Developments in Duck vs Useless Workshy Cunt of a Builder mean that I won’t be around to administer a vote-o this week. This means that I will be imposing a Scary Story on you tomorrow, but you will be pleased to hear that it involves this: turds. In the meantime, consider, if you will, the following:
Many of these guardians of my education have been referred to on more than one occasion on these pages, but I thought it about time they were all collected in one place for maximum effect. Their teaching ability is beyond doubt. It was just that myself, and my fellow classmates weren’t paying too much attention.
So, whilst I continue to retreat into my adolescence, I present Teachers! Rated out of five for your delight...
** Mrs Smith, maths teacher who had a habit of standing in front of the windows whilst wearing see-through dresses. This had the happy coincidence of distracting us from a face like a sack of spanners.
** and a half. Miss Jones, arts and design. Very plain, made her own clothing. Would not be included here if it were not for an unfortunate wardrobe malfunction.
*** Mrs Tanner, French teacher. Tight white jumpers, and a tendency to grab her right one when excited by particularly impressive verb endings.
*** Miss Scholar, English teacher, bra-less, blouse unbuttoned to her navel. Had the habit of leaning over you when you asked for help with your work. Which was often.
***** Miss Shagwell, science teacher, the biggest norks known to man. Tight, white lab coats, once appeared in Fiesta which was, unfortunately, her downfall. Rumoured to have led six-formers down the darkened path of “extra curricula activity”. The lucky bastards.
Any school day which featured English, French, Science and Maths (which was just about all of them) played merry fucking hell on our hormones. No wonder there was a wanking club in the school dark room. And no, I know what you're thinking...
Now, tell me about your days of school-room torment. Now! NOW! Or I’ll have you back after class.