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This had a side benefit in that I was wearing a hi-vis shirt therefore full of health and safety (and visible from space) so I was allocated the 'Helper' role and duly ferried flags and batons and hula-hoops up and down the fairway. I also shouted myself almost-hoarse, perhaps donkey.
I came third in the Egg and Spoon race - I was bossing it but dropped my tennis ball too many times - so won a sticker and a house point. My house won overall, of course, and when we discovered that the scorer-lady was an ex-pupil of my house, there were murmurings of dissent and demands to re-run the referendum and leadership election nonono but we certainly had the Not Fair Brigade out in farce.
Our latest school class photo was revealed. The teacher (for whom our class is named) is conspicuously absent from his own photo. Perhaps he was once in the SAS and is allergic to cameras like that nice chap with the Land Rover that helps out my Scout group every now and then.
In Scouts we had the famous trestle tables of soggy muddy unclaimed kit from the weekend camp, not so much a sight to behold as a smell to bewhiff. I only had to get a tea-towel. I did the prayer in a loud clear thespian voice and did the flag-lowering ceremony too, although it was difficult to reach it over the piles of abandoned clothing, which will go in the bin if not collected by next week.
I fell asleep with the lights on at 945, narrowly avoiding the ignominy and trauma of seeing England make a super-classy Football-Brexit at the hands of soccer Titans Iceland, who we will now support because they have better names than us and also the 'HOOO!' chant.
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