When they’re the oldest and the main parts are theirs,
The Sandy’s and Danny’s are just out of reach,
The beautiful solos bringing tears to the eyes
Of an audience brittle with pride for their kids.
As the orchestra hit the final note
And the leading lady kisses her man,
The lights will dip for the final time
And everyone rises to excitable feet,
Encore! Encore! They all did so well,
Say teachers who secretly wipe away tears.
I went to watch our school’s summer production last night and all I can say is Oh My God! It was absolutely amazing and the work that must have gone into making it that good must be immense.
If you couldn’t tell from the poem, the production was Grease and our Year 10’s were playing the main parts. That means that these kids are only fifteen and they were performing in a way that would impress West End casting directors (if I may say so myself).
I often go off on huge rants about how bad behaviour is and how little respect kids have and how their attitudes can leave a lot to be desired. And I know when I say these things, I’m only focusing on the half that couldn’t care less.
Today I want to shout about the ones that do give a damn, because they deserve some attention and they give me so much hope for the future. And I want to say how proud I am of the students who took part – several of the English teachers were crying, it was so brilliant.
The standing ovation was enough to set me off. Well done to those that take part (and to the music and drama departments that put in some serious hours to pull these events off). You are all bloody amazing and I wish that I had even a smidgen of your talent.
Love Island is back! And I love it so much. But I now have a son that is only two years younger than some of the contestants on the show, and it makes me wonder how it must feel to be the parent of one of those islanders.
There comes a point when you must just have to turn off. I don’t know if I could even watch my child flirting, never mind kissing, and don’t even get me started on having sex.
So many islanders get drunk on champagne, have the hideaway to themselves and end up going the whole way and it’s like they forget that the cameras are even there. I’ve never really considered this before now and I think it might be because I can relate, having an older teen of my own.
Good luck to all the parents of this year’s contestants. I hope that you don’t embarrass too easily and I hope that you don’t have to watch anything too uncomfortable. And remember that there have been several successful marriages out of the show so you might have a really happy ending.
And little cars on rails that pull the children in
With pound coin tokens from the booth
The cafe offers little warmth, but coffee
Draws us in and carrot cake or scones and jam
Watching woven waves come crashing in
Wondering where that charcoal ocean ends.
I have a real love of piers and every time I go to the seaside I insist on taking a walk down the pier. You just can’t beat the two pence tipping point machines, and the excitement you feel when twenty coins tumble into the tray at once.
I particularly enjoy piers on days when the weather is a bit rubbish. A couple of years ago, I went to Bournemouth in February and we took a walk down to the pier. We stood on the edge and watched the brave surfers who were covered in wetsuits, gloves and boots to keep them warm in the freezing water.
There is just something magical about not being able to see where the grey sea meets the sky, and hearing the waves crashing against the metal structure.
And of course, sitting on a bench, all wrapped up against the cold and eating fish and chips straight from the paper wrapper is just the best way to end the day.
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