This morning we went to London’s outskirts and attended an end-of-year school show. Not something I’ve ever had to do before, being blessedly childless, but I did feel sorry for my parents who had to attend these things, at least for the first few years of my life, after which my father plain refused and my mother only came when there was a chance of meeting friends (which, to be fair, was nearly always). A generational curse if there ever was one.
This show was for children at a performing arts school, but in the afternoon classes rather than the full time schooling, so the standard was variable and, I was rather surprised to see, poor, especially in the direction. My school principal would not have stood for it, but she was not a pleasant person and her commitment was to the school’s image rather than the children’s enjoyment or love of performance.
The train was strangely damp feeling, though I think it might have been the deep green upholstery, which had a swampish feel on a cloudy afternoon. It was like being a frog amodst duckweed. The toddler performances were quite sweet and wonky, while the oldest children were at least good at what they did (this is where the child I was there to see came in) while those in the middle were less cute than the little ones and less able than the big ones, so I would generally find one I thought was particularly good (basically one boy of whom more later) or sweetly excited about it and watch them.
One boy, perhaps 9 or 10 years old, was in a different league from all the others, with great stage presence, skill and the sort of panache you see in dancers at Sadlers Wells. He also appeared in about half a dozen sets (each set was for one class) and later it turned out that his family life revolves around his future as a performing artist, and he clearly does not do much other than perform and rehearse.
There was rather more tap dancing than I like. What a silly dance it is.
The auditorium itself was sweltering, very close and smelling of people, so it was rather like being in a two-hour economy-class flight, and I came out of it with a stiff shoulder.
Afterwards we went for a short countryside walk with the family we were there to meet, and I felt rather sad as the woman is clearly feeling that overload that women face at this age, and the difficulties of work and children and family and illness, and taking it out on her husband who was clearly upset and out of his depth. A very difficult situation, and one that doesn’t seem to have a clear resolution.
On our return to London there was light horizontal rain which made the clearest rainbow I’ve ever seen, right over (appropriately) Friends House. Then a quick meal of dosas in Drummond Street – not as bad as I feared – and back home feeling absolutely ragged.