Today we had PE with added dance where we were told to be fireworks. Now, some of us see PE as sport, some as torture, and some as team activities with co-ordinated movement and suchlike, so dance almost qualifies.
Us playground professionals, however, already have a firework-related co-ordinated group effort called the Rocket. We all bunch up, run in the same direction with a big whooshing noise, and at a pre-arranged point, split up and explode in all directions going weeooo bang scream etc like the Mighty Snorting Powder Rangers. But this self-invented flashmob was deemed a Red Card offence by the border-guard teachers at breaktime, who are restricted to manning the perimeters, being unable to offer better policing. Too loud, apparently.
And we had a spelling test with Grade 7 words like acquisition, peripatetic and antidisestablishmentarianism, even Golden Girl Lucy only got 8/10. I limped in with 5, although numerous colleagues got 0.
At work, Bud made contact with the guy that wraps pallets so we got some more cardboard bazooka tubes for the next Scouts camp. I don't know what I was thinking when I chose to pose for this pic. Antibiotics, anyone?