How Many People Does It Take To .....

Yesterday afternoon the Lawrence Clan made its way to the National Science Museum, here in KL.  It promised to be a pleasant Sunday afternoon trip out after a pleasant Sunday morning in where we had all done our best to look like we were doing useful, and sometimes school related, things.  


The Science Museum is a large, dome like structure and boasts scientific installations that mostly work and are quite thought provoking for kids and adults alike.  There was also an Australian produced murder mystery exhibit too that required big and bigger kids to piece together scientific clues to see which person had killed a poor zoo keeper.  (It wasn’t the rhino, for those who feel themselves drawn towards this particular red herring.)  It was all quite enjoyable really.  However my main question from my visit was why were there so many people trying to work there? 


Things looked good as we paid RM21 for the entire clan (less than 4 GBP) to go in to one lady behind the main counter.  She gave us two tickets, one for the adults and one for the kids, plus various guides and promotional materials.  Splendid.  Next we headed towards the fish tank tunnel entrance to get in to the museum, but before we could officially enter we had to show our two tickets to two more counter staff.  One of them stamped our tickets, while the other watched her.  Observing this process was a cleaner leaning against the counter and, just in case one person decided that they might need a fight, a security guard looked on.  Our tickets were returned to us, stamped, without incident and without the exchange of blows.


Later in our tour we made for the Murder Mystery exhibition.  Of course we had to show our tickets to go in, but disaster had struck.  Somewhere along the way I had mislaid the children’s ticket.  I approached the murder mystery entrance with caution.  At the entrance sat two museum staff, while another stood.  The stander took our ticket, singular, punched a hole in it, handed it back to us and waved us all through without requesting the children’s ticket.  The other two staff carried on sitting, as did another security guard.  Nine different staff so far.


I know that there is a fine balance to be struck between employing enough staff to get the job done, but not employing too few so that the staff that are present are exploited.  However when there are nine people doing the jobs of two maximum only inefficiency wins.


Edwin is heading off to Manila for four days tomorrow and one of this evening’s challenges has been trying to change a small amount of ringgit spending money into pesos.  The first bureau de change we visited was open, but had no staff in the booth.  The second had two staff but no pesos.  Following a sign to the third it appeared to have disappeared.  Instead a security guard walked Edwin and I to a hotel check-in counter where a bloke offered to phone his boss.  The boss duly arrived and asked how much we wanted: about ten quid’s worth.  The boss thought for a while before scolding the security guard for, what it appeared, dragging him to come and see some idiot foreigner and his 10 quid request.   The counter staff got away without out a scolding all of which was watched by a cleaner who appeared to have nothing better to do.  We left without changing any cash and feeling a bit sorry for the guard who was only trying to find a job to do.  

How To Get (Hopefully) 14 Children Into The Philippines. Or … Making Drama Despite a Crisis.



“A week is long time in politics” and related phrases are much over used but I need to be allowed to use it’s Drama cousin here as it is fully appropriate: A day is a long time in Drama.  


That 24 hour period started at 5.30pm on Wednesday and it was a really tough one.  So here we go ….


My colleagues have been working with other schools in the region to take 14 of our year seven to nine students to Manila, next Tuesday to Friday for four days of Drama activities and play making sessions.  The first arrangements were put into place in September 2014 and after that all went smoothly until … 


At 5.30pm on Wednesday we received an email from the Manila organisers saying that they had been told about a Philippine Government rule stating that anyone under 15 year old would not be allowed into the country unaccompanied by their parents unless they had completed a complicated pre authorisation process.  Apparently this process was to prevent child-trafficking.  


Read on.  


With only days to go before the Tuesday departure plus Monday and Tuesday being official holidays in KL my immediate thoughts were: what had to be done and could it be done?  This being Malaysia where nothing is straightforward and logic or simple processes rarely appear to be used I knew that solving the matter would not be easy.  This was initially compounded by a lack of clear or consistent information.  The document that all the participants apparently needed was called “Waiver Exclusion Ground” (I have no idea what that means in English either) and the only consistent message that we got was that each student had to have one or they might be turned back on arrival at Manila Airport, but then apparently, they might not be possibly.  Better safe than sorry, I reckoned.


Google told me that the Philippine Embassy in KL opened at 8.00am each morning so on the evening before I found myself back at my office desk preparing every required paper and as many other potentially useful papers that I could so that I could help get all the kids and their parents prepared for what they needed to do.  Wisely, I thought, I needed to phone the embassy in KL first though to ask the obvious questions including did we actually need this snappily named “Waiver Exclusion Ground.” 


