It's Red Nose Day, and the children have been ordered not to participate.

No sponsored anything, no dressing up, no collection buckets, and most of all: no red noses allowed.

The 17-18 year olds were allowed to be exceptions to the rule; breaking the cardinal diktat of state schools: do what you like, to whom you like, when you like - but always be fair
They turned up to school in full fancy dress, and spent their breaktime waxing boy's legs for charity. (What fun, explaining to a local visiting dignitary why I had to go rescue little red riding hood and the mutant ninja turtle from the JCR to come do some work.)

The little ones, though, had no such rumpus permitted them. They had a day full of lessons as usual, uniform as usual, tedium as usual. And so they amused themselves by making a few large scale gang fights every breaktime.

What we'd forgotten to legislate for, though, was hair colour.

It was a reassuringly creative trademark of teenage rebellion to walk into assembly this morning and see a sea of spray painted hair, pillarbox red, matted, icky.

It wasn't for charity, it was just in the spirit of rebellion, the spirit of remembering that this, for our consumers, is childhood - and despite what the teachers think the priorities are, it's supposed to be about having a good time.