You a dreamer? Do u live with your feet firmly planted in pragtism or is fantasy your reality?
As you might have worked out I come alive when I’m as detached from reality as possible .
This summer was the best yet- partly- for the intellectual abandon I was able to immerse in. I was able to blog, make funky music, hang with my dearest in pretty places …
But those heady, hazy days have faded far into distant memory like chimney smoke blending into the distant rain clouds.
The Enid Blyton -esque adventures of summer are packed firmly and far away with the picnic blanket, bucket, spade and sun cream.
Post holiday blues? PLEASE- Let’s not even go there! I refuse to be part of such middle class pseudo neurosis. (still can’t come to terms with the chambering up the social ladder I’ve endured (honest guv it was nothing to do with me) )
And I am in mourning because the boring 💤 demands of survival have returned with avengance. Survival of the financial kind is rearing it’s head like a jack in the box that I keep pushing down and it just jumps out at me again.
On Friday 7.15 am, I dutifully dialled my supply agency and in my nicest, politest, at your service- like- voice (not easy for people like me) I BEGGED for a metaphorical gig.
My supply agency – are so cool. Within minutes I was matched to a school, dBs in fist✊ , dressed to impress, following the pink line on the Sat Nav leading me to that pot of gold of £80
Dejection that I’m not yet a famous singer song writer/ social anthropologist columnist was doggedly stamped out as true terror set in at the prospect of facing ten shiny glittery gelled mascarad – year 10s – who I was now supposed to figure out the next 8 beats of a highly complex dance routine.
Note- my last experience of dance was ballet when I was 8 and some awful depiction of yout on c bbc which has amazing dance routines mingled with dodgy messages about relationships.
Once I plucked the perfectly petite alpha blonde-female student from the crew and perched her on her rightful branch -everything fell into place. Twas as easy as falling off a log!
Even I was disarmed by her super confidence, focused strut, technically astute dance moves mingled with calm serenity, no – smile policy and the traces of an eastern European twang.
But like all good opportunists, I put my ethical concerns to the side and let her do my job better than I ever could.
She warmed them up, grouped them, bossed them, tossed her perfectly placed blonde hair.
It was a dream!
What betta reason to get out of your snuggly bed for?
I joined the warm up which they all found highly amusing as I huffed and puffed to touch my knees and grimaced at the pudgy mirror images attacking my eyes at every angle.
What a blast to dance to some revitalized 80s classics and breath in the aroma of our future leaders – and get paid.
Maybe the pragmatic need for cash is my reality!