dispatches from the school run

November 28

Now that the saga of the casting is over for another year, Undercoverdad is left to focus on that most daunting of duties – manning the video camera to record the event for posterity.
This is undoubtedly the key task on any modern father’s annual roster.
If the nativity play footage is lost, sullied, mis-directed or simply poorly shot, you will never hear the end of it.
And just think of all those landmark birthdays in the future when your blundering will be trawled up once again for family ridicule . . .
‘And so on the occasion of Tarquin’s 18th birthday, wouldn’t it be nice to sit back and enjoy the video of that famous Christmas when he played lead shepherd in the school play aged seven? Yes it would be nice, but we can’t. We can’t because SOMEONE put the tape in the wrong way round and broke the machine, didn’t they?’
Well, this year I am going to be right on top of matters, to the extent that I have begun preparing for my big day two weeks in advance.
An astute father’s first concern is to ensure that the cursed recorder is fully juiced up for the event.
The family video vault already contains ample evidence of my poor planning in this department – a school musical bonanza reduced to five seconds of the headmistress parting the stage curtains to utter the words ‘Welcome everyone,’ followed by a flashing battery sign and then silence.
This award-winning documentary sits comfortably alongside my much-lauded social drama ‘Sports day – but with sound only, because SOMEONE left the lens cap on’ and its accompanying black comedy ‘There’s a summer fete happening somewhere off-camera, but you’ll have to make do with this shaky view of some nearby trees.’
Then there is the minefield commonly referred to as the ‘unwitting commentary’ when asides which you could have sworn you were making in your head actually appear on the video soundtrack
Things like ‘Oh dear, what exactly is madam wearing today? She must be going straight on to the pantomime’ and ‘I’m not sure Joseph should be strangling a Wise
Man during Silent Night, it’s not really in keeping with the overall message of Yule.’
Roll the tape.

November 26

So Superkid is Joseph.
Did I forget to tell you?
The waiting is over, all we have to do now is peel Superkid's mother off the ceiling with a spatula and start preparing the costume.
Teech approached Superkid at the school fair yesterday and broke the casting news.
There was an outbreak of whooping, leaping, punching the sky and airborne high fives, then a lap of honour around the novelty gift stall before we eventually manage to bring my wife back under control.
As for Superkid, he took it calmly enough, restricting himself to a brief but moving acceptance speech during which he paid tribute to the many Joseph's who have gone before - right back to, well, Joseph - and promised to do the role justice.
He also pledged to provide rich material to earn his father some easy money on You've Been Framed.
All that remains now is for me to work out how to use this damned video camera and make sure I secure the optimum filming position on the day itself.
Amusing aside of the day: One of Superkid's best pals has an imaginary friend. The imaginary friend is called Waitrose.

November 23

Today could well have been the day when those cursed letters were finally handed out, the waiting was over and we could put this issue to bed at last.
It could have been, but we will never know because Superkid has only gone and contracted raging diarrhoea.
He's off school as we don't want him fouling his shorts during assembly.
Off school when the letter could be waiting in his locker.
The harsh irony of it all.
Having been forced to wait this long, we now have to wait again until Monday - even though the news may well be public by now.
Undercoverdad is half tempted to attend school at picking up time even without a child to collect, but this may arouse suspicion among rival parents. Especially if I then start rummaging around in classroom drawers for no apparent reason.
Best to stay away and divert our minds with trivial nonsense.
Try this:
Today's award for excellence in the field of customer service goes to the Tesco shop 'assistant' involved in the following exchange.
Undercoverdad: Excuse me, do you know how much this turkey tray costs, it is not marked.'
Award-winning assistant: 'No. If I could remember the cost of every item we stock, I wouldn't be working at Tesco would I?'
Thanks then.

November 22

As you will be acutely aware, Wednesday has come and gone with no news from Undercoverdad on the pressing matter of the season.
Just like England's national football team, I have nothing to offer.
Similar to the country's premier goalkeeper attempting to gather a speculative punt from distance, my contribution has been exposed as laughable.
In line with a midfielder failing to control the ball simply because it has been raining, but who will continue to be paid over £100,000 every week (including next summer, when he will now be on holiday), I am exposed.
We have been informed that the nativity casting decisions will be revealed via a letter at some forthcoming date.
This may or may not occur before the 25th of December which is generally accepted as the day on which our lord was safely delivered into this world - like a Croatian through-ball bypassing England's inept attempt at an offside trap that, for some reason, does not include the left back.

November 19

Four words should cover it.
Decision delayed until Wednesday.
Compared to this, Gordon Brown was firm and decisive when setting an election date.
And we all know what happened to Lord Gord, don't we? Don't we?
Well, I'll tell you - Brown's fiddling around left Cuddles Cameron garnering the plaudits.
I can't think why or how that applies to the great nativity role distribution nail-biter of 2007 but it just does.
Wouldn't it have been easier to point to a couple of kids and say: 'You're Joseph. You're Mary.'

