Lord Greystoke (again)

“Through the upper terrace of the tree-tops he swung with the grace and ease of a monkey.” – ERB.

ASDAN

Lord Greystoke, Baby Oddbod and others of that ilk attend Asdan classes which are designed to give them a qualification for being inept at everything. I enjoy pointing out to them how ludicrously easy many of their Asdan tasks are so much that I wrote a song to sing to them during lessons.

They, of course, started to learn it and repeat it to their Asdan teacher who is now a ‘big fan’ also (my words, not hers). The other day she presented me with my own Asdan course book so I could see how worthwhile the whole thing is. I laughed, she huffed, I went off and added a new line to the ditty.

Here it is so far, additions will be posted as and when they happen. It’s designed to be chanted in a sort of singsong way with a pause before the ‘Asdan’; something like this:

Dum-di-dum-di-dumdiddy-dum (Pause) As-dan!

Making a sandwhich, cheese or ham: Asdan
Taking the beans out of the can: Asdan
Cracking an egg but missing the pan: Asdan
Making the tea to pass an exam: Asdan

Working in Tesco as hard as you can: Asdan
Getting a job driving a van: Asdan
Being on time because you ran: Asdan
Crossing the road by holding a hand: Asdan

Coffee

I used to think I knew a thing or two about coffee, I received my Master Barista diploma in 2001 after all, but today Lord Greystoke put me right on that account and no mistake.
I pass this wisdom on in his own words

(please don’t try this at home)…

‘How to cook coffee’ by Lord Greystoke.

1) Get your chocolate.
2) Put your water in a kettle.
3) Put the kettle under the grill.
4) Put chocolate into hot water and stir.
5) Get a cup, pour in hot chocolate.
6) Add milk and stir.
7) Done innit.

And a final comment from the master himself:
‘I’ve done it at home and it works.’

Lord Greystoke captured on film

“…the savage man leaping, bending, and stamping with the savage apes in the ancient rite of the Dum-Dum. His roars and growls were more beastly than the beasts. His face was distorted with savage ferocity. He beat upon his great breast and screamed forth his challenge as his smooth, brown hide brushed the shaggy coats of his fellows. It was weird; it was wonderful; and in its primitive savagery it was not without beauty–the strange scene, such a scene as no other human being, probably, ever had witnessed–and yet, withal, it was horrible.” – ERB

The Giant Pen

The recently departed Darliquinn gave me a present of a giant working pen and pencil the other day; ostensibly so I could lend them to students with out them becoming lost.

Chance however, allowed me to put them to much better use.

The very day I received them I was sitting in Maths with Little Jimmy Thistle. Little Jimmy Thistle began to poke me in the arm repeatedly with his pen.

‘Don’t do that Jimmy’ I said, ‘it’s annoying.’
‘I challenge you to a pen fight sir.’ Retorted Little Jimmy Thistle. Truly the TA god was smiling on me today.
‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’ I said slowly.
‘Why not?’
‘Because you’ll lose.’
‘How will I lose?’
I reached down and drew the giant pen from my bag.
Little Jimmy Thistle stared open mouthed at the full two foot long, red and white ICBMness of the giant pen, his eyes wide with wonder.
‘Fuckin ‘ell’ he breathed, ‘it’s massive!’. His own pen fell from his nerveless fingers.
The pen fight was over and he had, indeed, lost.

This would normally have been enough to make my day a happy one and wouldn’t actually have been worth recounting had it not had repercussions the following day.

The next day arrives and I find myself in History. Opposite me is Little Jimmy Thistle, beside him is Lord Greystoke and beside me is Baby Oddbod. The table from hell, frankly.

Half way through the lesson Little Jimmy Thistle announces:
‘Sir’s got a giant pen.’
The other two look at the (normal) pen I’m holding and reply in unison
‘No he hasn’t.’
‘Yes he has, it’s HUGE. I saw it in maths.’
I brandish my pen and point out that it is, in fact, completely normal sized.
‘Yeah, see,’ chorus the others, ‘it’s noooormal’ (not a word they get to use much it must be said.)
Little Jimmy Thistle is getting confused and a bit annoyed and begins to splutter as he searches for the right words.
‘Perhaps,’ I say to be helpful ‘it was really close to you so it looked giant?’ I hold my pen close to his face so he can appreciate the phenomenon of foreshortening.
Unconvinced he sticks to his guns and insists ‘It’s in his bag, I’m telling you, I saw it in maths.’
Obligingly I show my open and giant pen-less (it’s at home) bag to everyone.
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about Jimmy’ I say, ‘perhaps you dreamed it? I mean, who in their right mind would carry around a giant pen?’

