Scooter Park
Off to the village school summer fete. I thought that it was a joke when I was informed that there was a bar there. In fact, it wasn’t true. There were two bars, one flogging Pimms and lemonade, the other doing a roaring trade in beers. These already very popular refreshment tents (nobody drinks like a parent, want to know why? Spend ten minutes in the company of a child who has access to haribo) became even more popular when the rain came on. Naturally, as the school fete was being held on an English summer’s day, the rain was biblical.
It was, on the whole, cathartic.
‘Wet play’ at school was something of a drag, playtime traditionally being the time where there would be a tremendous release of all that energy that had been pent up daydreaming through a maths class. Not being able to tear round the playground pretending to be a Spitfire and instead being confined to a classroom with two dozen other fusty kids who smelled mostly of kids parka, but in an enclosed space, watching the windows steam up, is hardly the sort of stuff that is going to make it into the pages of ‘First period at Chalet School’.
More like misery lit.
But standing in a school playground watching the deluge while drinking beer…ahhhhh, this was much more enjoyable. Suddenly it became clear why so many teachers drink, it’s not just because they have a shit job, it’s because they had a shit time at school the first time round and by encountering it all again but amiably hammered, certain ghosts are laid.
Many of the kids had obviously come on that popular kiddie form of transport, the scooter. I was particularly pleased to see them parked up near a rail in the schools scooter park, looking for all the world like tiny tot versions of cowboy horses tethered at the saloon rail.
What I really liked was that I noted the same number of scooters coming out of the fete as I noticed going in there. Scooter theft from schoolkids must be one of the lowest crimes, and typified by a fat chav bending the board of a scooter, shooting sparks from the pavement, as he tries to make off with it.
This must go beyond a simple social compact not to steal a kids’ toys, I think this has to symbolise a recognition about the sort of thing that happens to people in prison who are convicted of scooter theft. Nonces and peados are one thing but somebody who is banged up in Strangeways for stealing a scooter, possibly from a disabled kiddy, has invited a special kind of hell.
So, you can leave your scooter in confidence that the nonces, the peados and the scooter sniffers will not touch it, all you have to worry about is another kid making off with your bespoke Barbie pink or Action man Camoflage scooter when the temptation becomes too much.
It was, on the whole, cathartic.
‘Wet play’ at school was something of a drag, playtime traditionally being the time where there would be a tremendous release of all that energy that had been pent up daydreaming through a maths class. Not being able to tear round the playground pretending to be a Spitfire and instead being confined to a classroom with two dozen other fusty kids who smelled mostly of kids parka, but in an enclosed space, watching the windows steam up, is hardly the sort of stuff that is going to make it into the pages of ‘First period at Chalet School’.
More like misery lit.
But standing in a school playground watching the deluge while drinking beer…ahhhhh, this was much more enjoyable. Suddenly it became clear why so many teachers drink, it’s not just because they have a shit job, it’s because they had a shit time at school the first time round and by encountering it all again but amiably hammered, certain ghosts are laid.
Many of the kids had obviously come on that popular kiddie form of transport, the scooter. I was particularly pleased to see them parked up near a rail in the schools scooter park, looking for all the world like tiny tot versions of cowboy horses tethered at the saloon rail.
What I really liked was that I noted the same number of scooters coming out of the fete as I noticed going in there. Scooter theft from schoolkids must be one of the lowest crimes, and typified by a fat chav bending the board of a scooter, shooting sparks from the pavement, as he tries to make off with it.
This must go beyond a simple social compact not to steal a kids’ toys, I think this has to symbolise a recognition about the sort of thing that happens to people in prison who are convicted of scooter theft. Nonces and peados are one thing but somebody who is banged up in Strangeways for stealing a scooter, possibly from a disabled kiddy, has invited a special kind of hell.
So, you can leave your scooter in confidence that the nonces, the peados and the scooter sniffers will not touch it, all you have to worry about is another kid making off with your bespoke Barbie pink or Action man Camoflage scooter when the temptation becomes too much.
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