At 8.02am I rang.  The automated answer announced that the embassy did not open until 9.00am.  I briefed a very reliable colleague from the school’s human resources department and we both stood by to phone again at 9.00am, on the understanding that we suspected that we would both be told different things.  My call got answered by a cheesy automated voice that gave me ten options to choose from. I chose the mostly likely one and waited, and waited and waited.  Occasionally the automated voice apologised and told me to select another option, return to the operator etc etc.  In short there was no answer and I had to teach my next lesson. Eventually my HR colleague got through to a human being after waiting for 20 minutes of being pushed around in the automated style-ee.  She asked all the pre-agreed obvious questions and got given complicated, confusing and contradictory answers from the very person who should have known what to do.  That official was clearly using the classic KL defence of don’t let yourself get blamed: “I don’t know."


At 10.20am I took the decision to collect Edwin, who I had agreed could go on the trip, and every piece of paper including his and my passports that I thought we could possibly need and drive to the embassy to try get something happening.


The Philippine Embassy is a small two storey semi tropical place in central KL, dwarfed by the nearby KLCC towers and other, ever growing sky-scrapers.  There was no parking outside the embassy, but that did not stop anyone parking outside the embassy and so we did too.  Knowing that the embassy might close at 11.30am, as the answer machine message had said I knew that we were against the clock, possibly, although I suspected that the message would be wrong.  It was. The place closed at 12 noon, had a one hour lunch break and then opened again at 1.00pm to 4.00pm.  Arriving at 11.15am I was cautiously hopeful.


Edwin and I walked in and approached a desk which we thought, due to the lack of signs, might be the one we needed.  Apparently it was.  Various websites and sources had told me that we had to have a copy of the return air ticket and the official WEG form otherwise we would not be successful in our application.  When I finally got to the front of the queue I presented everything that I thought we need to the bloke behind the counter.  He assured me that I did not need a copy of the return air ticket and the official WEG form, despite what the official websites had said, altough I did need to present a photocopy of mine and Edwin’s passport. I presented the real things to him which he mumbled were no good.  “Photocopy,” he mumbled.  Could the embassy photocopy it for me? I asked hopefully.  No.  Did they have a photocopier?  No.  Although there used to be some bloke there with a photocopier but he had now “gone away.”  He followed up his “Gone away” statement with a casting of the left hand in a random direction as if to add emphasis.  The nearest photocopier might be in the KLCC shopping centre he said, but then, as I now began to think, it might not.  Who knew?  I did do the sensible thing though and asked exactly what had to be done and what documents be presented.  He answered my questions with more mumbling and I asked again and again until he could be persuaded to raise his voice from mumbling to burbling.  It also turned out that I had to pay RM96.25 to make this paperwork happen.  Naturally that was not a straightforward process either.  It was cash only.  My final question was about the embassy opening times.  9.00am to 4.00pm he assured me.  Continuous, his word not mine.  Despite the signs in the embassy and the contradicting times on the answer machine they did not close for lunch.  


Edwin and I left the car parked where it was and walked to KLCC to track down a photocopier, cashpoint and lunch.  All of which, quite surprisingly we found quite quickly and returned to the Philippine Embassy by 12.15pm.


The counters were closed for lunch.  Of course they were. the signs said they re-opened at 1.00pm, but then who knew whether that was true?


Eventually the minutes passed and I got into a queue to present the various photo copies.  Wordlessly they were accepted, fingers were pointed to the cash desk and money handed over.  I was given a receipt which had various scribbles on it including “3pm.”   To try to kill two more hours Edwin walked back to KLCC and mooched around a bookshop, returning at 2.20pm.   It was then that I broke the rules.  I approached the counter and asked early for the document.  I thought that I was about forty minutes early.  It turned out that I was a week early.  The scribbles turned out to read “5th Feb.”  The WEG would be ready for a week, precisely two days and five hours after Edwin needed it.  I was not pleased.  


I raised my voice.  I insisted.  I gave the look of a man under pressure.  That resulted in more scribbles the forms and more seemingly random gestures towards the cash desk.  It also resulted in another RM36 to be paid for an express service.  I handed the extra cash over, as well as the documents that I had been given back for some reason to the cashier who, recognising the need for an express service slowed her walk down to semi-dead speed and took as long as she could in delivering the papers back 

to the same faceless bureaucrat that they come from moments earlier.  Thank goodness for the express service, I thought.  How long would it have taken the cashier to walk the three metres otherwise?  Our new cashier ticket now said 4.00pm, the same day.


