Being A Teacher
16 September 1994 - BEING A TEACHER
I'm almost back to normal. The only scars I bear are across my smouldering snap-snap.
I've been promised a job as a substitute teacher in a borstal. I'll be in charge of classes when the regular teacher collapses under the weight of his massive brown stetson.
23 September 1994 - BEING A TEACHER
For yesterday's PE class, I forced myself into a locker.
The boys' task was to squirt melted butter through the grille. It made a "pthh" sound as it cascaded into my socks.
I later paraded the socks before the PVR brigade. They're idiots!
24 September 1994 - BEING A TEACHER
The head of drama has been eaten by a pig! I've been asked to play oboe at his funeral - but I don't know how!
One of the boys, JD Harland, suggested I stuff the mouthpiece with seeds, so that when I blow - the seeds will grow!
28 September 1994 - BEING A TEACHER
It was my last day at the school today, and the boys played a couple of tricks on me.
One of the boys, Avril Turbines, did something to my register. When I opened it, a leaf shot out. Another boy, Johnny BAFTA, put a shaven raven into my open mouth. Another boy fired a gun at me.