Let me entertain you…

Talk about timing!

My 8 year old Flakelet’s seat of learning has adopted the school play equivalent of a broadband ‘Fair usage policy’, whereby every single class from every single year in his gargantuan cunting school gets to perform a nativity play (to full politically correct and non-threatening multi cultural standards of course) in an attempt to ensure that everybody is given a chance to embarrass themselves and twat about on a badly constructed stage. (obviously TRL didn’t apply his set-building skills to this place)

As you can imagine, this non-stop nativity marathon has been going on for what seems like fucking donkey’s years…it’s going to last until early June apparently…then afterwards they’ll start rehearsals for next year’s effort, which as you can imagine I’m looking forward to like a hole in the scrotum, administered by a blind psychopath with a rusty knitting needle.

However, in keeping with last week’s QotW, the Gods of timing have been kind to me, because it was only last night that it was the turn of my Flakelet’s nativity. What are the odds?

So…after a hard day’s work and with a million things still to do, I am forced to put my new suit on, then trek blistering miles to pretend to enjoy fucking amateur hour whilst watching my boy stutter through one fucking line of crappy, half-arsed, badly delivered dialogue.

The Flakelet has been banging on nauseatingly about this for months. “It’s the most important line in the whole play!” he squealed excitedly. “I’m one of the kings!...I have to stand in front of the whole audience at the very end and shout proudly: ‘Holy Lord, praise us all on this wonderful day!’…it’s gonna be brill!”

“Hmm” I think to myself…my hopes are not high.

Eventually, we assemble in the dimly lit, draughty school hall with the climbing apparatus bolted securely to the walls and a load of old bedsheets fastened by drawing pins (which by some incredible stretch of the imagination is meant to depict night-time Jerusalem – I weep for the future of education).

As my arse cheeks flop over the sides of the undersized, flimsy plastic seats I mutter “All this for one cunting line?” despondently to the present Mrs Pooflake, whose heartfelt beam of motherly pride is radiating around the room like one of those plug-in air fresheners.

“Shut the fuck up!” she snarls at me stealithy, whilst utilising her long practiced talent of delivering a well-aimed slap round my mush without anybody noticing.

After what seems like a cursed eternity, the lights slowly go up and I am slapped again…

(She had noticed that through boredom, my eyes had wandered and were now distracted by the rather hot looking assistant teacher who always dresses on the ‘slightly wrong side of appropriate’ on these occasions – all the fathers in the room were sharing a discerning ‘nod’ to each other in recognition and collective admiration of the gelatinous globe action bursting out from her low cut top.)

After a badly played piano intro, a gaggle of kids troop onto the stage, tripping over their brown hessian sack outfits and waving enthusiastically as the teatowels slip from their heads. There is a simultaneous ‘Awwwww’ breathed amongst the throngs of parents which manages to successfully suppress my cries of “Get the fuck on with it!”. However, I am soon sniggering to myself as they start singing, and I fondly remember the rude version of ‘When shepherds watch their flocks by night’

As I scan the stage, I can’t even see my Flakelet. “What the cock?” I ask.

“Shhhh, here he is now” TPMPF whispers as lo and behold, my mini-me ambles onto the stage wearing a spankgly skirt, bacofoil waiscoat and a dislodged crown that looks as if it has just been wrenched from a Tesco Value cracker and plonked on his bewildered barnet…

I have to admit he looked quite cute…

Right up to the point where he idles up towards the back amongst the sheep, leans against ‘the night sky’, pulls his fucking PHONE out of his pocket and starts pressing buttons frantically!

“MMmmppfff?” I wheeze as people start to 'tut' at this disobedient brat…I then desperately start gesturing futile attempts at sign language in his general direction whilst mouthing the words ‘Put your fucking phone away!’ in the vain hope of him even looking out to see if we were there. He just carried on oblivious.

