Alice had a really superb day on Thursday. I took her to Forest School for singsongs and a meet with Father Christmas. Then in the afternoon, she rose to the occasion by appearing in her first starring role in a Nativity play. What’s more, she was bumped up from being a shepherd to being the significant part of Casper the Camel. Until that moment, I didn’t realise that nursery nativity plays had an understudy rota, but there you go.
Keen to make this her moment to shine, and attract the attentions any potential agents in the audience, she delivered her performance with gusto. While the other kids mumbled and stared at their shoes while delivering their lines, our kid shouted them out, delighted to be wearing a fantastic camel costume. I naturally did Dad role, and filmed it on my camera, puffed and proud.
Also, on the way home, no doubt bug-eyed and fizzing from a performance high, she pronounced she was now the queen of her own country, Weston-Super-Eyeball, which floats among the clouds above Botswana in Africa. Her king is a duck called Alex, who apparently quacks like this: “kwa kwa kwa kwa kwa”.
Proud as I am that my daughter is a natural stage-hog and now the proclaimed Queen of Weston-Super-Eyeball (not too sure about having a duck for a son-in-law, but I’m prepared to have a liberal attitude towards her relationships), I am mindful that, sooner or later, this hubris will probably be her downfall.
So, to balance everything out (after pride, and all that…), on Friday she stood in the middle of Nursery and yelled “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” to the shock of the normally unflappable staff, to the extent that they gently enquired of me where she might have picked the word up. On questioning she claimed to have made the word up, but I’m not sure.
Oh, and before you shop my wife and myself to the Daily Mail, fuck knows where she got it from.