It was the day of the school Eisteddfod. The kids all had tummy ache with nerves, the teachers were wracked with cold sores from the pressure of trying to instil The Jolly Postman into four-year-old children, and the Friends of the School were flogging raffle tickets as hard as they could, whilst trying not to show the prizes - most of which had been re-donated from last year as no-one wanted them then either.

By the end of twenty versions of The Jolly Postman, coats had been removed and the doors were open. The cuteness factor of four-year-olds singing was wearing off and everyone wanted the toilet and a cup of tea. Even at four-years-old, the difference between the best and the pitch-challenged was huge. The parents loved the recitals and each one ended with a clap and the whispers of what was that one? I couldnt quite hear it.

As the performers got older, the songs got louder and the key was hit more often. Genuine applause would break out after an eight-year-old touched hearts with Calon Lan and another with Edlewiess. However, the biggest cheer was saved for the announcement of the tea-break and the children were released into the playground and parents were finally allowed to go to the toilet and given a coffee and a Welsh cake to take them through the second half.

Occasionally a child would refuse to go on, and everyone would catch their breath urging them to just try it , knowing that theyd feel upset with themselves just seconds after the next child was called. By the time the eldest children were performing, the audience were sitting back to enjoy a proper show. Recitations became a feat of memory as whole stories were word perfect. Some did actions, others swung to the beat.

By the end, the hall was reminiscent of a cattle shed with strange smells and noises from the bored toddlers at the back and the heat of two hundred bodies. The standing ovation was as much a chance to stretch limbs as it was of appreciation. But the general opinion was that it had been fantastic. The children had all been wonderful: the medals had been well-earned and everyone was proud of their children.

Of course, I was proud of my children too. I am also pleased not have to listen to Down In The Jungle or Never Use a Knife and Fork ever again. I was even more pleased to find that when I was helping to clear up, I found two unopened tins of Welsh cakes that hadnt been used: it would have been a shame to let them go to waste

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