(2) Well here we are at Christmas Eve-Eve, and my last YULETIDY TUESDAY. So as a little gift to you, (No you can't take it back to the shop! RUDE!) I thought I'd give you a little Christmassy related excerpt from The Book. Enjoy!
Peter Prince had experienced many embarrassing and sometimes life threatening calamities throughout his life. There had been 'The Christmas Party of Shame in 2010', 'The Big Benidorm Blunder of 2006', 'The Millennium Bugger up of 2000' and 'The shopping trolley debacle, in '95. To name only a few. Although the one that really sticks out like a thorn in the brain happened during his last year of Infant School, when Peter had been chosen to play the part of a Christmas Tree.
It was the turn of Peter's class, 2B, to do the school Nativity. Every year each of the second year classes would take it in turns over a number of days, to perform their version of the Christmas Story. It was done like this so all the children had their turn at being on stage, which meant all the parents got a chance to come and see their child perform.
Naturally Peter had wanted to be Joseph, all the boys wanted to be Joseph, mostly because Emma Huntley was playing Mary and everyone fancied Emma Huntley. Failing that, the next key role to wish for was one of the three Kings, or even the Inn Keeper at a push. The rest of the boys in his class would then either be given the role of shepherds or the lowest rank of players, the generic stable animal.
Peter would have even loved to have been one of those given the opportunity, but instead his teacher, Mrs Barton had decided to make Peter play a tree! He was effectively being asked to play a piece of scenery, a role that could of easily been played by a large piece of painted cardboard. Although Mrs Barton, who always seemed to be slightly on edge and about to tip over it, had tried to convince him that the 'Christmas Tree' was a very important role indeed and that he would make a lovely tree.
Walking slowly home that afternoon, a dejected Peter had told his mum about his disappointing role in the school play. Although his mum, seemed to be of the same opinion about the whole 'tree' role as Mrs Barton. She'd said that she was sure that he would be a brilliant tree, and after all, what would Christmas be like if you didn't have a Christmas Tree!? There would be nothing to put the presents under, there would be nothing to decorate and put lights on, and where were you supposed to put the Christmas star if you had no tree to put it on.
When they arrived home and taken off their coats, she lent over and gave him a very tight hug and told him, that he would be the best Christmas Tree Acorns Infant School had ever seen.
A couple of weeks passed, and it was now the weekend before the big day and Peter was feeling a lot better about things. He was actually quite looking forward to his very important role as he sat and watched with interest as his mum lovingly put together his costume. Peter was officially helping her of course (which when you're six means watching your mum do it), before finally lending a hand gluing different coloured glitter to milk bottle tops, so they could be stuck onto it to resemble baubles.
The main body of the tree was made from two very large sheets of green card which had been bought from 'Doodle Snips' the art shop in town. They were then carefully taped and stapled together, before being folded round into a large cone. Then the top of the cone was scrupulously trimmed off to make a hat, which would later have a big silver-foil star inserted into it's top.
Two holes were then carefully cut out at the sides for Peter to pop his woolly green jumper clad arms through and the trunk of the tree was made using a single tube of corrugated cardboard, (so it resembled bark) which Peter could just slip over his legs. The final touch to the ensemble would be a string of red tinsel, draped and stapled around the costume. Peter had found the bright red tinsel at the bottom of the Christmas decorations box, which had been brought down from the loft earlier that weekend, so the decorations could finally go up after weeks of pestering.
Peter swelled with pride as he proudly modelled his nativity costume in front of his parents and the big lounge mirror. He and his mum and dad thought the finished result looked magnificent. “Blimey!” Peter's dad John had said, who was seeing the results for the first time having spent most of the day with a step ladder putting up decorations “You've done a great job there Pat!”
“I helped too!” protested Peter, who was feeling very pleased with himself “I made all the baubles and I stuck them on all by myself!”
“And a fine job you did as well lad.” his dad replied, before smiling at Patricia, who also seemed very pleased that all her hard work had been appreciated. The only tiny downside of the fabulous looking costume was that it was very tricky to walk in. Although Peter didn't think that was a big problem, because trees aren't known for walking about much anyway. Even so, he'd still practised for hours taking little shuffling steps round and round the lounge in his outfit, as his parents industriously put up the rest of the Christmas decorations, as they listened to songs from the Christmas LP they had bought from Woolies. Christmas songs which included Peter's favourite, 'Stop the Cavalry' by Jona Lewie, which he would normally march like a small soldier around the room to (although apparently shuffling in a tree costume seemed to work just as well).
