The Nativity Play.....

Yes folks its that time of year again, whereby as a dutiful parent I oblige my responsibility to dispense with two hours of valuable time to go and watch the Junior School Nativity play. You have to understand that Teenager has been out of this scholl for two years now and Baby has been there for three of her allotted four years. So, overall for six years I have made my way to my junior size plastic seat in the school hall to watch either the Summer Show, or the Nativity Play.

I digress......the seat size makes no odds to me because.......well......frankly I'm not exactly likely to be picked for the Village Basketball Team. I lack a certain amount of inches in the height department...luckily though not anywhere more...ahem ....important (well I would say that wouldn't I). Lets put it another way...I've never had cause to complain about aircraft legroom no matter how cheap the flight. Very definitely vertically challenged (ooh good...can I have a council house please?).

So back to the play. If you include the Primary School years then we're looking at about 18 showsI've done in all. A day and a half of my life has been spent watching children in religous themed plays. Of course it seems so sweet and beautifully innocent when you first go. You watch as the fruit of your loins proudly sings to the carols, or emotionlessly blurts out their simplistic lines containing words they don't understand in order to tell the story of the as yet unmatched virgin birth (wouldn't you have been a bit fucked off if you'd been Joseph? I mean Ok God fucks your wife and gives birth to the new King of the World and you don't even end up laden with riches...bum deal). You sit their grinning like a demented Bonnie Langford who's got a Rampant Rabbit running inside her having just smoked some home grown Dutch Skunk . But then the horror hits home.......after about 10 minutes of this, you've had enough. Your kids done their bit and now you're just looking at the genetic horrors that have been spawned by the Chav insurgency into your Village or Town. Little boys called Keanu or Tyler fingers laden with bogeys , little girls called Shania or Beyonce, ears freshly pierced for the second time having been done for the first time ten minutes after birth stand their and howl out songs plastered in Mum's No.7 make up. And all you can do is smile because you're trapped in this nightmare. When you want the mobile to ring from work it never does. You can't leave because your other half would be mortified and you could kiss goodbye to any more dry runs on making new offspring for a few weeks. Your rictus grin is now fixed to your face, and you clap with everyone else. It's a wonder the Head doesn't come out and throw you some fish your performing so well. The clock slows to a crawl, each second lasts a minute. Time doesn't travel this slow when your team are beating Arsenal 1-0 with 15 minutes to go and you're down to 9 men! The bodies defence systems are starting to kick in with 20 minutes to go, your eyes are glazing over, your ears are set to auto-muffle, your nose blocks itself, your breathing shallows. You are nearly asleep but.........

....then the horror really starts. The Head walks out and says those dreaded words, words that are far worse than such delights in your life like
"I'm late..."
"Do you love me...."
"Look what I bought. There was 20% off..."
"Darling , I'm not sure whats wrong with the car but...."
"FA Cup Final result : Arsenal 2 - Chelsea 0"
"He's just a friend..."
"Dad...I've something I need to tell you......"
"Guess who's coming over...."

No, this is far worse. She scans the audience, noting the Burberry baseball caps, the leather jackets (yep, that'd be me), the Nike trainers and slowly dons the black cap.........well she might as well do because then she says

"Now it's your turn.....show the children just how well you can sing...after all you're their role models"

God help them I think. Now I can sing...in the car, the shower or the bath. I'm quite a dab hand at a party after 10 pints of Guinness and a few slammers. I really come onto my own on thje terraces of Stamford Bridge (sung to the tune of My Eyes have seen the Glory of the Coming of the Lord...I think I've got a Blue movie called that...)

"The Famous Tottenham Hotspur went to Rome to see the Pope, The Famous Tottenham Hotspur went to Rome to see the Pope, The Famous Tottenham Hotspur went to Rome to see the Pope and this is what he said.....FUCK OFF...,.who's that team they call the Chelsea, who's that team we all adore, wer der wer der wer wer wer der der der wer wer wer wer Coz Chelsea are the greatest football team"

You see - real class lyrics. And of course we have no real evidence yet to prove that final statement about our alleged greatness.

Anyway, the horror on all our faces is apparent, the Chavs are horrified, the pseudo snobs just want to die there and then, Dads groan inwardly, Mums just think......"aaaah ...well if the kids can do it...". To be honest most of the blokes are thinking along similar lines, with a slight variation of ...." ....just coz the kids can do it, why the fuck should I...this cost me a pound....they should fucking entertain me"...or maybe that was just me. We sang, in that tuneless, dreary, half arsed under the breath way that English adults do (I'm sure in Wales they fair sing the house down). Of course, some just cowardly fuckers just mouthed the words. I would have done if I was brave enough to even be a coward, but the look from GMD was one mark on the scale away from Medusa's "turn to stone" setting. Time just ran even slower. After eternity multiplied by ten, it was over and we could go. I said goodbye to friends and Hello to others I couldn't see on account of me not being able to see over the top of my chair without standing on it. As we walked out , Baby beaming away, the sense of relief was almost overwhelming. It was over, at least until the summer show. Life could start again and I could start planning the "very important reason to work late" excuse for that forthcoming event.

I hope to God the nativity story is true because if it isn't then I am going to having a little word with the Creator when he finally pops my clogs for me.

Later, GrocerJack