Cheeky Sods

Sometimes I wonder at the sheer brass neck of some institutions. My old school rang me last night to ask me if I would consider paying them £175 towards their new sixth form centre. Would I? Would I buggery. I'd remove £175 from my account and use it for loo roll before I'd donate it to that collection of self interested, hatchet-faced harridans. Happy times I had at school included:

  • A weeks detention for informing the deputy head on Founder's Day that my skirt was not rolled up, it was naturally that short because I had long legs and had bought a small size. I was telling the truth but that is apparently not a good enough reason for not getting detention.
  • Threatened suspension for being caught smoking cigs behind some garages which weren't on school property in my lunchbreak. Not helped I suspect by the fact that when the school wrote to my parents to ask what they intended to do about this my dad wrote back to inform them that he would be doing nothing because I was 18 and old enough to emigrate, vote, join the army, buy a house and legally buy the cigs then if I wanted to smoke behind some garages it was my own stupid decision, not his.
  • 2 weeks detention and a letter of apology from me and Nic Smith to the mother of a lad we met on a school skiing trip because we sent him a condom through the post for a laugh. The woman claimed she could see the letter contained a condom through the envelope. X-ray vision is a rare thing indeed, she should be proud.
  • Threatened suspension for setting off on the Metrolink to go to an A-level history lecture day then deciding half way there that I hated school, A-levels, all my teachers and life so staying on the train to Piccadilly station then getting on another train to go visit my then boyfriend at Lancaster uni for the weekend. I got in less trouble with my folks than I thought I would though, because they thought I was having some sort of mental breakdown.
  • My form tutor for A-levels, a revolting little weasel of a creature called Miss Davenport (she had breath that could stop a charging elephant at a hundred paces) telling me I was too thick to ever get to university and if I did manage to scrape or screw my way in I was too thick to complete the course.

 

Give money to the school's building fund? I'd donate to the Osama Fund for International Jihad before I'd give it to them.

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