Forty-five minutes before our due time two other parents arrived in clutching the sets of documents that I had prepared on Wednesday evening ready to do battle with the Vogon like embassy officials.  Throughout the day I had been updating Drama HQ at school and the right messages had been sent out to the right parents so that they could get on with the process more swiftly than I had.  A plan was coming together.  I watched on and encouraged as one mum went for a combination of flattery and shouting at the officials to get her daughter’s WEG done.  Her receipt came back with the delivery time of 5.00pm, the time only being of note given that the place apparently closed at 4.00pm.  The next parent to submit their child’s papers was given the ready time of 6.00pm.  What exactly were the opening hours?


Ten minutes earlier than planned Edwin’s WEG was presented to us.  In order to try to prevent child trafficking the gold plastic embossed certificate that was given to us said, in very complicated language, that some bloke had looked at the photocopies that I had presented, found them in order and attached a gold plastic embossed certificate to prove that.  All that would have taken a week, but had somehow been speeded up, thanks to money.  Quite whether this document would be of any use was not made clear to us, nor was it clear whether we would have to pay customs officials in Manila another load of cash.


So in conclusion we had paid more than RM130 in order to have a document handed out that might be useful, but then might not.  The question remains what if we had not got the WEG form, the very form that was designed, apparently to prevent child trafficking.  It turns out that people might be able to pay around US$100 on arrival, possibly with the correct papers, to get round the process, possibly.


It was all thoroughly ridiculous and potentially pointless.  I arrived back in the Drama office at 5.30pm with the WEG, precisely 24 hours after learning of this silly form.

The Only Way Is Up: Drama News.



Over the past two days at school we have hosted devising theatre workshops for year ten students. Sixty-five drama bods plus their teachers have been doing all sorts of things to help them with their play-making skills, all led by a gang of enthusiastic Drama teachers.  What I have really enjoyed form organizing this event is seeing children from different schools working and learning together with teachers who they don't normally work with.  There have definitely been new friendships made as well as some thought provoking plays too.  The real test will now come when the students go back to their schools and finish off the plays they made and then get then assessed.  Will the experiences have helped improve their plays and marks?  Only time will tell.

In other cultural events Trixie has been competing in the year three X-Factor competition at school.  She and two other eager year threes have been singing and dancing to Katy Perry's Roar, entertaining the other in her year group.  Initially reluctant to take part she said told me, somewhat crossly, that her music teacher had told her that everyone had to audition.  So she and two others did.  Thinking that we would hear no more of the matter she returned home full of beans and excitement saying that she and her gang had qualified for the semi-finals adding "All the others had costumes."   Thus Lexi and another mum set about making three lion inspired, jungle look costumes and head dresses.  

A few days late the ladies once again roared and roared so well they ended up in the whole school final. The results were announced in the year three assembly and were relayed to me that lunchtime by a pink-faced and beaming Trixie.  The final approaches.



How Those Little Things.....


It was a catalogue of small things coming together for the various little Lawrences that resulted in various levels of angst yesterday after school.

Rupert arrived in Dramaland immediately after the end of school and waited patiently while I cheerily scolded a year seven girl for committing that most terrible of crimes: wearing trainers in the corridor.  She left having learned the error of her ways and then I set about tackling Rupert, who was also be-trainered.  All I got was a "But Daddy" and a slightly tearful looking boy huffed off down the corridor, mumbling something about CCAs, and out of Dramaland.  This was unlike his usually cheerful self so after sorting out those end of day things that teachers have to do I set off to meet the lad in our appointed meeting place, the primary library.  

Here I discovered exactly what had made him upset.  He had opted to take part in a newspaper writing co-curricular activity (CCA) and it turned out that it had been cancelled due to lack of numbers.  There had apparently been only one student who had chosen to do it, no prizes for guessing who that year five boy was.  It was 3.10pm by the time Rupert told me all about this so we decided to use the twenty minutes before meeting Trixie, also in the primary library, to have a cheering up drink.  That involved walking out of school to 7-11 and Rupert selecting a horrendous smelling pot of green frozen gunge that was called, rather hopefully, "Tropical Slush."  He thought it was great and sucked away at it while I drank a hot chocolate and together we put the world to rights.  

