School under attack. Police called.

The headteacher reappeared for the first time since the end of term.  And all hell broke loose.

As we put the story together later, it turns out that the Head of Design and Technology had, contrary to all convention and agreement, been getting the children to work with wood. Three of them had built a wooden sword, put on Jack Sparrow costumes and taped into on the inside of the door of the Head’s office on the last day of term, as a little jape.

It seems that the alarm system fixed to the door was only programmed to recognise metal and explosives, and classified all other materials as being of alien origin.  When the head unlocked the door, the security system considered itself to be under attack by a technology from beyond the stars the door flew open in submission, instantly breaking itself off its hinges and falling on the Head’s head. 

This event then turned on the sprinkler system within the office, which effectively destroyed the school’s entire admin system, leaving us without work.   

A new and even more viperous round of betting developed on the timing at which each of the inevitable Four Stages that would follow would take place. We then had a debate as to whether “viperous” was a word or not, and if so what it meant. Dr Havoc-Blythe, who had made a killing in the previous round of betting, arrived in school (how DOES he know when to come in) and joined in the debate and contributed to the wagering. On a vote “viperous” was allowed. 

The gist of what would follow hard on the heels of the attack on the Head’s study was itself never in doubt. With all our records gone, we were helpless, and would have to re-do the timetable in longhand, and use Rent-A-Teach, more properly known as Central Supply, the supply teacher agency to cover missing people next term.  The staff there would (as always) promise the earth and deliver (metaphorically if not literally) a load of earth. If you take my drift. (Havoc-Blythe interjected at this point that “a drift” is “a flow” but I am not asking you to take my flow. A drift it stays.)  

Working from memory the Head ordered us to do our best. We sat and waited.

As the emergency services did a final sweep of the Head’s study the anti-terror squad arrived, interviewed us all, and told us not to leave town for a couple of days.  We went to the Toppled Bollard for lunch.

Back home in the late afternoon I found one of the old military intelligence postcards and stuck it in the window of my living room.   They might be interested in developments.

Fortunately my own summer holiday starts on Saturday, so this interruption to work is unlikely to affect me greatly.

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