‘Send the proms back to where they came from,’ said one father at the school prom on Friday evening. He could think of five things he’d rather do than stand there waiting to take a picture of his daughter as she arrived at school in a limo. We were, luckily, just there to admire the dresses and take pictures.
Many 16-year-olds I no longer recognise, and especially not once the prom-dress and the hair and the make-up have transformed the person I once knew. Luckily you can identify some by their grannies, who look the same as they did six years ago. I stared at one mother until I worked out that we used to sit and wait in the swimming pool changing rooms during lessons, close to ten years ago.
The head teacher was out in white jacket and brandishing a camera, catching his students one last time, as they emerged from pink limos, horse drawn carriages, off the backs of lorries and some from a builders’ white van. The best were the bikers who came roaring along the quiet roads. Half a dozen grizzled motor bike owners, each with a teenager behind them. Cool. But not for girls with expensively done hair.
We went home and celebrated, if that is the word, with take-out pizza and Indian, and a double episode of The Man From U.N.C.L.E.. I chose the very last two episodes, before the whole series collapsed in 1968. Really strange, even for U.N.C.L.E., and I’m not sure I got to watch it back then. Plenty of Illya Kuryakin, and we had Leslie Nielsen in weird mode, too. Thought the woman looked familiar, and she turned out to be the baroness from the Sound of Music.
Apparently this was filmed as a single episode, so some doctoring was necessary to make it twice as long. You could tell they had had to stretch things. You know, repeat the same footage over and over, long intro to part two saying what happened last week, and probably no cuts to even the worst acting. Those were the days.