![[orchidea reflects]](/storage/marbleorchidea.jpg "[orchidea reflects]")
Detention
Taking a toothbrush to the grout inside the shower (we’ve lived here for eight years and I’ve had total faith in the bionic powers of Mr Clean and his ilk until now; this recent activity is a sure sign something is afoot), it did cross my mind, after I’d swatted the two flies that had been copulating on me first, and then on the bathroom mirror and listened to daughter’s humorous account of her first and hopefully only brush with morning detention (‘morning’ means 6.45am incidentally, and she was sentenced to this for committing the heinous crime of screwing a piece of paper into a small ball and flicking it at her friend during a lesson, who flicked it back and also got done: they didn’t even get a warning, which is standard practice, and I think it might have something to do with her maths teacher not being in the best of moods because she’s allegedly knocked up by a colleague whose credentials include habitually propping up a local bar until closing time and missing the train on a school trip. They phoned his mobile but couldn’t rouse him, I heard, and my sources are impeccable). Anyway, I was thinking, after the flies were dispatched and daughter laughed at (I had to sign a detention consent form and teased her endlessly by offering to tick the second option which said: “I do not consent to my child’s detention and request a meeting with the teacher involved, the head, board of governors, the peace envoy to Chechnya and the Dalai Lama”) that it would be nice to have someone do this chore for me, preferably one of those servile souls – invariably male – who used to advertise in the newspaper (and maybe the ones the internet left behind still do) their willingness to do a lady’s domestic bidding in her home, free of charge, in exchange for the opportunity to do it in their birthday suit. This is nothing more than an idle fantasy, of course, because I’ve always been suspicious of proposals like these. There’s no such thing as a free lunch after all and I couldn’t vouch for Mountain Man’s benign reaction on coming home to a strange man, naked save for a pinny, marigolds and a feather duster - could he bring his own feather duster? I don’t have one - gleaming taps, pristine tiles and scrubbed grout notwithstanding. But oh, we have lots of tiles and miles and miles of grout and now I’ve cleaned, say, a square metre, the rest looks rather dingy. So I’m tempted.
Daughter did Sudoki in detention. Contrary to the results of her extensive prior research, they weren’t allowed to eat or mess around in the internet. The teacher-in-charge was half asleep. Daughter and friend spent the last ten minutes flicking paper clips at each other.
orchidea
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Apparently, a paper clip can be turned into a rather good catapult for small screwed up bits of paper by opening it out 90° and clamping one side onto a table with the forefinger of one hand whilst using the other hand to 'ping' aforementioned paper ball.
It works better if the paper is slightly masticated first too.
I had a lot of detentions in my youth....
Now why doesn't that surprise me? I'll pass it on, Greavers. Ta.
If we lived a little closer, ♀ says she would farm (whore) me out me out to you. I have a lovely french maid outfit, but she'd discuss the details of my attire with you prior to my arrival. The cost...♀ just laughed at that. She thinks the two of you would have a very nice time while I was toiling away. Perhaps shopping for pretty things or sipping tea and admiring the view from your balcony or drinking wine and making up dirty limricks. Apparently, the possibilities are endless.
Cheers,
sss
Please convey my fondest greetings to ♀, sss. I'd love to take her up on her offer and what are 5500 miles between friends? I'm not sure about the French maid's outfit though; we don't live in very posh area and it might raise a few eyebrows. Actually, I could supply a pink feather duster if required.
:)
o xxx
"The teacher-in-charge was half asleep. Daughter and friend spent the last ten minutes flicking paper clips at each other."
As searing and indictment of institutionalized punishment as you'll read anywhere. As ever all incarceration does is teach the offendes better ways of offending for the future. Have we learnt nothing?
(And by next time it'll be the "Greavsie Catapult" mark my words).
Well, exactly, Dr J. It was plain daft and the teacher clearly suffered a major sense of humour failure; in fact her snooty description of the "incident" on the form confirmed this and almost made me split myself laughing. It was a lot easier back in the day, wasn't it? A clip around the ear and you knew what was what (but probably not up or down and east and west)...
It's more a punishment for the teacher supervising. Oh, and it was the last week of term. Then again, she knows the rules.
(Before either of my 2.4 readers gets a) all hot and bothered or b) enthusiastic: I was kidding - am militantly anti physical punishment.)
"I was kidding - am militantly anti physical punishment."
;-)
(Sorry, couldn't resist...)
:-p
Oops.
Back in the Dark Ages, i.e. late 1970s, M had a class teacher who was fond of sentencing his pupils to a run around the block if they misbehaved. There was a sliding scale of severity, of course... being really disobedient meant a five-block run, for instance. M said it was a hoot - half the class could be running round the block at any given time. Said teacher also had a predilection for throwing chalk and creeping up behind unsuspecting kids and knocking two heads together. He was a bit of a maniac apparently and was subsequently removed.
M says it was the year they all love to reminisce about at school reunions. ~rolls eyes~
"M says it was the year they all love to reminisce about at school reunions. ~rolls eyes~"
It's the same sentiment that squaddies hold for brutish Drill Sergeants. Seems there's a touch of the massochist in all of us.
The retrospective masochist maybe, Dr. J. ;-)