A BOY! A BOY! GOD BE PRAISED! THE KING HAS A BOY!!!
mr cross would howl whenever some poor class had the misfortune to be doing henry viii with him. he would run all over the history block, throwing open doors and bawling it at pupils in other lessons, the library - or even, memorably, the girls' toilets. then he would run back in and jump on the desk, spittle spraying everywhere.

he also disrupted our a-level course on the said tudors to make us watch the supremely irrelevant "a turd's eye view", a gruesomely accurate programme about the path a turd would have taken as it traversed the castle toilets. and got most excited about the things the catholic monks might have gotten up to. dirty, secret, sticky forbidden things. that nobody else gave a flying fuck about.

he had total obsessive compulsive disorder, to the extent that he flipped out if the chairs and desks did not align perfectly with the chequered floor tiles. he went on a yearly pilgrammage to stare at a piece of bird shit on a lamp post in ipswich to see if it was still there. and to see a pair of sheep named "rambo and poppy". they weren't even his sheep. and to see if a pair of pants was still stuck in a certain tree. they weren't even his pants.

worst of all was that i always lose my voice if i go clubbing or to a loud pub. the following day, i sound like a gravel mixer with a 90 a day habit. mr cross would grab his crotch under the desk and make me read out whatever that day's work was, saying excitedly "girls with husky voices really turn me on". is that suitable for a 50 year old man and a class of 17 year olds???

the poor man was a lonely sex starved dwarf. but he didn't need to take it out on the rest of us.
( rachelswipe with a fork, Thu 10 Nov 2005, 11:33, Reply)