We have had rather a splendid day.
We have been at Lucy’s school. It was a day intended for parents of the Upper Sixth, in order to discuss their likely exam results and also potential destinations for the continuation of their educational pathway.
We arrived on time for once, indeed, we were the first there.
We had stopped the camper at the local garage for fuel, and been disapprovingly stared at by a middle class couple in a Range Rover at the next pump.
They were disconcerted later, it turned out, to find themselves sitting next to us at lunch. Mark smiled and made polite conversation. I pretended to be deaf.
The school day, very sensibly, started with coffee, and we had barely filled our cups when Lucy came bounding in, looking tall and elegant and pleased with her world.
She joined us at one of the big library tables, and instantly captured our attention by telling us the most scurrilous story that an upper-class girls’ school could hope to have to try and keep out of the newspapers.
Last night they had had the annual inter-house singing competition. This is called Fun Song, and the girls prepare for it for ages.
To everybody’s horror, some very naughty Lower Sixth girls enlivened the proceedings by getting drunk first, Lucy thought probably on vodka brought in water bottles by day girls.
By the time it was their turn to sing they were swaying and giggling, and then refused to get off the stage, after which one rascally girl ran round the back and gatecrashed the next act as well. She was dragged away, fighting and protesting, and sealed her terrible fate by hitting a teacher.
The teacher was, of course, unhurt, being swatted at by an intoxicated sixth former not being an exceptionally awful misfortune, but nevertheless, the Powers That Be were shaken to the core of their genteel souls. Instead of quietly expelling the offenders from the hall and telling them that they would have them put in the stocks first thing in the morning, the competition was cancelled and all of the girls told, in shocked tones, to depart to their dormitories.
What nobody had expected was that this would cause a further riot.
The girls were enjoying their competition and did not see why they should stop what was turning into a thrilling evening.
The deputy head was jeered at, and finally booed off the stage.
We were entirely captivated by the whole story, and laughed until we snorted into our coffee.
We reassured Lucy that the entertaining memory was probably of far more value than winning the Fun Song, and she laughed hard and agreed. We all thought really that it was rotten luck for the last house, who hadn’t had chance to sing, and thought that perhaps school could have managed to organise things a bit better.
We had an email later on from the Deputy Head, apologising and telling us that most of the girls weren’t drunken idiots, it was an aberration.
This, I am sorry to say, made me laugh all over again.
It is difficult for genteel girls’ schools. They have got no practice at handling tiresome drunks, it is unfamiliar territory. They are terribly good at hot chocolate and pyjamas and lost teddy bears, but rude words and disobedient intoxication are absolutely outside their sphere of expertise.
Both the fights I have watched from the taxi rank this evening have involved girls, not much older than sixth formers. They have shrieked and cursed and raked nails and pulled hair, and kicked, with savage stilettos.
Lucy’s school does not really have a problem.
They entertained us with a concert, performed by some sheepish-looking hungover sixth formers, and a truly excellent lunch, served up with wine, because we are responsible grown-ups.
All of Lucy’s teachers assured us of her continued unblemished virtue and her determined efforts, and promised us that Grade A was within her grasp in every subject. We were pleased, although not especially surprised, by all of this. Lucy tries jolly hard.
I am very glad indeed that I have not woken up today to discover that I am the parent of a naughty hungover sixth former.
My children are ace.
Have a picture of some fungi.
