Saturday, 8 October 2016

Ain't nobody know de trubble ah seen

junior great south run entrant's number timer chipJust my kind of morning, up at 9 something with a mother still in bed for me to trap and shout at/regale loudly about Minecraft. And it was acting again. This time Bud stayed outside to sweep the yard, perhaps in preparation for a new career. I led the troupe of performing seals (ark, ark) upstairs where we collaborated on a sketch for the Victorian Festival of Christmas at Her Majesty's historical dockyard just round the corner.
Our performance is a heartbreaking deep blues tragedy in which downtrodden orphans work their little fingers to dem bones to please a cruel Uber-Mistress who does nothing but chastise them and crush any dreams they may have. We sing while working on a chain gang of laundry and towards the end, collapse through exhaustion and starvation. It's nothing like 'Annie' at all, in that some of us are boys.
Stage directions are a team effort and I made changes to our routine which have been written in. Later, I professed a fleeting desire to wear a tutu because this is all about girls and apparently that's completely fine as long as it stays on stage, witness the exaggerated ham-acting of Cinderella's ugly-dude elder sisters with the balloons down the bodice and 3 inch layers of make-up.
I also got my new official student hoodie top, my official Great South Run race number and timer chip, and my official 3 hours playing Minecraft and selecting my own film for Saturday night. Then the DVD player died even though Jof blew a hairdryer into its front portal.

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