The other two are shaking with barely-concealed mirth. Lord Greystoke is so red that the engorged pustule he’s been carrying around on his face for the last week looks set to finally explode. (‘When that goes we’ll be ankle deep’ was one English teacher’s opinion of it).

They bombard Little Jimmy Thistle with loud whispers of derision, mainly centering on his inability to see straight and his penchant for dreeeeeaming; this last delivered in a particularly whiny voice expertly pitched for maximum needling.

Little Jimmy Thistle retorts with suppressed cries of ‘Fuck you’ and ‘Your Mum’s a dreamer’ but to no avail. The lesson ends and they all disappear off to morning break with the verbal fencing continuing down the hall, much louder now that there is no lesson to confine them.

Petty? Well, yes, but getting the little monsters to doubt their sanity even for a second is still a victory in my book. Stay tuned, the giant pen will strike again.

Identity Theft

History may be my favourite subject but the idiots I have to nursemaid through a lesson can really take the enjoyment away.
Sometimes, though, they make it all worth while.

Today Little Jimmy Thistle snatched my photo identity card, which we all have to wear so Senior Management can remember our names, out of its holder. Not a major feat of manual dexterity but, none-the-less, it evoked cries of wonder from Lord Greystoke.

‘How did you manage that?’ he inquired with his usual slack-jawed air of bewilderment.
‘It’s easy’ replied Little Jimmy Thistle as he replaced the card and then snatched it away again even quicker.
Even at this greatly accelerated pace his action didn’t seem beyond the capabilities of most 14 year old boys. I was unimpressed.
Lord Greystoke was enthralled however and started chanting: ‘Do it again, do it again, again,again,’ like some freakish Teletubby.

‘Lord Greystoke,’ I said, ‘you seem to be captivated by the simplest of things.’
‘No I don’t.’ He replied huffily.

I looked at him for a moment before covering my eyes with both hands. As I whipped my hands away I gave out a resounding ‘peek-a-boo!’ in that annoying condescending voice used to communicate with babies and senile old folk.

Once again cries of ‘Again! Again!’ rang out from Lord Greystoke as he giggled away to himself and rocked back and forth in ecstasy.

Very small things, it seems, do indeed amuse very small minds…

The Unexplained

How strange that magic should rear its mysterious head on the very day that we were covering witchcraft in history.

Lord Greystoke lost control of his pen and it rolled along the desk to stop in front of me.

‘Fetch Sir’ demanded Lord Greystoke so I picked up his wayward pen, and in the spirit of his own canine reference, pretended to throw it past him whilst actually keeping hold of it.

His head snapped round in the direction the pen would have travelled in and he began searching the window sill behind him. He even checked that the window was closed in case the pen had fallen through it. Once his searching became frantic I attracted his attention and showed him I was still holding the pen.

His jaw fell open and his eyes became as wide as saucers ‘How did it get there?’ he breathed as if actually speaking the words would invite further magical intervention.

I smiled in what I hoped was an enigmatic way and handed him his pen which he accepted rather gingerly.
‘Sit vis vobiscum’ as they used to say.

A Day in Hell Part 3

The climax of the day was heralded by Oxbridge One and a megaphone. She explained to everyone present, loudly and clearly with her megaphone, that the last event of the day was being set up. She explained, loudly and clearly with her megaphone, that everybody was to stay where they were until they were told to enter the hanger. She explained, loudly and clearly with her megaphone, that if anyone entered the hanger before they were told they would be prevented from taking part in the last event. Finally, she explained, loudly and clearly with her megaphone, that this event was really, really exciting and the winner would get the grand prize.

Everybody was convinced and stood, waiting, with baited breath. Everybody? No, not quite.
Out of the crowd burst Lord Greystoke, running into the hanger as fast as he could, determined to be first, knowing that the previous instructions were meant only for others.
Miraculously Oxbridge One was barring his way. He stopped, confused.
‘Where are you going?’ she asked him.
‘I’m going in there in I.’ replied Lord Greystoke, indicating the beckoning darkness of the hanger with a waving paw.
‘Oh no you’re not.’ said Oxbridge One, ‘You’re staying out here and not taking part because you can’t follow instructions’.