November 18

I'm sure you recall the unbearable delay over a decision on England's try that never was in the World Cup final.
Who could forget it. (Personally, I think the video referee was watching Finding Nemo at the time and was caught very much with his trousers down, his mitts in the cookie jar and smearing jam on both sides of his buttie).
Anyway, just multiply the agonies you went through during the big game by ten.
The handing out of nativity roles has been delayed until Monday.
Yep, you read it right.
On Friday the children gathered expecting a decision one way or another.
If they were to be the anointed ones, fine. If not, they could dust themselves down, collect the shards of their shattered lives and attempt to glue everything back together during home economics.
Instead, they were asked to nominate a 'fall back' role they would also be happy with and await the big announcement after the weekend.
Superkid opted for lamb-holding shepherd - a team position he and his bestest pal carried off to glowing reviews two seasons ago.
So at least he's got that in the bank while he waits to hear about the big one.
But why the prevarication?
Perhaps the school are making so much from the premium rate voting lines that they decided to leave them open over the weekend.
Any which way, Monday it is.

November 15

Beds are being stood beside.
Palms are being towelled down.
Rival parents are nodding to each other in the corridor at drop-off time in a polite but restrained manner.
There is nothing to do but wait for tomorrow's announcement.
I must return to the sanctuary of my darkened room.

November 14

Teech is Simon Cowell.
We are down to three couples vying for the pivotal Mary and Joseph roles.
Superkid is in one of these pairings and the final decision will be announced on Friday.
These are the bare facts.
Apparently, Teech asked pupils to put their hand up if they were interested in playing a particular part.
Superkid put his hand up for Joseph.
He hadn't even discussed this with his mother, who now faces two days of pacing the hall awaiting news.
As far as she understood it, Superkid fancied the position of head donkey because he wanted to ferry people around the stage on all fours.
That has all changed now.
As far as Superkid's mother can gather - and details coming back are sketchy to say the least - the competitors have already undergone a series of singing and elocution run-throughs.
Teech has been on the look out for star quality, a willingness to stand still with both socks pulled up and a reluctance to pick one's nose and examine the contents in front of a live audience.
There will doubtless be psychometric testing and team-building outward bounds activities tomorrow, after which the three fancied double acts will be able to do nothing but await the big announcement.
Despite the ongoing furore over rigged television reality-show voting, the phone lines will be thrown open on Friday morning, with Teech having the final say.
The gods of light entertainment will toss their stardust where they must.

November 8

Open season has officially begun.
If you have not started lobbying for your child to secure a starring role in the this year's nativity - sorry, multi-faith tableau of global understanding - they will end up cast as a tree or a cloud.
This would be a terrible state of affairs requiring a great deal of costume preparation work for absolutely no payback. No lines, no centre stage ballet sequence, no heart-rending solo.
Put simply, today you face the biggest test of your parenting credentials in the entire school year.
Either the kid is going to be standing backstage with one foot in the wings holding a wilting palm leaf for the entire production or you care enough to do something.
So get moving.
Hire a publicity agent, stick the flyers up all around town and put together a tear-inducing 40-minute dvd of your child's outstanding theatrical work to date - from toddler soft-play session right through to lead marionette marching in the town fete.
Start leaving a rosy red apple on Teech's desk each morning.
Hell, start leaving a goddam fruit basket with full floral tribute. Just make sure your name is on there somewhere and let Teech know for sure that you're after a pivotal speaking role.
Sleep is a luxury from now until Yule.

November 6

Here's hoping you survived the double whammy of Hallowe'en and Bonfire night without undue mishap to body or property.
Copying the Americans as we now do in every facet of life - from wearing baseball caps the wrong way round to invading third world countries in search of oil -Hallowe'en has become the premier autumnal festival in most households.
And let's face it, school kids get woefully few chances to hit the streets and terrorise frail, housebound pensioners under the cloak of official celebration these days, do they?
So let's not be curmudeonly about letting the little dears into our homes.
Traditionally, every neighbourhood has its resident sourpuss, who will shut all the curtains and sit in the back room with only his three-bar fire for light and warmth until the last gaggle of oiks has noisily passed by.
But the rest of us are only too happy to throw open the front door and let the children in to gorge on e-numbers and chocolate until they can scarcely walk in a straight line and mass projectile vomiting is no more than 40 minutes away.
Between the hours of five and seven in the evening the event can usually be guaranteed to pass harmlessly enough.
The worst occurences usually centre around six-year-olds letting their parents down by exhibiting shocking manners and a lack of respect for others as they wrestle for the premier snacks and treats on offer or barge past homeowners in search of more valuable booty.
As long as your visitors have made some sort of effort to dress up and at least mumble the phrase 'trick or treat' you're happy to go along with the nonsense.
But if it's after nine o'clock and you hear an insolent hammering on the front door, fun and frolics rarely follow.
Either the post is even later than usual, or the 'older element' have become involved.
The 'older element' have become involved.
Deciding that answering the door is preferable to ignoring the posse and inviting them to stuff dog crap through your letter box, you open up and peer into the gloom.
A group of six or seven sullen teenagers stare out from under their hoodies in total silence.
'Yes?' you eventually inquire after a 30 second stand-off.
Hands are thrust forward.
'I'm afraid we haven't got any sweets left. It's a bit late now isn't it?'
'Don't want sweets.'
'Sorry?
'Don't want sweets. Only cash or fags.'
'I'm sorry, is this part of hallowe'en or is it an attempted burglary? If you could let me know I'll decide whether to get the police out of bed.'
'We only want cash or fags.'
'Well I don't smoke and I haven't got any money in the house.'
Silence again.
'Is that it, then?' I ask.
They wander off into the night in search of dog crap.