Okay so I’ve not been here for a while, well a couple of weeks to be honest. The reason for my tardiness is, (1) I have been touring schools, and (2) I have moved house. But before I go into that here’s part of the last blog written, it’s been languishing on my other laptop.
Monday 28.6.10 - So England is out of the world cup. Now I don’t know very much about football, and what I do know can be written on the edge of a pound coin. My knowledge of the beautiful game is this: A match lasts 90 minutes and I think Frank Lampard is fit. But despite my lack of football wisdom even I knew watching the match that England were playing badly, at times they didn’t seem to care. The nations disappointment was evident as we drove to our performance venue on Monday morning, as the car flags had disappeared from the country’s cars overnight. No St George’s cross fly from the Mazda’s, Mitsubishi’s and Mercedes’ on the A52 into Nottingham. As Martin Gore sings ‘Motherless Child’, we arrive at our school for the day.
We have a fun session first with year 10 where many personal questions are asked of us, doing the sex education show has been great fun, the audience have loved being able to discuss sex openly with us and I’ve taken every opportunity available to embarrass the little darlings. Year 9 is more subdued than their older peers, maybe because we do the drugs and alcohol workshop with them, and there’s no references to luminous condoms which you can play ‘Star Wars’ with: slide it on and turn out the lights and you have your very own mini light sabre. After the lunch, provided by the school we start our afternoon session. Year 8 is lively, and many know far more about sex than the average 13 year old. The session ends with us being made aware that there are two kids in our audience that are already having a sexual relationship with each other.
Tuesday 29.6.10 – A quiet day, George goes back home to Bristol, I drop him off at the coach station as Alessandra Amoroso sings ‘Bellissimo’. The rest of the day is spent reading and occasionally browsing the web. It’s nice to have a day to just chill out and do nothing.
Wednesday 30.6.10 – I drive to the bungalow to wait for the carpet fitters, Prince is on the iPod singing ‘Gett Off’. I take a call from TES (Times Educational Supplement) they tell me they are running the story about the school we visited last Friday that didn’t want us to address gay issues in the Sex Matters road show. The carpet fitters arrive, three of them, one old guy who looks like he’s ready to expire, a middle aged one with an assortment of missing teeth, and a younger lad who looks like he keeps the local kebab shop in business. Leona Lewis sings ‘Forgive Me’ as I sigh, resigned to a day with no eye candy. The carpets are being fitted when visitor number 1 knocks at the door, Earth, Wind and Fire as belting out ‘Saturday Night’ when the next door neighbour calls to tell me she’s had months, nay years of hearing the gates to the bungalow clang, she says it sounds really loud in her lounge and drives her husband mad. I smile and tell her I’ll make a note of it. The carpet fitters are motoring on, within what seems minutes the lounge has a carpet and they move onto the bedrooms. Kasabian play ‘Processed Beats’ when visitor number 2 calls, it’s a man come to sign off the gas appliances, thought he’d drop by on the off chance someone would be here. He has an assistant, a fit young thing who every time he bends flashes his grey pants purchased from Next. The day just got better, or so I think, because my iPod shuffles and randomly plays Busted ‘Crashed the Wedding’ and he gives me an odd look. Lunchtime arrives and every room now has carpet and the gas appliances can be used safely and as Daughtry sings ‘September’ from his second album, Leave This Town, I drive home to pack for my journey to Bristol.
The journey to Bristol is dreadful, we set off at 2.00 pm and arrive at 8.30 pm. We spend 2 hours in stationary traffic following an accident on M42, we’re shunted off at junction 4 and traffic snakes slowly along minor roads. Knackered we arrive at our hovel, sorry hotel.
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