Last night I judged a Spoken English competition for a posh school outside London. Bloody fluke I got the job. They managed to make me sound right proper and high-falutin’. Bricking it. Total sweats on the way there – usual panic-induced frenzy fretting whether or not I’ll get “found out” for being a bit of a fraud, that my brain cells are actually made of multi-coloured marshmallows and my only advanced creative streak being doodles of me eating peanut butter straight from the jar with a big spoon, and sometimes finger for the hard to reach areas (actually I can’t draw but can eat).

Was shown into the staff room and suddenly felt a bit giddy, like I was back in Year 7 and must memorize everything I saw on “the other side” when reporting back whilst sucking a Boost bar at break time. Head of English handed me a wad of papers, transcripts of each category that was going to be shown and then began to regret coming because it all suddenly felt like a lot of work.

Taken into the Great Hall and seated at a desk at the back and given a selection of water, so was back to feeling important. Met the other judge, lovely chap, though an actual Professor of Music, so that was unnerving. Boldly lied to him about things I was doing/achievements, deciding honesty was not the best policy on this occasion. Put on a bit of a voice too, and chose sparkling water to drink instead of still as thought this looked a bit more sophisticated/worldly/well travelled/Continental but I don’t think he noticed.

Performances all good, and a little bit bad too, thankfully, so had plenty to scribble down. Managed to restrain myself from asking if they’d let me have a go on the stage during the shoddy Importance of Being Earnest duologue, that I was born to play the part of Gwendolen and as I hadn’t acted in a while…etc etc, and just took my copy of the scene home so could do it in my bedroom when I got in.

Managed to restrain myself once more in the staff room during the interval when offered a selection of egg sandwiches and ageing spring rolls. Thought might have undermined my authority. (Very proud of myself).

Back in the Great Hall of Judgment, and the last category to come on was the “Choral Speaking”. I had been pre-warned about this by the Head of English, that it was a new addition and “something of a wild beast”. Turns out the wildest it got was the brightness of the green folders they were all clutching and though enthusiastic, it basically consisted of them saying things at the same time, and an occasional thrust forward by the more confident ones for solo lines. That got a tick, though it could have gone either way. The second group to combat this esoteric Choral Speaking yielded what seemed like giant yellow folders, so bright it felt like coming to the end of life rather than the end of night. Thankfully it was the latter because I’d run out of things to say and there was an avocado in my cupboard that I was looking forward to eating. They presented what can only be described as a harsh and somewhat scary doctrine on why education is so important in the style of Margaret Thatcher and it was clear these were the power players of the future. I tried to hide my orange nails to preserve my superiority but that then made me look like I had stubs for fingers and therefore great difficulty in writing my defining notes. (And in retrospect I don’t think the folders were actually giant, just that they were children and I was far away).

Came to a close and we were asked to come to the front and orate our wise offerings and declarations of winners and losers. Handed a microphone. Sadly didn’t feel like Beyonce but back to being a fraud in front of 200 rich parents and precocious children. Managed to squeeze out a few intelligent lines in a bit of a posh voice. Blagged it again.

Think momentary power went to head as wore fur scarf on one shoulder instead of two on the tube home, thereby channeling Cruella de Vil. Intimidation wasted on the one other person in my carriage, who was asleep anyway. Thought about how lovely the evening was and only wish fear didn’t get in the way of experiences.

Then spent the rest of the hour long journey home so desperate for the toilet I had to sit in a position that made it look like rigamortis had set in and when I finally got off the only remedy was to take great strides, in a military sort of way, not so much power player but weird furry beast lady with a bit of wee coming out.