Automatically Lord Greystoke’s defence mechanisms came on line.

Standard Response One initiated….
‘What about them then?’ he whined, swaying his arm through the air behind him.
‘Who?’
‘Them, all of them what was running too.’ still indicating the space behind him.
‘There’s only you’ Oxbridge One pointed out.
More confusion as this sunk in, Lord Greystoke’s face ran the gamut from perplexed to more perplexed; surely he had been at the head of a howling mob of excited boys? Surely everyone was as anxious as he to get started and only his inherent speed and agility had kept him ahead of the pack?
He looked behind him. Instead of the howling mob there was only an empty expanse of runway. Several yards away stood everybody else, waiting where they’d been told. From the midst of this group I had an urge to wave to him.

Standard Response Two initiated……
‘Well I never heard you say not to go in.’
Oxbridge One looked at him, then at her megaphone, then back at him.
‘Go and stand over there.’ She said, indicating a lonely spot by the hangar door.

Everyone else was allowed in and they streamed past a dejected Lord Greystoke laughing and excited. Nobody stopped to listen to his lament about the unfairness of life.
The Teacher in Charge and I stood near him and exchanged smiles.
‘An important life lesson has been learnt today’ remarked the Teacher in Charge and I nodded agreement, we were both doing our best not to laugh.

Since the final event involved rummaging through a huge haystack trying to find the keys to the limo a couple of asthmatic students were not allowed to participate and they came and waited with us. The Teacher in Charge promised that they would be included in the ‘friends of the winner’ who share the prize if one of our students got the keys.
‘What about me?’ asked Lord Greystoke.
‘No.’

A short time later, Oxbridge Two handed out Frisbees to the non-participants as a consolation prize. Lord Greystoke got given one too by mistake. While he was still confused by this, the Teacher in Charge took it off him without a word and put it in his own rucksack explaining to me; ‘I love Frisbees.’
Lord Greystoke may have been about to react to this but he was cut short by the final event starting.

‘Three…two…one….GO!!!’ Screamed the announcer and everyone dived into the straw.
Within seconds a lucky winner was holding the keys aloft.
‘A winner in record time.’ Said the announcer, ‘What’s your name son?’
My blood ran cold as I saw it was the main rumour monger from our morning in the hall. Not him, anyone but him, is there no justice in life? Just for a moment my faith in the universal laws of karma were shaken.

The limo arrived, there was a quick interview with the host of the show and then Rumour Monger was swept away by the magical car as everybody applauded and the cameras rolled. He looked so happy.

Then the car stopped and the Director ran over to it. There was a conversation with Rumour Monger and then everybody came back.
‘We’re going again, he hasn’t won.’ said the Director and everybody got ready for another take. The excitement level of the participants rose to a fever pitch.

Rumour Monger sat on the sidelines looking as dejected as dejected can be. On the opposite side of the hanger a small child from another school was doing the same. I went over and spoke to the teacher consoling the other boy.
‘What was all that about?’ I asked.
‘Squealer here found the keys and that boy,’ she pointed accusingly at Rumour Monger, ‘took them off him.’ Squealer snivelled agreement. ‘Of course Squealer reported this and they had it all on film so there was no argument, Squealer knows what’s right. Apparently the other boy may have got a hand to them too so it’s not been awarded to Squealer automatically.’ Squealer howled his despair at this. ‘The Director offered to let Squealer try again, but as you can see, he’s too upset.’
‘Oh that is a shame’ I sympathised and backed away quickly before I started dancing or something.
I reported my findings to the Teacher in Charge and he observed that yet another important life lesson had been learnt today. We were both very happy. I waited for Rumour Monger to start crying but he managed not to. Oh well, you can’t have everything.

Some other kid finally won and we could all go home. As the winner was driven away I managed to remark to Rumour Monger ‘That was so nearly you.’ I tried to sound sympathetic but he wasn’t convinced. He gave me an evil glare so I smiled at him.

We gathered for a final roll call in the marquee. Oxbridge One found Rumour Monger and handed him a ‘No Girls Allowed’ t-shirt so he wouldn’t feel too bad about having the grand prize taken away from him. The look of disgust on his face as he held the shirt really was the icing on my karma cake.

As we boarded the coach Lord Greystoke found me and mentioned that he had lost his Frisbee. Did I know what had happened to it? I pleaded ignorance and settled down for a long, hot ride home.

School trips, you gotta love ‘em……….