I arrived at 8.55 to find Janice already deeply ensconced in her work.  She didn’t look up, but when I gave her my usual cheery, “hi” she merely pushed her coffee cup towards me.  

One does not take offence at the idiosyncrasies of old chums and I dutifully toddled off to the staffroom to oblige.

At 9.30am Mr Fixham the Deputy Head returned to our office for the second time in two days (an all time world-record, and one that will be added to our staff calendar for future commemorations), opening the door with all the flourish of one who has been here before.  We saw a party of four smartly dressed outlanders peering over his shoulder.  After several minutes deliberation he said, “School office.”  The party nodded as one, and moved away.    Janice didn’t even look up from her computer.

I dealt with my correspondence.   Mr Swift wrote to say that he was thrilled and delighted to find I shared his deep fascination in oral hygiene, and would I care to spend the weekend studying two dwarf nebulae with him in Scarborough. 

At break I could take it no more, and asked Janice kindly to explain this sudden devotion to duty.  She looked at me with a look that said something that probably meant a lot if one talked the language, but which I did not and so which to me was incomprehensible gibberish.

I spent the next two hours attempting to raise O2 on the phone, but without luck,  Eventually I wrote them an email saying I had received the box, but had not expected it, had not ordered it and certainly didn’t want anything taken out of my bank account.   I then phoned my bank to enquire if O2 were attempting to take money out, but apparently they were not.  I asked if I could give them an order not to release anything to O2, but apparently I can’t.   They told me I had to phone them each day to see if my money was still there.   I told them that was ridiculous, and they declined to reply.  I launched into a tirade about the pointlessness of digital technology if a warning can’t be set up on a bank account, but then got bored and so put the phone down half way through a sentence.

Dr Havoc-Blythe entered the office after lunch.  I immediately broached the subject of the deputy head’s visitors, to which Havoc-Blythe (a man to whom none of the workings of the school is a mystery) replied, “Cashless catering.” 

This caused gasps and we went into a huddle (save Janice who had not even stopped for a sandwich.)

At 3pm Janice finally stopped work, pushed herself back from her desk and offered to make me a cup of tea, saying, “I’ve got it.”

“It” as she explained was full access to the personnel files of not only the current staff, but also their historic records from other local authorities and schools.   “You are not going to believe…” she said.

“Mr Berlusconi?” I asked.

“That’s only the start,” she said with the deepest smile I have ever seen on her face.

“Mr Fixham?” (Janice smiled).   “Mrs Marchmount?”  (Janice smiled.)   “Not Havoc Blythe?” (Janice nodded).   “The head of sport?”  (Janice raised her eyebrows).  “All of them?”  

“Pretty much,” said Janice.   “This is going to keep you laughing for months to come.”