Reasons To Be Cheerful

It was prize-giving night at school this week.  It’s a lovely occasion, a chance for everyone to celebrate the hard work that goes into GCSE’s and A levels, a chance to cheer for all the kids who’ve done really well.  If you’ve read the wonderful description of Gussie Fink-Nottle presenting the prizes at Market Snodsbury Grammar School in PG Wodehouse’s Right-Ho, Jeeves! you’ll know the sort of thing I mean.  No, no-one got plastered and yes, everything went fine, but the incidental details that PG puts in are spot on; details such as the well-scrubbed air everyone has and the gentle sound of a lot of people being quietly, benevolently, indulgently bored.  Bored, that is, until the Main Event, which is Your Child getting their certificate.  That’s not boring.  That’s the best bit ever.

Actually, the whole thing was pretty good.  If you only read the papers or watched TV, it’d never occur to you that any teenager is hardworking, conscientious and a nice person who’s fun to be with.  Like a normal human being, in fact. Oh yes, and not some sort of mobile list of Problems.  So it was good to sit in the school hall (an ordinary comprehensive school, at that) and listen to achievements being celebrated.

Celebration is something we could probably all do more of.  I’ve not talking about acting like some sort of Kellog’s Cereal family, all bright smiles all the time (Please; shush; it’s breakfast, OK? Just let me go and chill out somewhere) or whooping with joy as the contestants do on America’s Next Top Model almost constantly.  This would be trying.  However, celebration doesn't usually just happen, it needs to be made to happen.

My friend, Angela Churm, had a TV play broadcast this week.  It was an episode of Doctors, the BBC’s mid-day soap and she wrote it.  Yo! Naturally enough, we celebrated; watched the episode, broke out the champagne, sang Happy Television Episode To You! and had a nice meal.  Because, you see, if we hadn’t done, it would have all felt a bit flat.  The BBC (a bit remiss, this) don’t send flowers and congratulations cards to their writers.  But it was a real red-letter day.  (Red letter days are called that because of the old custom of marking Saints’ or Holy Days (aka Holidays) in red on the Church calendar.)

So well done to all the kids with their certificates.  And Angela.  And thanks for the champagne!