Guess what, everybody! Young James has (finally) been awarded the Class Cup! He is extremely proud of himself and, as for me, I am as pleased as Punch.
Every bit as pleased, some might think, as if I had won the Class Cup myself though this would be impossible because (i) I live 200 miles away; (ii) I do not attend Birchgrove Primary School; and (iii) I am not five years old. Nevertheless,
I am One Happy Nanna.
Regular readers may recall Young James lamenting that, however hard he tried at school, he never, ever won the Class Cup. His parents decided
to raise this with his teacher, only to be told that James was such a good boy he deserved to win the Class Cup every week – but that it was important to give encouragement to others. It wasn’t an argument that went down too well with me.
Patience, however, has been rewarded and yesterday Young James bore the Class Cup home to the whole-hearted acclaim of his parents, his older brother, Sam, and – of
course - his younger brother, the Duracell Bunny. This morning he telephoned me with the Great News and to report that the Small Grey Monkey has survived his Royal Mail adventure and is home safe and sound. I was delighted on both counts.
The Darling Daughter in Law was less delighted with the implications of winning the Class Cup. The Class Cup, it seems, was accompanied by a book in which the Cup Winners are
required to report on all the activities in which the trophy participates while in the winner’s home. Not only that but previous Class Cup Winners (or, possibly, their parents) not to be outdone by each other have written reports running to pages
and pages, supplemented by innumerable photographs.
Now, tell me if I am wrong but what exactly does a Class Cup do of a weekend? It will stand on a window-sill,
perhaps, or on a shelf in its custodian’s bedroom. Maybe, if a place can be cleared on the sideboard, it could have a perch there. It will be shown to various visitors, ranging from the postman (who presumably had to call in order to deliver the
Small Grey Monkey) to the next door neighbours. But that’s about it, isn’t it? Seemingly not...
I did read somewhere about the practice adopted
by some schools of encouraging pupils to take home a Teddy Bear with a “passport” in which could be recorded all the places to which said bear travelled while in the possession of the student concerned. The report suggested that parents were becoming
ever more competitive about the adventures of the teddy bear while in their off-spring’s possession. Is this the same thing, I wonder?
Or perhaps I
have it all wrong and the Class Cup is not a trophy at all but is a stuffed animal of one kind or another. Young James was not exactly forthcoming with a description of his prize – though, to be fair, I didn’t ask him for one because I didn’t
realise it might become such an important issue. I do wish I didn’t live so far away, it would be so good to be able to pop round and do a quick spot check. Maybe I can persuade My Boy to Facetime me – once, that is, he gets home from
(hopefully) celebrating an England win against Italy tonight. Did the Darling Daughter in Law explain it all to me, once upon a time, and have I, like, forgotten?
the way, did you read today that people who use the word “like” in their conversations are, like, thoughtful and conscientious types? Mind you this is the result of research carried out by the University of Texas which is, like, a long way from
home so you might not want to pay too much attention to it. The researchers describe the word as a “discourse marker” and have suggested that the user is simply taking time to think about what they are saying.
Nobody could ever accuse the Daily Blog of that. The whole point of this daily exercise is to commit to the wonderful witness of the world wide web whatever comes into my head at the time, weird or
wacky, without fear or favour and certainly without too much thought. Discourse markers! Whatever next?
Tomorrow I will set myself the task of unravelling the
mystery of the Class Cup. I shall report back with my usual fearlessness. It does have to be said, however, that whatever shape or form the Class Cup may take it has, as they say in that famous footballing anthem, finally “come home”.
Well done, my sweet James. Nobody deserves the Class Cup more than you do.