i acknowledge mine

I don't have a primary school staff fit. Am not possessed of a primary school staff head. I don't have primary school staff mouth. I growl along full fathoms below primary school carol pitch. The children might all burp, fart and mouth breathe because their noses are busy, busy with fingers, but is it on for the staff?

Take, for comparison's sake, A, a teaching assistant. Off Tuesday with her diabetic son as he needed a few hours stabilising in hospital after chucking up his dinner and chucking out anything like a reasonable blood sugar level; off yesterday chucking up herself. How does she appear after a day of stress, heart worry and National Health antihygiene, and another of nose vomit? As tall, as slender, as artfully, simply glam as ever is how.

How?

Does she have the morning's outfit, perfectly simple black top and trousers, elegant silk scarf for the neck, ready and hangered to pull from the wardrobe? Is it slung artlesslessly across a 1940s padded bedroom chair, to slip into at 6am, or could it be – oh, the injustice – that A has to riffle to the elbows through the laundry for something ANYTHING to struggle into, before a dash to round up the kids to the car to their three different schools then to work – on time – and still manages to look coutured?

And, the red, red cherry atop the perfectly iced, delicately spiced bun: she has the impudence to be a pleasant person with a strong wit, and capable of a filthy nose snort laugh that deserves respect.

Am not a bitter cherry here, because I too can pull from my wardrobe a choice of two outfits for every day, both of which reflect personality through image. Hmm ... today, shall we have the Gollum or the Caliban? Thing of Darkness 1, or Thing of Darkness 2? But of course, it's always both Things of Darkness; I know enough, at least, to layer.