Soon, with our chosen drinks inside us, we thought it would be a good idea to see if there were any alternative CCAs for the same time and so trogged back into school to meet the marvellous Mr Assistant CCAs.  After much humming and ha-ing, as well careful deliberation, Rupert decided that a science club would be just the thing for him and so Mr Assistant CCAs enrolled Rupert into it.  Slightly delayed, but feeling like a job had been well done we went back to the primary library, at 3.40pm, to collect Trixie, as well as rendezvous with Edwin.  

Rupert and I entered the library and within moments had a small, tearful blonde thing, aka Trixie, launch herself at me, clinging on for dear life whimpering "Daddy I thought you'd gone without me."  Apparently the staff on duty in the library had signed Rupert out when he and I had gone off to have our cheering up drinks and had told Trixie that Rupert had gone when she came in.  Trixie had put two and two together and made tears.  After much reassurance and explaining she calmed down and then moved onto to her second mini-crisis.  Her teacher had changed some of the groupings around and she had to sit next to X and "X works slower than me and I know I am slow and I don't want to get into trouble for going even slower and he doesn't do things quickly enough and messes around and I don't like sitting next to X and why can't I sit next to E because she is my friend not X ........"  I was not sure which was the bigger disaster for poor Trixie.  Fortunately a good listen, more cuddles, lots of reassurance and certainly no horrendous smelling green gunge, seemed to go someway to solving some of the problems.

That left two out of the three small Lawrences a little more cheerful, but by 3.55pm, 25 minutes after his CCA had finished, Edwin had not arrived.  Fearing more tears I braced myself.  The great man finally sauntered in to the primary library, one of two possible pre-arranged meeting places with a "What are you doing here?" look on his face.  He had apparently forgotten that if I was not waiting him for him after his CCA then he should go to the primary library.  Instead he had gone to Dramaland, not found me there, spent ten minutes considering the world while on the toilet, ambled around looking vaguely for me before remembering the carefully planned arrangement.

It was quite nice to all get home.

Where Are All The Kangaroos? Being Helped By A Nice Man Called Chris. Too Much Meat.



Currently our hired Toyota Hi-Ace camper smells of a combination of damp trainers, crushed cherries and cooked meat.  I am writing this stuff just before going to sleep so experience tells me that this select odor is destined to become a little more intense as the hours pass.

Today we spent most of the day in Canberra, visiting the excellent Questacon, a hands-on science type family day out type place that kids love and parents love because kids love.  Set across six different discovery areas it was a combination of science marvels, optical and sensory illusions and even had an earthquake demonstration room.  It was a great way to spend a rainy day.  

We left Canberra and drove the 120km south to Cooma where, after checking in to our campsite, we set about buying some food to cook for dinner.   Unlike Britain Woolworths is a big thing in Australia and we had no trouble in finding the Cooma branch, which had everything you would expect to find in a well-stocked supermarket, including lots of meat for the barbecue-mad Australian.  All the campsites we have stayed in so far have had camp kitchen areas which include a barbecue on which people can do their best to burn all sorts of different meats.  On leaving Woolworths we found ourselves in possession of eight burgers, three steaks, four chicken breasts and eight kangaroo sausages.  Oh, and a bag of exotic salad leaves so as to prevent scurvy.  Back at the campsite Edwin and I set-to to do the man thing and try to burn the meat to even more death, and made a pretty good job of it.  Following a tip from a Canadian bloke we even barbecued the exotic leaves too.  All was well.  

Eating the fare was a little more tricky though.  Back at the van all had been plunged into darkness.  The electric hook-up had seemed to stop working.  It had also started raining.  Lexi had also started sneezing.  The barbecued meat had started to get cold.  As quickly as possible we decamped dripping children to the camp kitchen area and ate as best we could hoping the full tummies would sort out the electricity problem.  It didn't, but it did help the rain stop.  Damp and sleepy children plus a sneezing wife and lots of left over cooked meat meant that help was needed, so I rang the hire company's helpline.  That was when I began talking to a very nice man called Chris.  Everywhere in Australia is a long way away and it sounded like I was speaking to " a very long way away."  It also sounded like I had phoned at a busy time as the background noise in the Camperman office appeared to include lots of good natured office banter, radios and general mayhem.  Taken all together it gave me the impression of having phoned up a bit of a riotous party, one that I quite fancied joining in.  After ten minutes on the phone following nice Chris's advice he established, probably because he had dealt with idiot drama teachers before, that the trip switch on the campsite pitch electricity box had tripped and by me simply switching it the right way all would became good again.  All did become good and we parted on the best of terms.

