Power-dressing the rubberised trousers way

It's fair, I think, to say I'm not looking my best. A sudden mid-journey rainstorm means that I'm now wearing rubberised trousers over my power-dressing skirt, causing it to settle like a snowdrift between my legs.

I look, according to taste, either like someone simulating the arrival of the placenta for an educational but tasteful video on giving birth, or Miss July from the Mature Fetishists' Calendar.

At this time of day, the hall is normally empty, giving me the chance to commune with my marracas before the first class arrives. But today, even I can't miss the ominous hush that's seeping out under the door and through the cracks in the window.

Pushing the door open, I'm confronted by interesting spectacle of 40 or so parents, all the children, a full set of staff and Sasha, who is tapping her watch and looking distinctly angry.

"Class assembly," she mouths at me with her back to the parents, dislike managing to jet, like steam, between her clenched teeth. "Had you forgotten? Fortunately, I was able to keep everyone entertained for a few minutes with a few jokey anecdotes about the importance of timekeeping while we were waiting. Oh, and you might want to kill the fluorescent bobble hat."

It's hard to stride into a crowded room full of strangers at the best of times; a good deal worse when a bunched up power dressing skirt has compelled you to adopt a legs apart rolling seafarer's gait.

I sit down on the piano stool, a good 3 inches higher than normal thanks to the extra padding.

"Let's have the worry song," says Sasha. "It seems appropriate."

Fortunately, it's one I know by heart as it's a school favourite, for reasons I still have yet to fathom:

"Worry is a scary thing, often makes us ill
Reasons can be differing
Really causes jittering
Yet worrying about things doesn't get them done
So talk to someone who can help
Together make a plan
Deal with your worries one at a time
You can, you really can."

"Thank you," says Sasha. "Now, let's have year 2 telling us all about how to be nice to each other."

At the end of the assembly, she leads the applause.

"Now, everyone," she says, "I think we've learned some very important lessons about being nice. And what I'd like you all to do - teachers and parents as well - is to turn to the person next to you and tell them something you really value about them. And when you've done it, put your hands up."

Sitting apart from the others at the piano has never felt more isolating. Soon, mine is the only hand that isn't up.

"Oh dear," says Sasha, "Our poor music teacher. Do you think nobody could find anything nice to say about her? I do hope not. I think we should all find something nice to say to her during the day to cheer her up for being in a bit of a rush this morning, don't you?"

There's a general murmur of assent, then:

"School dismissed," she says, and the whole, awful business comes to an end.