HEADTEACHERS need to stop telling us not to arrive at the school gates wasted on crack, writes busy mum Nikki Hollis.
As a busy, stressed mum I was disgusted to get a letter home from my children’s school telling me I must not arrive there tweaked-out on rocks and wearing a t-shirt as trousers, with my legs through the arm-holes.
The high-and-mighty ‘Mrs Price’ was also unhappy that I was dragging a fox carcass and occasionally gnawing on its leg, which I don’t even remember. But if I did, does she even realise how expensive it is to feed two growing boys? It’s fine for her with her fancy job, I bet she has Waitrose crisps every night, but for a stressed mum on a limited income a random fox carcass is a valuable source of protein.
On the morning in question, I was extra stressed and busy because my boyfriend Clint’s band Robot Forest had a gig at a major local pub which meant I had to support them by staying up all night at the after party. I know how that sounds but Clint is a wordsmith and when the world wakes up to his fusion of folk and Belgian techno we will be able to buy a massive house for all of us.
My sons Sancho, 8, and Devo, a year or two younger, are not getting stretched at the school anyway. They don’t teach them proper stuff like about questioning authority and how everything is a conspiracy, including vaccines and school dinners which have mind control drugs in them.
Just let me live my busy, stressed life, and I’ll let you live yours. Although I am sorry for belting the woman with the big stick I thought she was some kind of copper and not the lollipop lady.
