The girls twitter, squawk and preen. The boys dead arm and competitive fart, misting the windows and striping the underpant.
A Leo Sun girl's index finger, faithful to her friend, writes Becky and Gemma Rule! The boys write bum. You can see Bolton through it.
Two by two, two by two, the animals enter the Octagon. They try to be orderly, two by two, but still, cats are suddenly herding beasts. Seats down, coats off, hoot at the buzzing school of brown and yellow that share the audience.
We watch a small space become a garage, a forest, a community, a victory. We join in. The only play in Greater Manchester where audience participation is pheasant beating. Stamp, clap, ululate.
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