Waterloo Moments

On Wednesday I reached the threshold of my watershed with Waterloo Road. It's been long imminent. Amanda Burton plays the Headteacher this season. I once read an unforgettable comment in which her acting was described as always suggestive of her having a bad smell under her nose. Since she's been spending the greater part of any given school day pleading with some miscreant in the toilets, I haven't been able to concentrate on the plotlines at all, for looking up her nostrils. This is not important, luckily, as they appear to be rehashing 1980's slush pics. Sam, short for Sambuca, I kid you not, just expired of some sort of cancer-the attractive movie kind in which the sufferer merely looks peaky and downcast and is taken to a fairground exactly like your man in The Last Snows Of Spring. I well remember his mournful demeanour, while riding the dodgems, had me prostrate with grief in my teens at The Tonic cinema. I wonder did they call it The Tonic to suggest a film would cheer you up? Bloody lucky teenagers are so insenstive for the most part; all I can remember is The Exorcist, many Friday the 13ths and the likes of Who will love My Children? in which Ann-Margaret played a kind of terminally ill octomom. No wonder we were so ecstatic when Grease came out. We hadn't had a nice night out at the pictures since Saturday Night Fever.
I have faithfully followed Waterloo Road since the start and may have even claimed it was fairly realistic, unusual for someone in the business, so to speak. Older Sister,a nurse,was never able to contain herself for a full episode of ER, although I always thought that was purely because Clooney et al were far too nice and sympathetic to the patients. Anyway last week they wheeled on Margi Clarke (from Letter to Brehnez) to play mother of miscreant and I could see the beginning of the end. Margi is never anything other than common and Liverpudlian, even though Waterloo Road is vaguely set in Manchester. She just doesn't bother to do the accent; very like Anthony Hopkins and Liam Neeson, only those two have somehow got away with it. French and Saunders often used to spoof Liam Neeson 'Hoy noy broyn coy' (mind you, I think he had a bit of a go at Schindler) and Anthony Hopkins' speech is unidentifiable and identical in every part, but the pair of them are worth a fortune. Margi however, has only been on telly about twice since the 80's and one of those times was on Loose Women, which just about sums up her level of success, poor cow.
Robson Green plays the 'Site Manager' on Waterloo Road now. In real schools, this person is known as the Caretaker. Robson Green goes several steps further than Liam and Anthony; he is exactly the same character in every single role he plays. He also always gets the girl,which explains how he came to be sleeping with the Headteacher, when he could get her out of the girls' toilets. My credulity began to be stretched when Amanda decided he would make a great Classroom Assistant, and immediately organised lesson observation for him. I had several happy moments trying to picture a similar scenario in my own school. Our Bert released from his contented circumstances, and bunged into a classroom with the childer. No longer able to croon along to himself while 'patrolling the grounds' (having a fag outside), 'picking up litter' (on the phone to Elsie enquiring about his dinner) or 'liaising with staff'( either rowing with the secretary or sniggering over dirty jokes in the Science Store). He'd have his notice in within two days.
Anyway, on Wednesday last, Robson was crying, for God's sake. At that point I knew I had come to the end of the Waterloo Road. It is a well known fact that the Caretaker is the happiest and most powerful person in any school. They don't CRY. They have the biggest bunch of keys, they have very limited contact with pupils and when they do, they can come off with stuff usually frowned upon like 'Clear off' or 'I'll have you!' and if they feel like a day off , they can just fiddle with the heating. Great job.
I recently attended my second school reunion dinner with entertainment provided by a locally born and bred successful musician. He definitively proved to me that you cannot carry off dreadlocks and eyeliner at 40 unless you are Bob Marley. Hair is key in these affairs. If you are a man, do you still have any? If you are a woman, are you still using henna/wearing a hairband/cutting your own fringe? Sadly, yes was the answer to these questions as I looked round the room. You keep catching people eyeing you right back and you just know they are checking to see if you have let yourself go. You are painfully aware of this in advance and have submitted to hairdressers, beauticians and the 'Control' section of Marks and Spencers' underwear department. This means you sit bolt upright all night like Mary Poppins and you are unable to get up and talk to your former teachers, in case the poppers in the undercarriage of your 1980's style 'body' actually do pop and your flesh bursts out onto Mr Tregenna's lap. This is fine as you know you will be unable to be anything other than slighly fawning and quite unable to address him by his first name. I am only sorry that our former caretaker wasn't present. He would have been one of the best dressed people there in his navy jumpsuit and he'd most certainly have known where to hide during the speeches.