It was the infants nativity play yesterday.
As well as providing refreshments and mince pies to the masses, it was my turn to be a devoted mama and watch Oscar doing his bit.
This year he was a narrator. He was quite happy with that role, unlike the year in nursery he got cast as a shepherd and refused to go on, preferring to howl in the corridor shouting: ‘But I are just Oscar!’
I was very proud of him. He looked rather splendid and only had to be prompted once.
I enjoyed the rest of the play for, as usual, all the wrong reasons.
The shepherds are always a highlight for me. They seem to be cursed. Last year there was a furore when all their crooks got tangled together while they were doing their dance, and things ended up more of a mosh pit than a bucolic pastoral country dance.
This year the crooks were out, which I thought was a marvellous decision. No crooks = much less chance us having to call for a first aider, and possibly scoop in any dangling eyes with warm teaspoons.
Instead we went for a River Dance theme for the shepherds. This is not easy when festooned in tea towels, with slipping head bands and small boys who are effectively wearing long dresses.
Things did not go entirely to plan, and I was mildly, and entirely pleasantly, hysterical throughout.
I don’t think Michael Flatley has too much to worry about.
The next best bit for me was when the donkey and one of the sheep got into a small fist fight because they each felt the other had been given the prime spot on the side of the stage and were prepared to duke it out over who got to sit there. When it got to the point where they were taking their headdresses off, all the better to wallop each other, the headmistress had to intervene.
After this, all went swimmingly until the end, when the final number got rather enthusiastic and Joseph accidentally pushed the manger, full of baby Cheezus off the stage.
Still, our Lord was saved and the play was triumphant.