A few days later, the afternoon of The Great Acorns Nativity had arrived and tiny child-sized chairs had been placed in the main hall for all the mums and dads to try and squeeze into. The stage was set, any pre-show nerves had been dealt with, and pretty soon all the unbecoming chairs were filled to overflowing (quite literally in most cases) with the bottoms of pride-ridden parents waiting for their little angels to take to the boards. Eventually the chatter in the hall subsided to an excited hush, the main lights were lowered, and a spotlight appeared centre stage to signify the start of the festive production.
It was about three quarters of the way through the play and so far everything had gone without a hitch. From behind the curtain at the side of the stage, even Mrs Barton had begun beaming with pride and clapping her hands quietly in front of her face, as one by one each of he children went on, played their parts, or sang their songs and shuffled back off stage again.
Then, as the Three Kings were finishing their song 'Following the Star', Peter, who had been patiently waiting in the wings in his home made Christmas Tree costume, nervously realised it was nearly time for him to make his entrance and went through what he was supposed to do. As Clare Thomas narrated the next part of the story all he had to do was shuffle across the stage and stand at the side of the Wendy House (that had been repainted and had straw stuck onto its roof to make it look like a stable). Then the three angels, played by Sally, Suzanne and Stephanie Jones or as they were otherwise known 'the triplets', all of whom had matching long blonde hair and pretty dimpled smiles, were to skip around Peter with their silver tinsel-wrapped coat hanger-halos and tin foil-covered cardboard wings, while the whole class joined in with the final rousing song 'Behold the King'. It couldn't be simpler.
Unfortunately, Peter had needed the loo ever since the triplets had told the nine shepherds about the baby Jesus being born in 'Befflem', back in Act 2. At first he had felt too nervous to go up to the then very stressed out Mrs Barton, who was running about with her arms flailing whilst trying to quietly bark orders to all 32 children at the same time, without reducing them to tears. Besides, at that point Peter was sure he could hold it until the curtain went down on his hopefully memorable performance. Of course little did he know then, just how memorable his particular performance was going to be that afternoon, all be it for all the wrong reasons.
Clare Thomas had seemed like the natural choice as narrator to Mrs Barton when she had been delegating roles, she was the class 'chatterbox' and was constantly being told to stop talking by Mrs Barton who was a great believer in playing to the children's strengths. However, what Mrs Barton hadn't banked on was the fact that during the performance Clare would want her time in the spotlight to last just that little bit longer, and so once her scripted part was nearly at an end she then began to add lib.
“And so the fwee kings, gave the baby Jesus his pwesents, gold, fwankincense and myrrh ...” Mrs Barton's smile of pride, froze and her eyes took on a look of mild panic, as Clare carefully closed the giant prop book she was reading from, turned to face the audience and continued. “... Errrm ... then the baby Jesus said, fank you vewy much and it was just what he'd always wanted! Then he told the fwee kings that his mum and dad could have his Fwankinstein and Myrrh, cos he didn't know what they was. But he kept the gold cos he thought it was pwetty and he loved it. And because he hadn't got any pwesents before and because it was Chwistmas, he thought he could use the gold to buy lots of Care Bears and a Cabbage Patch Kid.”
When the change in script happened, a confused Peter turned to look at Mrs Barton for guidance, unfortunately she was still frozen to the spot staring from the wings with a look ever increasing horror, so without looking down she just shoved Peter towards the stage, loudly whispering through gritted teeth “Go! Get out there Peter! Quick!” So, trying not to look at the audience he started shuffling towards the far side of the stage, nervously aware of the dark hall that was full of parents seated on their tiny chairs watching him. He risked a quick glance as he slowly made his way across the stage and spotted his mum Patrica sat in the front row next to his Auntie Mary (Mary wasn't really Peter's auntie, just his mum's life-long friend and mum of his best friend Matt).
That's when it happened.
Timothy Smith, who was one of those unfortunate children who constantly seemed to have a runny nose, and was currently dressed as his stable animal of choice, The Badger. He'd sat on the floor in front of the stable with his legs straight out in front of him, idly daydreaming and searching the contents of his sticky nose for another snack. Unfortunately, Peter was so busy looking out for the proud smiling face of his mum, he didn't notice Timothy's outstretched legs.
