Every school play hinges on either UV light, strobe light or smoke machine

EVERY play performed by a school revolves around the single piece of stage technology that school possesses, it has emerged. 

Productions taking place across the UK from Oliver Twist to The Crucible to Our Day Out will all contain scenes included specifically to showcase equipment otherwise only taken out to impress parents on open days.

Headteacher Martin Bishop said: “The plays you produce entirely depend on what you once conned the local authority into buying you. In our case that’s smoke.

“We do a lot of Victorian productions so, after a loud hissing noise and an odd sweet smell, a plywood alley can be completely enveloped in mist. We leave it on far too long to get our money’s worth. By the end you can barely make out the stage nor hear the dialogue for coughing.

“A neighbouring school has a strobe, so the action of An Inspector Calls stops for a music-and-movement section set to Chappell Roan because it’s what the cast demanded.

“And at my old school we had UV lights so every play had a cave scene with ghosts. Which you can usually shoehorn into Shakespeare without too much trouble.

“It’s a vital part of the curriculum and once they’ve been exposed to and worked with all three, they’re ready for Ibiza.”

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The art of the U-turn, by Sir Keir Starmer

POLITICS is like any relationship – it’s about compromise. And a Machiavellian brain like mine can compromise any enemy into submission by abandoning his beliefs at every turn.

It doesn’t matter what you’re arguing about. You could be debating what to have for breakfast, the baffling ending of 28 Years Later, or screwing over the disabled. Promptly backing out of your views will leave your opponents bewildered.

This is the art of the U-turn. Veering in and out of sincerely held opinions has taken me from being the humble son of a toolmaker to leading the country with a majority of 165. I stand for nothing and that’s popular.

At work, I keep backbenchers on their toes with minute-by-minute U-turns. Like judo, I use the weight of their own expectations against them. You assume I’m holding firm on my winter fuel policy, then you’re sprawling on the floor of the House.

I always be closing on U-turns. Even technology isn’t safe. When the self checkout asks if I need a bag, I click no then scan one anyway, to keep it guessing.

This blizzard of flip-flopping throws the haters. My U-turns make me a chameleon, a shapeshifter. I’m more Teflon than Trump, who I simultaneously adore and disapprove of.

Folding on the welfare bill is nothing. Next I’m going to U-turn on my name, political allegiance and species. Tomorrow the country will be run by Excelsior, the benevolent cloud of iron filings, and you’ll be so disconcerted you’ll go along with it.

When I’m truly drunk with power, I may even U-turn on U-turning. But that would leave me vulnerable to threats like integrity and accountability, so I don’t think I’ll do that.