Article | Published in The TES on 29 June 2007 | By: Catherine Paver, writing as Emily Shark
They should rename the summer term "the term that would not die". It's
like a bad film that you keep thinking is about to end when it's not.
Things like the leavers' assembly feel like the end because of all the
crying and cheering.
And today is sports day, whoop-de-doo, with more cheering.
But there are still three more weeks to go.
"Oh, try to enter into the spirit of it," Sally Carton chirped at me this morning. There she goes with her beaming band of banner-waving Year 8s. I have tried. I like the sound of children cheering...from a safe distance - the way those howls of joy somehow hit the same note. How do they do that?
Some of them clearly love it and those who don't
at least get the chance to scream for a whole day. I'd be up for that,
especially with Melinda Sleam melting all over Mr Gorgeous like an ice
lolly on tarmac. What a waste.
So the cheers are nice, but the twinkly feeling fades when I find out
what I've got to do for the day. I'm score-keeping this time. I have
to sit here filling in a confusing chart. I'm not allowed off my chair
until the relay races are over. By the time I get to the Year 7 cake
stall there'll be nothing left but a few plates of squashed blue icing
with flies in it.
Right, so how does this work? "Take the results
slip from the messenger when they arrive. Only enter the scores when
every tier has run. Keep the red slips completely separate from the
green slips." Well, I know what a tier is, because when Alison Tenk
did this job last year she forgot and messed up all the 400 metres.
As for maintaining total slip purity, the red ones can stay on my knee,
safely quarantined from the pox-ridden green ones.
There's the whistle. Right, watch for the messenger. Yuck! There goes
the happy couple, Melinda and Jon, holding big plates of food. Lucky
sods. And here's me, stuck in a cakeless desert of scoresheets. Sleam
should be doing this. She likes filling in crappy little boxes. Wait,
here comes the messenger - and Melinda's heading this way, too. Go away!
"Hi, Emily - where have you been hiding? Listen, Jon and I are having
a barbecue in two weeks' time. We'd love you to come along and join
us."
"Oh, lovely. Thanks!" (Hiding?)
"Super. We'll give you a proper invitation soon. Have fun with your
scoresheets!"
Ah, shuddup, you toxic harpy. Now, let's deal with this messenger. Wait...why
is that slip in her hand orange?
"Miss Shark! Here's the slip. Sorry, the scribbled
out bit says that tiers four and five were joint first and tier one
was last. Byeee!"
Hmm. A slip you can't read in a colour that doesn't fit. This is gonna
be a long day.
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