…BBC1 has replaced the useless It’s Wicked with something called Saturday
Starts Here, but it’s not a programme, just a line-up that starts with Corners at
8.25, then Chucklevision at 8.40, then Muppet Babies at 9.00, then Going Live
at 9.30 which lasts until 12.15pm…
Oh for heaven’s sake, someone give this boy some fresh air.
…Has Chips for lunch.
In Art this afternoon we finished our puppets.
Well, we put eyebrows, nose, eyes and mouth with extra layers of paper and paste
on the head…
I was right to qualify the declaration “finished our puppets” with a “well…”
They were anything but finished, and the whole messy, fiddly task would continue for a few more weeks yet. Which was, as I’ve already mentioned, precisely the point.
Still, it was a Friday, which meant there were chips on the menu. These were council chips, remember, not ones made on the premises nor treated with any of the rough charm evidenced in your reliable high street chip shop.
Council chips were soggy, sorry for themselves and suffered from one too many reheatings.
Yet we ate them and loved them because they were called chips.
Or rather, Chips. The capital letter was, at the time, more than deserved.