Thankfully that meant the children could see where to chuck their wet clothes and selves before climbing into bed, Lexi could see to blow her nose and the cooked meat could chill for sandwiches for tomorrow.  The floor of the van could also continue to look like a roadkill event thanks to Edwin stepping on most of a 1kg bag of cherries.  Marvellous.

But all that still doesn't answer the kangaroo question.  We have seen plenty of evidence of kangaroos so far this holiday.  We have seen it in its freshly chilled and cling film wrapped state in supermarket fridges and we have seen it in various stages of decomposition by the sides of various roads, along with wombats, in roadkill situations.  What we haven't yet seen are living ones.  There are some in Australia, aren't there or is the kangaroo an Australian hoax?

What's In A Name? Greetings From Australia.



It is almost a week now since we arrived down under in the land of kangaroos and wombats and we have enjoyed the delights of Sydney.  I reckon it really should feel very other worldly here, being so far from England and sunny Wolverhampton, but strangely it feels far more homely than I thought it would.  

We were expecting blistering temperatures and beating hot sun but instead have found the daytime highs of 23 degrees rather nice, especially when combined with on-shore breezes.  Added to this pleasant high streets, verandas and blessedly few shopping malls and it has all felt quite nice.  

The other homely factor about Australia so far are the names.  When in Sydney we stayed at the excellent YHA, The Rocks, complete with roof terrace view of the famous harbour bridge and opera house.  It was situated on Cumberland Road.  Walking past the bustling Circular Quay area the we took the train to Hyde Park and the very good Museum of Australia, choosing not to get off at St James Station.  After collecting our campervan from Erskine Road we then drove into The Blue Mountains, going to the north of Loftus, through Sutherland and Bangor, turning left at Menai and then following the A6 to Padstow and then M5 past Liverpool.  All very strange and reassuring at the same time.  We haven't yet found a Norwich, Brigg or Wolverhampton, but have not given up hope.  

Back to the Australia Museum ... It was a very good intro to the history of Oz and it did its best to tackle the historical injustices.  Uniting such a massive land mass, an area the size of continental Europe with only around 24 million people, is no mean feat, complicated further by the terrible treatment of the indigenous population by the settlers.  Large parts of the museum are certainly doing their bit along with regular adverts on buses and trains repeating the message "Racism Ends With You," as it should do.

As well as sampling chunks of kangaroo cooked over a barbecue in Sydney we enjoyed another major cultural experience.  Swallowing hard when handing over our credit card we booked for all Lawrences to see "Wicked."  It was a spectacular musical, led by two extremely good singers.  The dances, sound and lighting were also imaginative.  The drama purist in me liked the spectacle but left me yearning for a bit more.  I love watching theatre and I know what I am about to write will sound really snobby but when watching a show I want an intellectual and emotional reaction as well as enjoying the look of it too.  The children loved it as did many members of the audience who gave the skilled performers a standing ovation.

Today, Sunday, we started out from Katoomba, 130km west of Sydney, and travelled out to the Jenolan Caves.  As caves go they were really something, with large areas of stalagmites, stalactites, columns and shawls all growing at the rapid rate of 1cm every 100 years.  My thoughts were mainly with the explorers who first discovered the area and the wonder that must have greeted them.  I also really enjoyed the patter of our first tour guide who used all his well-practised lines on us with "Who's been on this tour before? No-one?  Good.  I can say what I like." being my favourite.  That was closely followed by "Remember no food or drink inside the cave because it will attract the cave animals especially the bats, crocodiles, elephants...."

Our hired campervan has certainly seen some adventures before us.  The speedometer on this Toyota hi-ace camper reads 387,000+km and it appears to want to do lots more.  Not bad for a petrol engine and on the hilly 150km round trip to and from Jenolan it dealt with every twist and turn like a trooper.  The downside to having a hired campervan, as compared to having owned our own in the past, is that with your own van you know every little idiosyncrasy and know exactly how to work everything too.  Assembling the beds was quite a jigsaw puzzle and things appeared to be in places where they're shouldn't really be.  I am sure that by the time we hand it back we will have learned how to use it properly.

Could We Stop Killing Each Other, Please?



Here in Sydney people are mourning the deaths three people in an upmarket coffee and chocolate shop in the centre of the city.  After a seventeen hour siege the hostage taker appears to have been over-powered by the hostages and in the police raid that followed three people, including the hostage taker were killed.  In Sydney's Martin Place this evening there was a carpet of floral tributes and people queuing to read the messages attached to them.  All around was calm and composed.

