Saturday, 30 January 2010

Notes on a Scoundrel (part 2)

Just when I think Pompous Pilate, headteacher at The School of Hard Knocks, cannot sink any lower in my estimation, he pulls some new crass and offensive stunt.

On Wednesday I slept in. I was dreaming of chocolate cake. That is my excuse, I dreamt of a very rich, moist, dark-chocolate cake smothered in creamy, white, vanilla icing. I've never had such a yin and yang cake - I think it sounds rather lovely. No wonder I didn't want to get up. Of, course, if I check that online Freudian dream dictionary I shall no doubt discover I was actually dreaming of cocks. Black and white ones.

Anyway, the point is, on Wednesday I was late into school. I was almost the last to arrive. When I got to my classroom my teaching assistants were fizzing with fury. It turns out that Pompous had ordered an inspection of all classrooms by the school bursar. She was told to give all of us 10 points, but to deduct 1 point for every bit of mess found. Our bursar is a vicious, nasty woman: a velociraptor in Primark nylon, fake tan and wonky lipstick. No doubt she relished such a job.

'Miss Underscore! It's a disaster! We got a minus score!'

I looked around the classroom. It wasn't too bad, but I could easily see how we'd quickly lose 10+ points: my desk had 4 unwashed mugs on it, there were 3 mouldy cakes rotting on a plate (a relic from our Haiti cake-sale fundraiser), the cloakroom had PE kits and wellies dumped all over floor and the laptops had been left out from the previous day.

To be honest, I wasn't bothered. It seemed petty beyond measure. I decided I'd wait until Pompous confronted me and then I'd make my feelings known. But, some of my fellow Stepfords were outraged by the inspections. A delegation of them went to harangue Pompous and have their say. Faced with a seething posse of middle-aged ladies with their dander up, what do you think cowardly cad did? Denied all knowledge of the inspections of course. He placed the blame squarely at the scaly claws of the velociraptor. According to Pompous, she was a 'lone-gunman': the Lee Harvey Oswald of the SOHK. I don't believe that for one second. None of us do.

On Thursday he sank even lower. Eeee Hun called into my (still messy) classroom early that morning. She was terribly shaken. Whilst walking to school she'd seen a cat run-over on the road. Eeee Hun had made arrangements for the splattered pussy's remains to be removed. Thankfully the tragedy had occured before the kids started making their way in.

Fast forward later that morning to assembly. Pompous Pilate was strutting around the stage like the fat, Yorkshire cock that he is.

'Mrs Hunn, could you come to the stage please?' he bellowed. He frequently drags unwilling teachers to the stage during assembly. This is usually in order to humiliate us in some way (he once made me sing and dance).

Eeee Hun nervously came forward.

'Mrs Hun. Tell the everyone what happened this morning on the way in to school. What did you see?'

Eeee Hun looked at him uncertainly. Surely he didn't want her to talk about the cat. Not to an assembled audience of young children?

'Come on Mrs Hun. Tell us all about the cat.'

Every Stepford in the hall gasped in horror. At the front of the hall the tiny 4-5 year old reception children were seated, now expecting to hear a charming story about a furry little kitty. Their eyes were wide with expectation and delight.

Eeee Hun did her best to tell the story as sensitively as she could. Of course, sensitivity is not one of Pompous's strong suits.

'Ha Ha Mrs Hunn. I bet it looked a bit like our dinner ladies' chicken curry, did it?' he roared.

He was totally oblivious to the horrified faces of the children in the audience, and the tears of the kids who were now worried it was their beloved pet that had been killed on the road. Some teachers laughed nervously (I hated them for it). I saw Pompous smugly look my way. I gave him the iciest glare I could muster.

I swear to God. That man is a fucking beast.

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