That could be my worst nightmare. But it’s not me. It’s the young.
I accompanied Daughter to her GCSE certificates evening last night. Unlike when it was Son’s turn and we simply slummed it in the very cramped school hall, they have now gone to the other extreme and hired the Bridgewater Hall. And they’re charging for it.
Rumour had it that cocktail dresses or similar were to be worn, but that’s just too silly. A prom dress is one thing, but another dress to receive a piece of paper is not on. Daughter dressed nicely, but sensibly. So did the old witch, although no one looked at her.
I was slightly taken aback by the first one or two girls who appeared to have come half dressed, until I got used to the fact that those tight t-shirts were dresses. Of course they were. Some almost looked like dresses, albeit short short short. Shoes with heals that nobody could walk in.
The evening wasn’t bad in the end. A solid programme with music by the school orchestra (at least they can now say they’ve played at the Bridgewater Hall), songs from the choir and an extract from a play by the drama group, ‘rock’ song by the rock band.
And speeches. The Headteacher and the Head of Year and a retired PE teacher and sports star all spoke. Then there was the actress, the former student, who at the ripe old age of 23 or so offered advice on life. That’s all very well, but she could have shaved off two thirds of her talk without anyone suffering. In fact, we might not have suffered then. Unkind, I know, but it was ‘me me me.’
Drinks and mingling afterwards to show how grown-up we are, followed by a cold walk back to the railway station. Colder still for those who could have worn trousers but didn’t.
It was fairly memorable, I suppose. Particularly the floral t-shirt with sheer black tights directly underneath.