At a similar time 132 children and teachers were being killed in Pakistan.  

Both attacks appear to be motivated by one person or set of people wishing to make their point heard.  Surely there is a better way than taking hostages or killing students to try to get your message across?  I have disagreed with many people during either my school or political experiences and have, on the occasions when I have not been able to come to an agreement with them had simply to agree to disagree.  Could that be a step in the right direction?

In other news today The Lawrence Clan took a ferry from Sydney Cove to Manly Beach for some beach time.  Having expected blisteringly hot temperatures we have been a little taken above by days of 23 degrees and gusty winds.  In short: it is cold.   The sea at Manly was freezing and took a long time to get used to, feeling little different from temperatures in mid-Summer at Cromer.  The waves were good fun though.  Children and I enjoyed the sea while Lexi did sterling work guarding the bags, well that was her excuse and she was sticking to it.

Lots of flags still flying at half mast in the city.

"The Wonderful of the Dancers with Self Confidence."

No, I have not made a typo.  Edwin and I spent far too long today at the above event, a sort of launch for a new dance wear company, I think.  


Edwin and Lexi had spent too much time at a hotel in an outer suburb of KL over the past two days preparing for this great launch of the the V2 company, a group of characters who claim in their glossy literature to specialize in "Event Management, Image and Styling Creation, Dance Art and Studio Program, plus Talents and Models."  V2 also claim to be suppliers of an exceptionally durable set of dance wear called, slightly unfortunately, VDC.  I have no idea what V2 think VDC stands for but I am pretty sure they don't know what springs to many native English speakers minds' at the mention of such an acronym.

After two days of intensive inactivity and occasional rehearsals Lexi had been told that Edwin had to be back at the hotel today at 8.30am to get ready for the official launch starting at 2.00pm.  Knowing how elastic time can be here Edwin and I arrived at the hotel at 11.45 am and were immediately thrust into a world of frantic in-action carried out by loads of people.  We were greeted by several people on the reception desk whose main job was to get me to write my name in a book and then encourage me to take as many photos as I wanted.  After that activity it was time for lunch, while Edwin went in to make-up.  Having been involved in quite a lot of stage make-up recently I was expecting the professionals to do something really exceptional.  Instead when the V2 expert had finished his stuff Edwin was simply sporting some foundation and uneven coloured eye-brows.  We sat and ate fried rice and drank muddy coffee.

After these refreshments the time had moved on to 12.05 and, with less than two hours to go before the big launch nothing further appeared to be happening.  To set the scene a make shift stage had been erected with rows of chintz covered chairs facing it.  There was also a sound system and some lighting too.  Various teenagers sat around in various different dance outfits while staff tried desperately to look busy.   One lady walked around carrying a clipboard, iPad and pen.  Another man looked at things while making sure his ear-piece stayed in (he also had a walkie-talkie too).  A lady in a red jacket walked around grinning at people, trying to look like she was in charge.  In total, I counted eleven staff all looking for things to do and then there was the photographer who snapped away at anything and everyone.

1.30 came and some foolhardy extra people came to sit inside the function room that was playing host to "The Wonderful of the Dancers with Self Confidence."  These guests did not deter the choreographer, who was also the make-up expert apparently, and he then set about having a practice of the modeling and dances while the main doors were open and the audience watched on.  Satisfied that all was well he even made the cast of nine dancers and four heavily made-up others practise applauding the audience, which we duly assisted with.  This completed I wondered if that meant that the whole thing had finished and we were free to go.  

Sadly not.  2.00 to 2.30pm was set aside for "Guest registration" and so bang on 20 minutes late the great launch began and I sat back to try to cope with the planned four hour launch event.  Go V2!  

In the cheery tones reserved only for the wannabe DJ the MC welcomed all and sundry and especially the VIP guests, who turned out to be none other than the owner of the company and two of his mates.  These three fine fellows walked in to the now freezing cold function room through an arch of flowers.  We dutifully applauded as the VIPs were directed to sit down on comfy sofas by a woman in a yellow dress.  Admittedly they had just walked less than 10 metres and the room was dark and chilly so they probably needed directions.  They then took part in a complicated game of "After You,  No After You" as they all tried their best to make sure that each one sat down and was comfy. 

