An evening with Havoc Blythe

Weekend

The meal with HB was, quite simply, delightful. Exquisite food in a restaurant by the canal about ten miles out of town. I had not even known it existed, and the place was pack How did Havoc Blythe ever get a table?

He told me how much he owed me for my support in the school throughout these last two terms, how I had never once let the powers that be grind me in the ground, and I have never given up fighting.

“The trouble is,” I said by way of reply – which is what I do when someone speaks to me, that is, I normally reply, “the trouble is, much of the time I wasn’t working to plan. I didn’t try to undermine Mr Berlusconi and all he was doing – it is just what I am. I didn’t think Janice and I were doing anything special when we refused to bow down to teachers and do their photocopying at a moment’s notice when they could have asked us a week earlier if only they had been organised – I think we just got annoyed because they were treating us like second class citizens. And I didn’t like the way we appointed the wrong person for the job of librarian…”

“And that’s the point,” he said. “You fight back against those who treat you with contempt – which is really good in itself. But you have a natural instinct concerning what is important and what is right. You also know that the school can’t run without an efficient administration – and that is what most teachers don’t get.”

“I think most administrators know how important the office job is,” I said. “It would be hard not to understand that when working in the school office.”

“That’s true,” he agreed. “But what you do is fight back. You believe the administration is worth fighting for and you fight. All the way through you’ve done that, which is why we still have a school, rather than an organisation that churns out thousands of risk takers.”

“On the other hand we do seem to have a lot of copycats now walking around with the date of birth of the head of sport tattooed to their wrists.”

“But you are still fighting, looking, questioning, investigating,” he said. “That’s what makes you special. Along with the fact that you are extremely beautiful.”

There was an awkward silence, until I said, “I bet you say that to all the administrators you know.”

“Not all,” he said. “Most, but not all.”

And we laughed, and the moment passed, leaving me even more bemused about Havoc Blythe than I have ever been.

On Sunday, Janice was on the phone at 10. “I didn’t want to call earlier, just in case…”

I expressed my horror that she should think of such a thing between myself and HB. We agreed to meet at the Theory Café in an hour.

I gave her the rundown of my evening, and we pondered it together. Janice picked up a napkin and wrote down a set of questions.

1. Who is he really?
2. What makes him tick?
3. Is he heterosexual or gay or a-sexual?
4. Does he live with his mother?
5. How come that he became acting head so quickly? Does he have friends in high places?
6. How long is he gong to stay in this position?
7. Does he really work for MI5 as “Call” suggested?
8. Did he ever go out with Binky?
9. Does he ever wear jeans and a t-shirt?
10. What do I feel about him?

We were unable to answer a single question.

We could have gone on, but Havoc Blythe walked in, and Janice blew her nose on the napkin and got biro marks all over her face.

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