Saturday, September 10, 2011

What If...

Today was prize giving at school. It's one of those events that all the students hate, not just because you have to sit there and watch the shining examples of academic achievement flounce about and collect their prizes, but due to the fact that you have to sit through loads of long teidious speeches.

Now, to be fair, I think it's good that our school gives out trophies to students, I just don't like the fact that it's the same students every year. But this year I didn't have an excuse to ridicule, as I was recieving a prize, 'The Alex Picot Prize for Progress and Determination in Mathematics KS4' to be precise. And yes, that's right, I like maths. Some might even go as far to call me a maths geek, (well, my friends do anyway).

So I'm one of those people that always think 'what if'. 'What if a giant metiorite comes and crashes into this restaurant and I don't get to eat my chocolate fudge cake for dessert?'. 'What if I play a game of football and get hit in the face and break my nose before school photos tomorrow?' Well, you'll be glad to hear that today was no exception. The standard proceedings at prize giving, is that when your name is called out, you walk up the stairs, you shake the person's hand, you recieve your prize, you walk down the stairs, you walk through the aisle, and then you return back to your seat. This might sound simple, but apparently, this isn't simple enough for a group of teenagers to grasp, so we have to have a rehearsal. However, this just made me even more nervous, as I started to realise how many things could start to go wrong. What if I tripped up the stairs, crashed straight into the person giving me the prize. Then, after getting my trophy, I fall back down the stairs, drop the prize while walking back to my seat and trip over the carpet that was laid all over the sports hall floor.

As you can tell, I wasn't too excited about walking up infront of the whole school, and parents, to do this. But it was only after my friend told me that some prizes were sharp glass ones, that I suddenly realised that this celebration might turn into something much less pretty.

So, after waiting almost an hour to recieve my prize, it was show time. I looked over to my mum and dad and saw a flash of a camera in my grinning mother's hand. I couldn't believe that my almost inament humiliation was going to be photographed, most likely published, and then stuck in the family photo album. To put it bluntly, I was bricking it.

So, as my name was called out I walked up on stage. I think maybe a little too early, and I must have looked like a right weird girl to the prize giver, as she took one glance at me and I saw a little flicker of something in her eye. But the good news was, I didn't fall up (or down) the stairs. Then, as I shook her hand, I made my way back down the stairs and then took the embarasisng walk through the audience back to my seat. Of course passing my friends on the way, who kindly made notes and scribbled all over their programmes, only to show me, gleaming massive smiles of delight, as I walked passed them.

The rest was a blur. I just remember eating a delicious chocolate brownie afterwards. Although, when my mum and dad asked me to get them one, I had to look like a right greedy ass and pick up two of the biggest brownies I could find. Then, as always, the head walks by and gives me the look of 'should you be doing that', to which I quickly scooped up my plate and shoved it at mum.

But despite all the embarassment, I did get a £50 cheque from Alex Picot Acountants, so they should be expecting a 'very nice thankyou card' (my mother's waords, not mine) very soon. And I shall also very soon be venturing on a shopping trip into town. I can pay back my mum now and get the CDs that I have been craving for ages. I know the ones that I want to get have been out for quite a while (one since 2004), but I'll probably write about them when I finally get them.

However, as I write this, I think I might have eaten one too many brownies and doughnuts this afternoon. I can barely move. I shall now have to be rolled around everywhere I go, most likely in a wheelbarrow, and be called 'barrow girl' from now on.


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