Aw man...
Scaryduck – you may well have just given me something to take my mind of my impending redundancy this week.

Where do I start? My old man was and is a tit. He bullied me as a kid but I was a bright nipper so quickly worked out they had ‘rules’ at school that governed just what sort of retaliation teachers could mete out – and this was in the days of being able to throw a heavy wooden blackboard duster at your head and the administering of the leathery delights of ‘the belt’ (the Scottish equivalent of the cane but with an appropriate degree of added viciousness required to deal with miniature Glaswegians).

So I set about a career of thoroughly enjoying school – I couldn’t understand those who hated school – you got to learns stuff AND rip the piss out of teachers. My attitude was similar to that of the WW1 captured airmen who were duty bound to hinder harass outflank and generally annoy the fuck out of their captors.

I feel one of my epic posts coming on but for starters…

We had a primary school teacher who was certifiable. Mr Saunders – never seen without his shit brown snorkel parka and Woolworth’s bag looking like your classic fiddler, 40 odd still lived with his mum. Seemed to genuinely believe terrorising 10-year-old kids was somehow both big and indeed clever. Odd/pervy behavior included peering at the tower block opposite with huge binoculars while informing a class of 10 year olds he could see old ladies getting undressed (always old ladies). Making all the boys do gym bare-chested and running up behind them to slap their backs at any provocation then make excited comments at the resulting hand shaped angry red welt. He treated us all to intensely camp flailing while playing ‘tennis’ (with himself against a wall) at lunchtimes, resplendent in baggy tennis whites. His WOEFUL singing and guitar playing, he had one of those little collapsible footstools and would imitate bob Dylan (badly) and get all lost in the music in front of a bemused class. Obsessing over HMS Pinafore. Sending almost every boy in the class to the same child psychologist (worried/incredulous mothers all found out through chatting). Regular beltings - Scotland had belting of the hands with heavy leather strap until the mid eighties.

A few years back I was working at a world heritage site where lo-and-behold Saunders turns up barking orders at a bus load of depressed looking 10 year olds - still in shit brown parka and ginger sideburns. Initially I was set to nip out and twat him one until I remembered I had got access to his full name once (he stupidly signed a school fire extinguisher during a routine check). So I strolled down and quietly told the first kid I encountered my insider info – as I walked away a wave of laughter spread among them then one called out JASPER BERTRUM SAUNDERS… yer a fanny!

I have many many more…

I’ll be back
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 17:10, Reply)