Books in cubes, tiny chairs and colourful messages occupy our schoolroom as the bell heralds that class is about to begin. We brace with a Pavlovian reaction from our anything-but-halcyon days of chalkboards, times tables and receiving the cane.
The first of many surprises in this reincarnation of Jonathan Spector’s Eureka Day is that we find ourselves in a far more distressing situation than corporal punishment. We are at a meeting of woke parents cum school board members who are soy-latte-deep into workshopping their website’s inclusivity menu. Sandals come with socks, points of view come with passive aggression and we know we’re in a safe space because therapy’s favourite failsafe is here – knitting.
The quintet of seemingly stereotypical, well-meaning, enlightened folk with all the feels, engage in a round table discussion of an inescapably circulative nature. Within minutes, our eye rolling muscles ache and we start to shift uncomfortably. It might be our imagination, or a trick of the eye, but it feels like Meg Wilson’s...
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