Did the mum thing last night and took my fourteen-year-old to an end-of-year school concert, the purpose of which was to showcase art works, along with music and drama. Master 14 was to play the glockenspiel with his music class. My, there are some talented kids locally. They performed some numbers that I have always liked, those numbers prompted me to download them to my iPod last night. In case you're biting your nails wondering what musical marvels are now in my playlist, think 'From the Sea' by Eskimo Joe, and 'Holiday' by Green Day. When I was a bit - oh shit, a LOT - younger, 'Holiday' was a song by Madonna. Didn't mind old Madge's song, notwithstanding the woman normally shits me to sobs. Before the concert, I was subjected to my son's usual snotty sarcasm. 'Sarcastic' is his default setting these days. You know, I once had a huge-eyed cherubic three-year-old who would pipe, 'Thank you, Mummy', when I handed him a tumbler of milk. I am now lumbered with a lummox in a muscle shirt, and a voice almost as deep as his father's as he challenges, 'What?' when I berate him for drinking straight from the milk carton. Last night it was all, 'Come on, Mum, do the maths' as I counted out some coins for him to purchase a sausage sandwich. When he couldn't get the coins into his tight pocket, I seized the opportunity for revenge over his constant sarcasm. I loudly asked, 'Do you want Mummy to do it for you?' I am no Carol Brady.
But I couldn't stop the smiles as I watched him performing 'Little Talks' by Monsters & Men. I wonder if I'd have known this were I not the mother of a teenager. He sat with three other boys, all with glockenspiels across their laps. There were other kids on stage, of course; guitarists, drummers, keyboardists, and vocalists. But of course I watched my son intently playing the glockenspiel, and it was beautifully synchronised with his fellow glockenspiel-bashers. Truly, they were like a machine - all striking the keys at the same time - it was poetry to watch. I congratulated him on the way home, and remarked how the boys had all concentrated hard on their glockenspiels. His incredulous reply was, 'Mum! Didn't you notice that spotlight? If I'd look up, my eyes would have died!'
It's been a week of kids' concerts - on Monday evening I watched my eleven-year-old play 'When The Saints Go Marching In' on the piano at the local conservatorium. It's that time of year - too much happening at once.
What else is on my mind? Could it be the clowns that jay-walked as I was driving my youngest home from band practice today, thus necessitating my hitting of the brakes and missing of the green light? You flogs! What are the road rules, again? Oh yes: 'Look to the left. Look to the right. Look to the left again. If it's safe you can cross.' That's how I recall it. I'm sure it didn't go: 'Look at your fucking phone as you blunder blithely into oncoming traffic'. Slow sarcastic golf claps to you, morons extraordinaire.
And my final message is to the twerp who has been in the news for refusing to stand for the judge in his trial. His excuse is that he is 'not at the behest of anything but Islam'. I actually respect the rights of people to practise whatever religious beliefs they want, but here's the thing: if you're charged with an offence and find yourself being tried in a court, get up when the judge enters. Courts are secular. Unless you're wheelchair-bound, get up off your fucking arse and show some respect, you tool.
But my iPod is getting interesting. Green Day and Eskimo Joe, alongside Jimmy Buffet and the Sex Pistols, and some Ronnie James Dio thrown in for good measure.
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