The play dragged mercilessly on, and the boy hardly looked up from his phone the whole time, surfing the net as if his life depended on it…

(I know, I know…. it’s a bit ‘over-the-top’ to give a full internet-ready 3G smartphone to an 8 year old, but hey, I’m a techie, so leave off)

After endless songs, crude acting and a bizarre ‘incident with the Myrrh’ we reach 5:45pm, the nightmare play is finally coming to an end and it’s time for the big line. All the kids part like the veritable Red sea and someone nudges my Flakelet. He barely glances up, refusing to tear his gaze from his phone where he is pressing one button constantly with a look of intense frustration on his face. He then groans a little, and he walks towards the front of the stage. Parents are starting to whine in unison about ‘bad parenting’ and how he ‘was ruining everything’…

As he stands there at the front, it is time to deliver the big line and he is still looking at his bloody phone…One of the teachers then ‘coughs’ loudly to distract him…and suddenly his whole face falls like he’d been whacked with a 2 tonne mallet of depression.


…


He drops his phone, looks blankly at the audience and starts to speak…:

”Erm…Holy…….Holy……..”

The crowd gasp. Has he forgotten his one line? What the flowery fluorescent fuck was going on?

As the teacher tries to prompt, he continues to stutter: “Holy…….Holy?”…he then stares at the floor with a strained expression of severe disbelief

We all wait, breathlessly glistening with anticipation.

Finally, after a long, dramatic pause…he clears his throat then angrily bellows: “Holy….fucking cuntflaps! – what a shite Question of the Week!”

I didn’t even know he read B3ta.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Fri 27 Mar 2009, 10:28, 14 replies)

*weeps*
*and clicks with every body part imaginable*
Me love you longtime, Pooflake.
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Fri 27 Mar 2009, 10:33, closed)

*Stands*
*Applauds*

*and feverishly clicks way to tennis finger*
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Fri 27 Mar 2009, 10:34, closed)

With you on the scantily-dressed music teacher
At my son's nativity, she was so under-dressed you could see all the way down to the flaps.
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Fri 27 Mar 2009, 10:35, closed)

There's always one, isn't there?...

I reckon schools do it deliberately to ensure father's attendance at school functions
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Fri 27 Mar 2009, 10:38, closed)

At my prep school
All the fathers would take bets on whether the (female) director of music was wearing a bra or not at the end of term concert. My father was in the "unconfined" group, having stared intently at her sideboob for the first movement of Beethoven's First Symphony. My mother was not amused.
(The Empress it seems you CAN polish a turd!, Fri 27 Mar 2009, 12:14, closed)

Fantastic *swoons*
I'd have your children if it didn't mean having to attend a nativity play at some point in the future.
( girlinthehole, Fri 27 Mar 2009, 10:39, closed)

And then...
applause!
(Linusmartensson, Fri 27 Mar 2009, 10:40, closed)

Nice one
just fucking lovely!
( SpankyHanky, Fri 27 Mar 2009, 10:57, closed)

You had me all the way there
Nice job.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Fri 27 Mar 2009, 11:09, closed)

Brilliant as ever
and total agreement on the sentiment as well.
(Reverend Fister "a disciplined fuckwit", Fri 27 Mar 2009, 11:28, closed)

Bollocks...
That was a full-on office LOL.

And now I've had to show B3ta to the boss...mind you, it'll keep him quiet (and off the adult sites)

Oh yeah...*click*
( snee held his breath since, Fri 27 Mar 2009, 12:36, closed)

Clicked, and whilst on this subject
yesterday was my daughter's parent's evening.

I got there early in my car, pulled the laptop out, went on-line. Saw the QoTW.

The somewhat angry rant I put on page 1 was typed and sent from my daughter's school car park.

Thank God she wasn't in the car, she'd have learnt some new language; probably not too unlike the punchline in your tale.
( I_Was_Mordred, Fri 27 Mar 2009, 12:41, closed)

Nice
Was with you all the way there. Well played.
(purplegod counting down for Christmas!, Fri 27 Mar 2009, 19:14, closed)

Ahaha!
Good work, that man!
( Noeli overtheshoulderboulderholderthingstraplatchboobs, Mon 30 Mar 2009, 6:47, closed)