Yet another maths test: this is getting wearisome. Surely there's no maths left by now? Only one pupil got 40/40, still not me: I am forever condemned to be the 38.5 also-ran, like the permanent bridesmaid.
So, of late, the school has been following the 'Roast me' meme and you can always find little knots of kids playing the roast challenge in the playground.
Once the gauntlet is thrown, Child A starts with 'Your nose is so long your mother uses it as a washing line', and Child B retaliates with 'Your butt is so big it has its own postcode'.
This continues with points scored for ever more fancy, contrived and earthy insults, and clearly I have simplified it for the ears of parents, who don't know the words we do.
But recently a little tiny baby Year 4 tried to join in (and gosh aren't these people so innocent and weedy) and of course was instantly floored by a terrible barrage of invective, so he went bawling to the office where parents were called and the Head Teacher has banned it forthwith On Pain Of Red Card.
Tomorrow we travel back in time to September 1939 and the evacuation of 3 and a half million people to the relative safety of the countryside. We are dressing up as wartime evacuees and so have to loiter on a train platform looking slightly lost and fearful: I have been provided with some kit and quite honestly, I feel like I'm right back in the Victorian Festival of christmas. At any point I might offer to clean out yer chimbley for sixpence, guv.
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