Sugar and spice.
I went to a boys' school in South Africa. Very posh, fancied itself the local Eton. Blue blazers and boaters in the African summer. Canings. Rumours of buggery in the boarding house. I was a sensitive sort and depressed a lot of the time.

When I was 13, I was lucky to be offered a special extramural art course at an external institution. Girls! I thought, bracing my young loins for the pantsless shenanigans that would doubtlessly occur.

The truth was that the place was mostly girls, and mostly for girls, which is to say it was decidedly hostile to boys. All projects were very prettie-craftie-flowerie, and we had a hideous fat teacher who plainly hated the presence of the two nasssty boysss in her class.

To compound the problem, I had a bully: Judy. Judy was the prototypical hefty brute-girl. Did all the rough boy sports in select local leagues, including some martial arts.

I'd been bullied a little at my own school, but commanded some respect for being a font of illicit knowledge, creative filthmongering, and appearing for some reason (occult geekiness) be in league with His Infernal Majesty, but here I had no defences. She was, if anything, larger than me, and being a fairly decent chap on the whole, I couldn't bring myself to hit a girl.

The pattern was simple. Judy would say something nasty, I would retort, Judy would kick, scratch or hit me, and then tattle on me. Teacher would heap the usual withering putdowns on the nasssty boy.

After a few months of this, and me in a bad state, Judy delivered a kick on the shins that drew blood, and I snapped. I grabbed her wrist, and put it in a tight lock between her scapulae. threatening murder. She cried, and I snuck off home.

I received a phone call that night, and was told to apologise to her. I did, grudgingly, and asked her to leave me alone.

Naturally the bullying increased, but not from Judy - from the teacher, who heaped her best abuse on me every time I went there. There were vague threats like "I'd have recommended your expulsion" and I was told that my own school would be notified of my misdeeds, and told that my work was rubbish and so on.

I couldn't really go on, and thoroughly hated the perfume and turpentine-reeking place anyway, so my parents, chastising me for squandering the wonderful opportunity, relented and cancelled my lessons.

It sounds perhaps a little over the top, but the experience really embittered me. I've developed a pretty jaundiced view of whatever I consider "victim" feminism and a belief that while men are frequently the thugs they're reputed to be, women don't get nearly enough flak for their own brand of conspiratorial evil. If you believe in equality, I say, be equally misanthropic toward women.
(Ladyfingers is in your wardrobe,, Sat 31 Jan 2009, 0:06, 2 replies)

What school
sounds like G*ey
(knobshine, Sun 1 Feb 2009, 18:18, closed)

Well, I went to SACS
And the artsy place was Frank Joubert.
(Ladyfingers is in your wardrobe,, Mon 2 Feb 2009, 3:41, closed)