The shit blog of Paul Chris Jones

Dear Diary. Today's my first school play. I don't mean the first play I’m in; that would be Oliver when I was aged 6, the one where Gemma Earp fainted because the teacher made us stand for two hours straight. Anyway, I'm 34 now so it's a bit late for me to be performing in school plays.

I mean, today's the first time I'm going to see my offspring perform in a school play. This person made of my sperm and Girlfriend’s eggs is now going to be standing on a crude stage and mumbling some lyrics to a Christmas song.

Girlfriend and I get to the play. To my surprise, it's outside. Of course it is. These are the days of COVID when large numbers of people gathering indoors is not a good idea.

I thought the play would be inside, all warm and snug, which is why I'm only wearing a t-shirt and a jacket. Which is not ideal as today is cold. I should have brought a thick winter coat like everyone else has. Why didn’t I bring my thick winter coat?! Already this play is shit. I would ask for a refund but I haven't paid anything because the play is free.

Sitting in front of me is a dad I don't know and he has the most perfect, beautiful head of black hair. I want to reach out and touch it but I don't think that's allowed. I wish I had hair like him, instead of no hair. It's not fair.

To my right is a dad called Hector. His son is called Gael and Gael is in my son's class. One day Gael pushed my son off a ledge causing my son to land on the concrete, face first, which made him cry. That was over a year ago now but I'll never forget that day, Hector. I'LL NEVER FORGET.

I'm cold and the play hasn't even started yet. I need a plan. Maybe I can break apart my chair for firewood.

Okay, never mind. I think the play's starting.

The kids are doing some kind of comedy skit involving the three kings and a policewoman. At least, I think it's a skit, but I'm not sure because I can't hear what they're saying. The kids are muttering at the lowest volume possible. I think the policewoman is giving the three kings a ticket for a traffic violation? I can't tell because they're all too quiet. And all the parents are sitting there, polite and silent, straining their ears to catch a single iota of what the kids are saying. It's uncomfortable and I'm getting restless. It's so awkward! Come on, kids. The most important thing about theatre is audio. AUDIO! They should know this!

All the stereotypes about school plays are true: they're shit. School plays are really, painfully, awkwardly shit. If our kids weren't in this play, then we wouldn't have come.

One by one the classes come out and they each perform a musical number. The songs are good, to be fair. One class does a rendition of Queen's "Don't Stop Me Now" which isn't a Christmas song but it doesn't matter because the song's so good. Anyway, it's worth it just to witness a bunch of children singing "I'm a sex machine ready to reload".

But between the songs are these awful comedy skits where you can't hear what anyone's saying. I wouldn't pay to see a school play and I certainly wouldn't pay to see this one. Okay, I didn't pay to see this one because it's free, but if I had paid for it, then I'd want my money back. And I'd also want sizeable compensation for my lost time, preferably in the form of a cheque.

When I was ten, I played a charity collector in our school's version of A Christmas Carol. I had no lines whatsoever and yet I still acted better than any of these amateurs.

Finally, my son's class comes out. I think I can see him, or his arm, at least, because he's standing behind a pillar. His class (all 4-year-olds) sings "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" (but instead of Santa, it's the Three Kings, because we don't have Santa in Girona). It's just as adorable as you'd imagine it to be.

Finally, the last class come out. The kids are all standing there in three rows. What song will they sing?

One of the kids steps to the front. She says, "We'd like to ask all the parents to join in." She has a loud voice, or loud enough to actually hear, at least. Where was she for the rest of the play? They should have got her to play all the parts because you can actually hear her.

She continues, "We'll be doing a song you all know: All I Want For Christmas is You".

All I want for Christmas is to go home, more like.

"And if you don't want to sing, then feel free to dance instead," she adds, to laughter from the audience.

How about if I breakdance? Does anyone want to see that? I don't know how to breakdance but I won't let that stop me.

"So everyone, please stand up," she says. All the parents stand up, including me.

The song starts. The parents sing along. I find myself singing too. One of the moms starts dancing. This is the most wholesome thing I've done in my life.

The play ends. Applause from the audience.

But still, overall, I'd give this play 1/5 stars. And that's being generous.