The wee fella was in the end of term school musical last week. He was a policeman in The Pirates of Prestwick and he wielded his truncheon with an energy and self-belief that had me fair wilting with pride...or maybe that was the heat. The school hall with its large windows and wooden frame was doing a fair impression of a sauna, minus the plunge pool and the Scandinavian babes. The closest they came to having air conditioning was the pirate sword holding the door open up the back of the hall.
The eagle-eyed among you – or at least the geographically articulate will have noticed how the school “musical director” changed the name of the musical to reflect the school’s situation. Geddit? Prestwick instead of Penzance? Gilbert and Sullivan. What the fokk is that all about? Prissy, self-congratulatory and antediluvian musical mush.
“I am the very model of a modern Major General,
I've information vegetable, animal, and mineral,”
What utter mince. I HATED their stuff when I was at school and they still make the poor kids sing it all these years later.
Fokkers. You can tell I was scarred can’t you?
To be fair the kids (11 and 12 years old) gave it their all. If Amanda/ Piers/ Simon/ Louis/ Cheryl/ Danni had been present they’d have been told that they made it their own. But they would have no doubt questioned the choice of songs, suggesting that they sing something the audience would be more familiar with. Like a Lady Gaga cover.
I overheard one of the leads speak to his girlfriend on the way out. She was like a full two heads taller than he was. Apparently he told her he fancied her during the rehearsals. I’m guessing the glamour of showbiz was enough for her to overlook (see what I did there?) the height thing.
All that effort – he said to her, his wee face flushed and his stage makeup running down his cheeks – I’m not sure the pleasure I got from performing was worth it.
That’s Gilbert and Sullivan for you, mate.
