Another entry in the diary of an 80’s neurodiverse schoolboy
Music exam, brilliant, I love music. Miss McQueen is a great music teacher, she is often fun and frequently funny, I don’t get along with most teachers and most teachers certainly don’t like me.
We saunter into the music room, usually we take our seats where we like but not today because Miss is stood like an usher directing us to our places.
We sit on separate tables and luckily, we are quite a small class, not many people have taken music for their options so it’s not too hard to spread out.
I find it funny we must be quiet for a music exam, also it’s a little unsettling that Miss McQueen is looking serious, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her without some level of a smile.
“no talking during the exam and read the questions on the exam paper in front of you, there will be a piece of music playing shortly so concentrate “she says in a serious voice that matches her serious face.
Everyone is opening their papers and I suppose I better do the same. I’ve got George Michael glaring at me from the wall with Mr Ridgley hanging by his side looking smug. I can’t let them distract me, bloody Wham, I can’t stand their poncey music, trust me to have a teacher who is a Wham fan. Right back to the paper and ignore George and his glare.
Section A listening to unfamiliar music.
Question 1 You will hear a piece of music express how the music makes you feel.
After a few moments a piece of unfamiliar jazz music begins to play, well no surprise there.
For some reason something inside me decides the best way to express how I feel is to jump from my chair and dance like I have never danced before. You could say this is an unfamiliar dance to go with the unfamiliar music, or you could just say that I have gone completely mad.
Everyone watches in shock as I thrust my hips, perform bad jazz hands and skip on the spot. Miss McQueen’s face has now gone from serious to furious, her face matches her hair, fiery and red.
She points to the door and shouts “out! why do you always have to be the class clown”.
I cease my weird jazzy insane dance, a cold sweat washes over me and my heart pounds as I go from high to low in an instant, I know I’ve done something wrong yet at the same time I feel I’ve done something right as well, I mean after all I was expressing myself just like the question asked.
It’s an awkward walk out of the room with everyone staring, it’s funny how you lose the ability to walk properly in these situations, my foot caught the carpet almost tripping me up adding to my title of class clown, something I get called often and for some reason I always live up to the name it’s one job I seem to do well.