Next it was time for the opening speeches.  The MC welcomed everyone to the afternoon by saying "Good Evening" and then calling VIP 1, the company owner, by a slightly different name to that which was printed on the programme.  Neither man  appeared overly troubled by this.  VIP 1 thanked everyone for coming, and welcomed VIP 2 and 3, while neglecting to tell us what his company did, made or was about.  The MC invited up VIP 2 who thanked VIP 1 for thanking him and he welcomed VIP 3, who had travelled from Penang for this great event.  VIP 2 also welcomed VIP 1 to the event, presumably so that he did not feel left out.  VIP 3 then got to his feet, took to the stage and thanked VIPs 1 and 2 for thanking him and looked forward to the day when such a company might be operating in Penang, again without bothering to tell us what the company did.   All the guests were directed to and from the stage, an arduous journey of approximately 3 metres, by the woman in the yellow dress.

Finally after these inspiring speeches the MC got down to the serious business of showing off the clothes that, I think, V2 and VDC, might be trying to sell.  The first teenage models appeared on the stage and at almost exactly the same time second photographer appeared right in front of the audience, carefully blocking my view.  When I tapped him on the shoulder and moved him out of the way he seemed most aggrieved.  Sundry teenage dancers continued to walk on and off stage, with some of them dancing, while the MC made ever more claims about the durability, value for money and longevity of each and every garment.  Edwin did his stuff and didn't look too out of place so all was well, apart from a couple of very tiny costume errors.  As mentioned earlier Edwin was wearing his own dance trousers, made by a rival KL tailor, who always sews his company's name in orange cotton on the waistband.  He was also wearing a terrible looking practice vest that was too big for him and so he entered flashing safety pins and "Gents Attire" labels while the MC spoke about the glories of the V2 and VDC brand, neither of which appeared to be in evidence on eldest Lawrence.  No-one seemed to notice.  But then no-one seemed to notice the many many errors in the glossy programme either.  My favourite was "Dancers have to take into account such as the Design and Appearance, it would difficult to decide, therefore, V2 Concept Dance Arts & Styling founding principal is to provide a one-stop social dance lovers in Malaysia for the artistic beauty of the dancers'......"  

Fortunately due to the fast talking of the MC and the brevity of the speeches the whole event finished an hour and half early which left more time to enjoy the advertised "refreshment."  Various pieces of fresh fruit were on plates along with plates of battered prawns and cakes.  These delicacies were dwarfed by four, covered, silver dishes, all of which were empty.  Edwin and I fruited and left, returning moments later to collect Edwin's participant trophy that he had managed to leave behind.

If V2 and VDC succeeds as a business then it will surely be despite this glorious launch event.  Three full days of 17 people's hard work had gone on to creating this mess and on the evidence of today the company, who never really made it completely clear what it did or where it did it from, might be short-lived.  But as VIP 2 wrote in the glossy programme "We have a lot to be thankful for .... Thanks for the precious time."  I just wish these comedians had not taken up so much of my precious time.

How Many People Does It Take To Open A Gate?

The short answer is seven.  One would think that opening a gate is a relatively straightforward thing but, here in Malaysia, things are often not quite what they seem. 


Thanks to the efforts of one of my marvellous sixth form students we managed to borrow the ultimate vehicle to play the part of Greased Lightning: a 37 year old, olive green Vespa moped.  It undertook its starring role in my school's production of Grease with great success and had its Ferrari sticker lovingly polished by our Danny on each night of the show.  Grease is over now and it was much enjoyed by the cast and audience alike.  Today was the time to return Greased Lightning to its owner. 

At the appointed time this morning the owner of the fine Vespa arrived at school along with his associate who had given him a lift on the back of a much less classy, but certainly younger, Suzuki.  In preparation for the handover the student and I had transported the Vespa from the school hall to the back gate, no mean feat in tropical temperatures, as we had to dodge an assembly, various fancy-dressed students and wheel it in to and out of a lift.  Just before the handover I left the Vespa and student in the right place, awaiting the arrival of the owner and headed off to do one of the many things that needed doing to finish off the term.

Minutes later I was called back to the back gate.  There was a problem.  The owner and his chauffeur had arrived and were ready for the handover, but the security guards would not let them get to the Vespa.  Picture the scene: two security guards, resplendent in uniforms and hi-vis vests, dragged away from important candy-crush games, on one side. The owner and chaperone on the other, with one sixth former and then me.  It was stalemate, compounded by the fact that there appeared to be no  common language among the three parties.  The security fellows managed to say that they could not let the moped out because it had not been officially brought on to the site.  Its existence on my school's terra firma didn't appear to trouble them rather it was its lack of existence on paper, specifically the guard house note book, that was causing the frustrating hold up.  The guards would also not let the owner and chaperone on to the site because they did not have a pass.  They could certainly not do anything as simple as open the gate to allow a uniting of man and machine.  That was a no-no.  The no-man's land spanned all of three metres and thoughts of football matches came to mind.

