Day of Laughter

Poor old Alfie was playing on the grassy knoll when She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named grabbed his arm and span him around, slamming him into the brick wall of the reception block. Now he's in a wheelchair, with ice on his leg! I suggested that the punishment should be cracking her leg in direct retaliation, a leg for a leg biblical style, but Bud says that underage judicial mutilation has sadly gone right out of fashion, can't even horsewhip them any more.
Well anyway, at home we read through my lines for the school play: obviously the adult (and it has been both of them sharing the duties) has to do all the other characters so waiting for the rest of the cast to get through their lines in all their silly voices is quite funny for me and there might be the odd giggle.
I have been told that I will be holding a newspaper during my scenes, so if required, I can consult my script which will be printed on the back. It would clearly be much better if I could commit the lines to memory, because then I could gesticulate, emote, empathize, and walk up and down a bit while delivering my lines. I'm working on it, hopefully avoiding Hancock-style burnout.
Also we retrieved 7 socks, a pair of knickers and a pair of gloves from the back of the radiator-that-eats-everything in the dining room, using a really long plastic ruler. I reckon that Dobby and the League of Oppressed House Elves should just look down the back of the radiators, srsly, they'd all be free Elves within a day. Sometimes it's nice to arrive home giggling just to cheer up the hard-working Jof who made us all hot supper.