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Sports Day and what a day it was. It was a day in which I felt every inch the Drama teacher that I am. I donned my house t-shirt with accompanying addidas shorts early this morning and started to feel uncomfortable. I was not mentally or spiritually uncomfortable with either my work or position in life. No. My discomfort, as Sports Day began, was purely with the house t-shirt. When asked earlier in the year what size t-shirt I required I asked for a size 42 mainly for the reason that that is t-shirt size that fits me and I also like the connection to The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. When I put this fine garment on I instantly discovered that the small number 42 that was sewn into a label had little to do with the inch-based size of it and was mainly there as decoration. I looked just like one of the crew-members of the original Starship Enterprise with their painted on shirts. (Why did Captain Kirk never think of taking a Drama teacher with him on his voyage around the galaxy? A Drama Teacher could have helped enormously when Kirk et al discovered the latest Ricardo Montalban type baddy by informing the great captain that baddies are bad news and that the crew and ship should steer well-clear.) A lot of stretching of the shirt later and quite a lot of breathing in and it became bearable. A colleague of mine described how he had had the reverse experience. He had requested a large sized PE teaching shirt only to be given one labelled extra small that fitted his six-foot frame with plenty of room to spare.
Anyway almost suitably dressed I made it onto one of the school buses and headed off to the sports stadium that had been hired for the day. And it was a great day. The students all ran and jumped and threw and leapt as fast or high or far as they possibly could and did themselves proud. Good on them. As previously mentioned my involvement in the day was to assist with the high jump an event that, fortunately, I never had to take part in as a youth and knew precious little about. However I learned a few things today. There were some great performances in the competition, but being British I am naturally more inclined to write about the plucky and persistent participators as we Brits are dogged supporters of the under-dog and I learned a great deal from my experience. To ensure that rules were followed and to make sure that fair-play happened my duties were to stand next to the bar and make sure that the jumpers only jumped off on one foot. Surely this would make the event doubly difficult as logic dictates that two tend to be better than one? Clearly today was neither the time nor the place to offer such observations. One year eleven jumper proudly announced that she had high jumped before, but not since year six. She assumed a concentrated visage, charged at the bar and cleared it with ease. I leaned that a break of five years between competitions can work in your favour. Another competitor roared with laughter with her mates before run up and, again, sailed over the bar like it was the easiest thing in the world. I learned that high-jumping should be fun if you want to succeed. The most memorable athlete though was one who ignored all the coaching that she had had and did it her way. She went for the charge and hope strategy. In her first attempt she set off at an alarming speed and simply hurled herself at the bar more in hope than anything else. The bar crashed to the floor and she clambered off the crash mat looking much like a crash victim. Undeterred she went at it for a second time the only change being that she charged a bit faster. She emerged from the same crumpled heap clutching a different injured body-part. However her third jump was the most spectacular. Setting off at the same rate of knots as before and this time removing all the finer points of technique she leapt in the air head first like an torpedo, appeared to do almost a right-angled turn in mid-flight, sailed over the bar and fell into a triumphant pile on the appropriately named crash-mat. Buoyed by this success I was even more amazed when she used exactly the same technique to clear the next height up in the competition. I learned that it just goes to show that sometimes a “bugger the rules just put your all into it approach” can pay off. Well done to her, I salute your bravely and determination.
After Sports Day had finished I returned to school and drove back to Pangkor Island to meet up with Lexi and Junior Lawrences who had enjoyed another day on the beach. They had all eaten by the time I arrived so I went in search of tea and came back with an excellent Malaysian favourite: Burger Special with Cheese. Burger special is a bit of an art form. Yes it is a processed meat pattie at heart but as with all burgers the meat is the least important part of this delicacy. While my burger was fried on a griddle the burger-meister covered the bun part in mayonnaise and part fried that. He then sat very finely chopped cabbage on the base of section of bun, drenching it with brown sauce and more mayonnaise. Now came the “special” part. He cracked an egg onto the griddle, broke the yoke and spread it out to make a very thin omelette. Next he dipped the cooked burger into chili sauce and then proceeded to wrap the burger in the omelette before placing the parceled burger on to the bun base, laying some processed cheese on top, plus a thick layer of ketchup plus the bun lid and it was done. Burger special with cheese. Heston Blumenthal eat your heart out. It tasted great.
More holidays tomorrow.