More dance rehearsals.
Creative differences with the big song.
A visit from Social Services.
An accusing phone call from the Safeguarding Team.
Four weeks left and we are going to struggle to end on a high at this rate.
If that was a poem (and it could be, given the short lines and lack of rhyme) I’d call it Wet Wednesday Blues.
In fact, let’s have a go at that.
Wet Wednesday Blues
I wind wool in my sleep.
More dance rehearsals,
And rain on wet sheep.
Creative differences with the big song…
The sound of belly-dancing bells,
Give me dreams of being stalked by Santa.
If I had been a good boy, I would have presents, not
A visit from Social Services
And an accusing phone call from the Safeguarding Team.
We are running out of luck,
But with just four weeks to go,
Do I give a fig?
I’ll be looking for at least one new career next year. Maybe I’ll cross poet off the list…
(Just to make it clear, we are in trouble for sorting something out ourselves and not involving Social Services and a ream of paper. Can’t really give much more detail – just to say that two weeks ago somebody not connected with the project made a remark that one of the group considered unacceptable and Julia sorted it out that day. It hasn’t happened again but it was reported to Social Services yesterday so they have to investigate.)