So, because Peter's legs were wrapped together by a corrugated card tree trunk, and because the laws of physics are what they are, Peter tripped headlong, hurtling forwards over the unseen limbs. He lurched forwards, instinctively grabbing the corner of the makeshift stable to keep himself upright, which promptly collapsed onto most of the class. Poor Peter then landed with a thump, flat on his face. With the shock of his fall, mixed with the loud screams of most of his class, who were trying to free themselves from underneath the unstable stable, Peter's full bladder emptied it's entire contents.
It was one of those instants where time felt as if it was running in slow motion and young Peter hoped that what he was experiencing was just going to turn out to be one of those nightmares that he would wake from at any moment still safely tucked up in bed.
It wasn't.
So instead he opted for just laying perfectly still on his front where he had fallen, hoping that nobody would notice his red face quietly sobbing on the dusty stage as he laid on the now warm and sodden cardboard.
They did.
It was one of triplets that noticed it first, “Ewwww! Mrs Barton! Peter Prince has wet himself!”
That initial cry, opened the floodgates (if you'll excuse the pun) to a multitude of “Ewwww”'s mixed with pointing and a cacophony of laughter erupting from his now mostly free classmates. They had all forgotten about finishing the play and where instead intent on making the most of this opportunity to poke fun at their hapless class mate. Only one voice, that of his best friend Matt, had shouted in his defence. “Shut up you lot!” followed by “Leave him alone!”
Mrs Barton, was now back in full frantic mode and after wrenching the scenery off the children had ran over to the now loudly sobbing Peter to ask if he was okay. “Yes Mrs Barton” sniffed Peter as he fought back another lump of tears caught in his throat. In truth of course, Peter was so far removed from being 'okay' he could almost see it from the other side (In fact, you could probably say he was utterly 'Yako').
Still laying face down in his wet tree costume, Peter heard his mum's comforting voice whisper in his ear. “Don't worry sweetheart I'm here,” she said as she stroked his head “let's get you up off the floor shall we?”. She had dashed from her chair as soon as she'd seen him topple and clambered onto the stage as quickly as she could. She tore off the sodden cardboard from Peter's soaked legs and lifted him onto his feet and into her arms. “I know it doesn't seem like it at the moment sweetheart,” she said as she gently kissed Peter on the forehead and brushed his fringe away, “but things will be alright I promise.” She then clutched Peter tightly to her chest as he continued to sob.
“You alright Pete!?” It was Matt, he'd rushed over to the where Peter was, shoving children out the way as he barged through the crowd. Peter sniffed back his tears and quietly nodded. “Look, don't worry about it Pete, I pee my pants all the time!” Matt loudly boasted, “In fact I wet the bed last Saturday, didn't I mum!?” he continued while looking to his mum who was standing at the front of the stage lending her support.
“Yes Matthew, you did,” she flatly replied while trying to hide her face with her hand, “but I'm pretty sure not everybody in the world needed to know.” Matt looked around him and shrugged, then put his heavy arm around his friends shoulder.
Still wearing the top half of his tree costume, which had a large, dark, damp patch around the lower half, Peter was led by his mum, swollen eyed and red faced off the stage, through the double doors at the back of the hall and into the safety of the quiet corridor behind.
Children are cruel, and sadly have brilliant memories for something as mortifying as this was for Peter. Which meant, for the rest of that school year he was known by many of his so called classmates, as 'Peter Pee Pants'. This wasn't helped by the fact that there was another boy called Peter in his class, Peter Roberts, which meant that when their names were called during morning register, Mrs Barton would use their surname initial as well. So at the start of every day she would call out “Peter P!?”. At which point at least one of the kids would always follow it by loudly whispering “Pants!” much to the hilarity of the rest of the class and the continued embarrassment of poor Peter.
So what's the moral of this tale of woe you may well ask? Is it that kids can be nasty gits, even at Christmas Time? Or maybe don't drink an entire Snoopy flask of Blackcurrant before taking part in a Nativity? Both worth noting of course, but what it says to me is that no matter how old we are, and no matter what calamity befalls us, thankfully there will always be people around us that will stand up and shout our corner, or just pick us up, give us a hug, and tell us that things are going to be okay whether it's Christmas time or not. So whoever those people are in your life, make sure you tell them how much they mean to you this Christmas.
