Fly like paper

What are the odds of this? On my way in this morning, I passed one of the children loitering outside a Bookmaker. It took a moment before I realized she was waiting for her parents inside. Upon arrival in the staff room, I found one of the teachers lying on the floor, with her legs in the air. She was definitely conscious and the other staff seemed at ease. If she was trying to get pregnant, I wanted to tell her it’s just an old wives tale.

It was our day of internal exclusion, so Zak and I were cast into the pit. Only on a day like this can questions such as, “what is the best pencil a police officer can use?” “are you scared of Bloody Mary?” and “will I save a girl’s life when I’m older?” seem perfectly normal. The last question was prompted by our discovery of a single plimsoll on the staircase. I urged Zak to take it, suggesting this could be his ‘Prince Charming’ moment to meet his Cinderella.

I can confidently say I’ll never meet a ruder, more aggressive 11-year-old than Zak. Generally, when he’s at his most obnoxious, I can tune my head to a frequency that ignores him. Today though, his rudeness was becoming more intolerable. Enter Mrs Godsend, as she is to be known from now on, a woman who brings out the very best in Zak.

Zak helped Mrs Godsend in the kitchens, and it was a delight to see him working so well. Later, back in the pit, I discovered Zak had an ulterior motive. He wanted to serve food to the object of his affections. I asked how it went. “My hands shook a bit” he admitted “and my voice went wobbly when I asked if she wanted custard on her pudding”.

The afternoon was the antithesis of the morning. We all stood proudly for our class photo and later flew paper planes. Unfortunately for Zak just as our paper planes came crashing down, so did any hopes of him sitting Sats exams. Kate, the class teacher, gave him the bad news. I felt sorry for him, particularly as he had made a paper plane for my wife. He asked if my wife and I would be flying our planes this evening, and as we rounded a corner into incoming parents said “I hope you beat your wife tonight!”.

The other children in the class spent their afternoon in a mock election. Three children represented the major political parties. The rest of the class voted for their favourite. I’m not sure if this is in any way prophetic of the result tonight, but as I left at the end of the day, ‘Tory boy’ was sobbing uncontrollably.


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