Time passed.

The way to resolve problems in Malaysia is usually to refer to one's boss.  This is usually done so as to avoid having to make a difficult decision, such as, uniting owner and borrowed machine and therefore avoid being held responsible for potentially doing the wrong thing.  But common sense was staring our great protectors in the face.  The owner and chaperone were known to the student and the student was known to me and I work at the school and all we needed to do was to open the gate.   However  common sense could not be applied so the security guards decided that the only thing to do was phone their boss, a bloke who they called "The Old Man."  After much faffing around and more time passing "The Old Man" arrived, with no sense of irony on the road side of the gate, riding a moped.  (Perhaps he wasn't permitted on site?)  Various conversations were had as the owner of the Vespa watched, seemingly untroubled.  Eventually "The Old Man" agreed that the Vespa owner should be allowed to retake possession of his property and the gate was opened.  Seven people went away and continued going about their business while all, no doubt, thinking how stupid the other people were.  I'm sure the three various guards were convinced that myself and the student were stupid for even thinking that we would would be permitted to give someone back their property.  I left thinking that rather than being security guards they were much more like insecurity guards.  Because neither of the first two comedians could make a decision for fear of getting in to trouble they had to seek permission of their boss in order to be allowed to enact common sense.  It is much easier simply to sit and play candy crush than do difficult things like open gates.

Thankfully a good end of term lunch and family trip to the cinema to see "Paddington" helped ease away the frustrations.  The lunch and the film were both excellent.  I heartily recommend that people eat turkey and sprouts and then watch that fine bear from Darkest Peru.

Grease – It Has Been Show Week.


 

With a cast and band of more than 130 students, setting the play in traverse, and trying to get as many performers in to the space for as long as possible the Drama and Music departments at my place were being pretty ambitious.  We also then asked for 70+ skirts to be made, with as many 1950s hairdos, and many pots of hair grease for good measure we were being ambitious.  And this is why after a run of four nights there are lots of exhausted children sleeping off their week in Kuala Lumpur.   Oh, and there were four whole cast song and dance numbers for good measure too.

 

And well done to the musicians, singers, dancers and actors who worked so hard to make the show a memorable experience for all involved and the 800+ ticket holders.  I felt really proud to have been jointly responsible, with my counterpart from the Music department, for pulling this great fun extravaganza together.  After the audience left for the final show last night there were loads of joyful and tearful performers both jubilant at a job well done and distraught at a well-done job finished.  It is hard for people who are not closely involved in school shows to realise the impact of such experiences on kids.  Too often people get far too hung up on the things that don’t really matter that much in schools and miss the joy that so many students give themselves and their audience when performing really good theatre.

 

Grease is not Shakespeare but, thanks to a series of happy accidents the writers and composers of Grease have created a winning formula that kids across the world have loved and continue to love performing.  Six exaggerated versions of typical teenage girls engage in banter and flirtations with six equally exaggerated teenage boys, the results of which can all be played for laughs and stifled sniffles while the audience think “I know someone just like that.”

 

While I was very pleased with overall look, sound and feeling of the show I am always left reflecting on the tiny details.  I always think that if those moments work then everything else will.  Well done to Rizzo and Marty who carried their bitchy argument on all the way through the show so that it made sense when Marty set about spreading the gossip about Rizzo being “PG.”  Well done to Doody, who after successfully securing a date with Frenchy, had to walk the entire length of the hall to his exit, fixing his hair, flexing his muscles and kicking his heels together in his new-found confidence.  Well done to the “Drive in Theatre” actors who over-acted their socks off to make delightful hammy acting contrasts with Danny and Sandy, perched on a borrowed Vespa version of Greased Lightning.  Well done to one of the beauty school drop out beauticians who skipped off dreamily pushing Frenchy’s swivel chair, moments before Frenchy “blows it.”  And well done, particularly, to those students who came along to the auditions simply because they fancied the idea of singing and dancing in the show because they thought it would be fun.  I was very surprised with some of the people who arrived, but so pleased that they stayed the course and had a great time in the process.  The kind of experience that the cast have had, and the joy and pride that their teachers have gained through watching them rehearse, transform themselves and perform can’t be quantified, but it can certainly be remembered by many for a very long time indeed.

 

Well done all those people who have been involved in the show.