complete without teachers dancing to ‘Horny’? Oh, hang on…

Further highlights included Scrooge talking like a parrot – and apologising for doing so – the appearance of a child’s unicorn in place of a horse and carriage and a veritable cavalcade of accents, none of which seemed appropriate and some of which seemed to morph from region to region as the lines went on. Mrs Stylianou in particular, with her hybrid Welsh/Carribbean/Glaswegian accent, brought a certain mirth to proceedings that made it difficult not to laugh from the sidelines. Well accustomed to her bad accents, this reviewer just shook his head. Getting back to the appearance of the unicorn by the way, I have no doubt that one will also appear in a student’s written response about ‘A Christmas Carol’ in the near future, just as guns and cars are referred to in essays on Romeo and Juliet as a result of the Baz Luhrmann film. Fingers crossed it’s not a GCSE exam response!

As the curtain went down (we still didn’t have an actual curtain) and the players re-appeared to take their bow there was rapturous applause from those in the cheap seats. The assembled staff and students had clearly enjoyed their hour’s entertainment.

There was a special and deserved round of applause for our director, Dr Laura Price (not an actual medical doctor; a fact we have to confirm at our school on an all too regular basis) who had worked ridiculously hard to make this all possible, as well as taking on at least three roles too.

And therein lies the ‘thing’ about my place of work. This play was the epitome of what has become our mantra over the years – work hard, be nice. I’ve worked at schools where staff would gladly put on a show, but all too often these could turn into a vanity project. The staff panto at a previous school, for instance, was clearly always just a chance for the head to feed her ego by playing an overblown villain. This was anything of the sort. The people involved certainly didn’t need any more work. In amongst the planning, teaching, exam marking, after school lessons and other extra curricular work that we do, the thought of putting on a play was indeed a ridiculous idea. But the people that I work with will stop at nothing to help our kids. And so, vanity and in some cases dignity were put to one side, in the name of education and in order to give our pupils an experience that they otherwise would be very unlikely to have (and by that I mean a theatre visit, not just a chance to see their teachers dressed up and messing about). As I said, work hard, be nice.

It’s no exaggeration to say that this show was a triumph. It wasn’t slick or enormously polished, but it was a whole world of fun and I have to say my admiration for the people that I work with, already sky high, went up another few notches. The play was put on a day before the end of quite a brutal half term and yet my colleagues couldn’t have been more enthused about the whole thing. Me? I put the nerves to one side, scaled a flight of stairs off stage and pressed a button occasionally, but heroically.

I fear that the performance will now become an annual thing, meaning I’ll feel the pressure to get out there and perform. But, given what I watched at the end of term in December, I reckon my colleagues would carry me through. And if it’s got me thinking of taking the plunge on stage then it must have been a success.

Sniff the air folks…that’s the smell of a BAFTA!

A New Normal

Some notes…

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