Local Parent Governor Politics Turned Nasty

WOODCHESTER CHRONICLE

LOCAL SCHOOL PARENT PROTESTS AT SCARE TACTICS FROM 'THE GODFATHER'

Local parent governor politics turned nasty today as feisty Dorothy Marshall, 40 (pictured with her son, George) slammed fellow contender, 30 year old builder, Dave Dooley, as "worse than The Godfather in that Mafia film".
'He's using bagfuls of sweets to bribe his way onto the school board!' she said. 'Then I was sent a threatening letter, warning me to stay away from the election! These are underhand, criminal and pathetic tactics and I have already made the police aware of what is happening. That man is a political vegetable.'
Mr Dooley commented, 'she's mad.'
There were reports of fighting in the playground today as children caught up in election frenzy exchanged blows. There were no serious casualties but acting head teacher, Mr commented, 'Our OFSTED report gave us an, 'excellent' for relationships between children, I just don't understand it.'
When asked about playground rivalry, Dorothy Marshall said that, 'I will not tolerate violence in any form on or off the playground and that certainly is one of the platforms of my school governor campaign; along with the reintroduction of locally sourced giant vegetables for school meals, extra targetted homework and a total ban on sweets and builders.'
When asked to clarify this last statement, Mrs Marshall said that she was not being elitist and that builders had every right to live normal lives just like the rest of us.
Mr Dooley commented, 'she's mad.'
'Events pertaining to the parent governor election are a school issue,' a police spokesman said 'although Mrs Marshall's arrest for disorderley conduct is a matter of public record.' Mrs Marshall refused to respond to the police statement.
This newspaper has learnt of a surprise last minute entry to the school governor race. Mr Ranjit Patel will be spreading a message of joy and peace and hoping to win votes with his message of yoga, sandals and happy thoughts.
Mrs Marshall said, 'whilst I agree with Mr Patel's philosophy, I cannot see how happy thoughts will get the dinner cooked although sandals might be a good idea in the summer.'
Mr Dooley said, 'they're both mad.'

DON'T. That's All. Just DON'T.

After we got home from the police station and a BIG WARNING that next time Mum would be slapped with an ASBO before she could say "Parent Governor", I find this on the hall floor.



Dear Mrs Marshall

My people have heard that you intend to stand for Parent Governor at Nupton Valance Primary. DON'T. That's all. Just DON'T.

Yours Sincerely

A Well Wisher


'"DON'T"!' Mum is screeching and her hair is flying about. 'That Dave Dooley can't stop me standing for School Governor!'
'I don't think it is Mr Dooley,' I say.
Recently, I have been watching elderly programmes on freeview. One of them is called 'The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes' and it is absolutely the best detective stuff without cars, I have seen. Sherlock has a sidekick called Dr Watson and even though he is a doctor, he is a bit stupid. Sherlock solves everything, uses disguises, jumps about a lot and even has an arch enemy called Professor Moriaty.
'Why not? Why not?' shouts Mum.
'Elementary,' I say and stroke my chin for good measure. 'Look at the spelling, it's all correct - isn't it?' I am mostly guessing at this one but Mum nods. 'And see the paper,' I hold it up to the rubbish energy saving half watt bulb. 'It's the really good printing paper from Tesco and ...' I wave it about for effect, ' ... it does not smell of aftershave.'
'What's going on?' Dad comes up from the cellar, holding a set of false teeth. 'Why're you so late, Dorothy? You know Wilfred has school tomorrow.'
Mum turns to me and flares red like a warning light. I ignore her because she has to learn.
'Mum attacked Mr Dooley with a bin bag of sweets and got arrested.' I shrug. 'It was fun.'
'I see,' says Dad and he is mashing the gnashers together in his hand. 'Bed, Wilfred. I have to discuss something with your mother.'
Hmmm, I do not have to be Sherlock Holmes to guess what that is about.

The Zombie is Toast

I am told I cannot go trick or treating because it's against, The Rules. We are eating spaghetti bolognese made almost entirely of giant marrow, apart from the spaghetti. It is horrible.
'You might upset some old people,' says Mum because she is very keen on old people.
'Granpa Jack is old and he's taking a group of old people out to get treats.'
'He is not!' shouts Dad.
'He is,' I say 'and he says they're all going to be demons and wear red pants and tights.' Mum gives a little scream. 'AND, Dexter is going with his dad, Mr Dooley and he's dressing up as a gut eating zombie,' I inform them as I suck up one piece of spaghetti at a time. Mum gives Dad a look across the table. 'It's true' I say. I can sense them wobbling now under the power of my fantastic arguing. 'Furthermore, (their eyes widen with wonderment at my cleverness, I am on a roll) Mr Dooley is going to collect as many sweets as he can so that he can donate them to the school tuck shop.' Wait for it.
'There isn't a school tuck shop,' says Dad. 'For the very good reason that all your teeth will drop out.'
I pause and savour the moment. Here we go. 'There will be when he becomes school governor.'


So, I am Count Wilfredo complete with excellent 75p fangs, black cloak from Tesco and a giant bucket for snatching all the sweets from under the nose of the Dooley zombie. Mum is a ghost. She found one of my old sheets and cut eyeholes out. She didn't notice the spiderman on the back and I haven't told her.
Outside, Mum strides down the High St. She is walking as though she is wearing a business suit.
'We'll just call on people we know,' she says, 'then we won't alarm the elderly. Tuck shop indeed!' she adds. She is a very brisk ghost, flapping her arms and twirling round all the time and is already surprising all the baby children out with their responsible adults. 'Sorry didn't see you there!' she tries to pick up one of the children she has knocked over.
'Monster!' says its parent which is not technically correct.
'Better keep an eye out for Mr Dooley,' Mum says, rushing away from the scene of the crime, ' - don't want him hogging all the sweets!' She is trying to sound jolly about sweets now which is a dead giveaway. She wants his blood.
I spot Dexter who is bandaged up to his eyeballs in loo roll.
'How many sweets have you got then?' I yell.
'Not quite enough for a school tuck shop,' shouts Dexter.
'Nearly there, though!' yells the impressive zombie next to him. 'Bet even your mad parents will vote for me when they hear about how much free stuff I've got for the school.'
He holds up a bulging bin bag.
'Er, maybe,' I say. Mum sidles up behind me.
'Bet your Mum will spit bricks when she hears about this, eh?' he yells.
'Er ...' I er.
'Better than her DISGUSTING organic veg crud she makes for all those poor old people ...'
'Um ...'
'They feed it to their cats! And even the cats won't eat it! Ha!'
'Well ...'
'Aghhhhhhhh!' The spiderman ghost flies past me.
The zombie is toast.



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