Choules the Third

For numerous reasons, I have decided to jump ship to Blogspot. My newer, groovier and much more niftily named blog can be found here. For the sake of nostalgia I will keep the old blog, but I've moved all the previous posts to my new place. See you there!

    “Not another one!” Cried the headmaster in dismay, once again in confrontation with the inspector. “How long will two murders take to investigate?”
    “As long as necessary, sir.” The policeman replied, employing the age-old tactic of question evasion. “With a serial killer involved, it could take months.”
    “It was a member of staff as well.” The head sighed. “I mean, pupils we can overlook…”
    “No-one must be overlooked, sir!” insisted the policeman, skipping from ‘tepid’ up to ‘bubbling’. “Your pupils are no less important, if not more important, than your members of staff!”
    “Now, now, no need to get tetchy.” Said the headmaster, offended. “The pupils are obviously of more concern to you than to us, I see that. But if the government can’t keep these homicidal chaps under control, then it’s hardly our fault is it?”
    It was the policeman’s turn to be cutting reply-less. Casting desperately around the study, in which they were currently residing, he caught sight of a new officer clumsily fingerprinting the head’s terrier. Hastily he made off.
    “When I said ‘fingerprint everything’, Spanton, I didn’t actually mean… Ouch! Blasted dog.” The head allowed himself a secret smile. He had always thought ‘Nipper’ was a very appropriate name.

    Meanwhile, in the cricket pavilion, Mr. Mallock was trying to do both of these things at the same time. With the teachers being ousted from everywhere else, he was lucky to have got there before the others. He’d always said his class needed to get more exercise.
    Sir, can I? Whack! Ouch! Sir? Sir? Whack! Ouch! Whack! Whack! Ouch! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack!
    Mallock surveyed the scene with satisfaction. Several boys were nursing their bruises, several more were unconscious, and the survivors were tactfully cowering in the corner. He had always prided himself on his solid palm, and it had undoubtedly done its job. There was another whack, but this time it wasn’t him.
    It was a cricket bat, and this time he was the one being whacked.

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    “I still don’t see what all the bother is about,” sighed the headmaster, thrusting the crime report back into the inspector’s hands, “it’s not as if anyone is going to miss the little nuisance.”
    “The police must treat all suspicious incidents with extreme caution, sir.” The policeman replied, thinking it an appropriate phrase for the current situation. “Besides, we don’t get many cases of schoolboys lying in pools of blood. Especially their own blood.”
    “He was asking for it,” the head snorted, “it’ll be the last time he ever tries to dodge lessons.”
    “There are no excuses for murder, sir.” Retorted the policeman, his mental saucepan of water rising from ‘tepid’ to ‘simmering’. “If we don’t catch the culprit soon, you could be the next victim.” He had worked with the headmaster’s kind too many times before. They didn’t do things for the good of the public; they did things for the good of themselves. As he had expected, the head suddenly looked flustered and adjusted his collar nervously. He continued. “So long as no-one interferes we can do this quickly and easily, and we’ll try not to disturb you too much.”
    Unable to come up with a suitably cutting reply, the head strode off feeling irritable. Coming to the games board, he surveyed the position of the enemy – as he liked to call the boys. It was afternoon by now, and a Monday afternoon at that. 1 Monday afternoons were the work of Lucifer, he was sure of it. There were a predictably vast number of names under ‘Venezuela’ 2, and he decided against cross-referencing with the dog-eared signing-in book. Boys neglected to sign in and out at their own peril.
    ‘Why Venezuela?’ he thought to himself. Did it look like Venezuela? Was it related to Venezuela in any way? Were the people there complete strangers whose language and ways you couldn’t even comprehend? He decided not to answer the last one. Instead, he strode some more. Irritably. Suddenly a boy came up to him, looking worried.
    “Sir, sir, the policemen have taken over our classroom and we can’t get in and we don’t know what to do and what are we going to…”
    The headmaster caught the boy a slap around the face without even breaking his stride. As the boy staggered away, he tried to remember who it was. He had never held with knowing boys’ names. After all, you only needed to teach them…and hit them occasionally.

    1 After considerable pressure from several groups including the ISI (Independent Schools Inspectorate, if you must know), Ofsted and - for some bizarre reason – Oxfam, the school had been forced to make Monday a half day. The main reason, however, was that if they didn’t the NSPCC might get involved. Personally, the headmaster thought the RSPCA would have been more of a problem.
    2 A large wooded area used as a sustainable alternative to the boys venting their ‘excess energy’ on the school buildings and/or staff. Strangely, it was one of the few things the ISI had never investigated in particular detail.

    With the wary looks of a professional, Aaron slipped cautiously down the main corridor. Ducking into every doorway, he made his way with meticulous care. There was, he knew, no need for such precautions yet; but They struck without predictability. At the last room he pressed his body to the wall, and with perfect timing. For at the other end of the corridor, shoes started moving with familiar, rhythmic slaps in his direction. They were here. His breathing became unstable, despite his efforts to restrict it. The footsteps rang in his ears louder and louder, his breath came out faster and faster and faster and…
    The footsteps stopped. His hand instinctively slid down to his trousers, protecting the eternally bruised band of muscle. Indistinct mumblings echoed into the room and thundered around his mind. He mustn’t lose his nerve now, but how tempting it was to rush out and beg Them for mercy. Yet, slowly and uncertainly, the footsteps started again. Waiting until the echoes finally died away, he let out his contained breath in a prolonged sigh.
    Sometimes, he thought, skiving lessons was barely worth the trouble. It was the last thing he ever thought.

Gripping, eh? Tune in next week for the second gripping installment!

You thought I wasn't going to get my blog done on time, didn't you? (Blog, what a weird word!) Well, you thought wrong!
As to the title of this entry, I can only hope you know French. Only joking, it says "The holidays, they're almost here!" And how true it is. After a frenetic, exciting and, at times, sweaty term, there's only a week to go! Then, it's the summer holidays!!!
On to other topics now. Boarding is fine (though not as good as home!) and I think *insert doubtful expression here* that the others have got used to me. I am currently writing a book (yes, you did read that right), though I intend to share it with the world for free. I'm going to post the first part of it here next week, and from then on it can be a serial (that way I have time to write some more of it!). Bear in mind, however, that it'll only happen if the small soggy lump of sawdust that passes as my memory doesn't fail me. Still, I have hope!
I'm afraid my 'I want to do this' tank is running a bit dry, so this entry will have to stop here.
Third, Choules the Third

...to get my blog done! This time, my sudden weekday appearance is no fluke. This is, believe it or not, a delight of independent schooling (or at least, my independent school) known as an exeat. This is, if you like, an 'extended weekend', although in which direction (before or after) the extension takes place is by no means predictable. I have *consults computer clock* 13 minutes remaining before I go back tonight, but I just have time to write this (I hope!). Hopefully I will get it done sooner next week, as I'm afraid I haven't got time to say much more.
In much the same way as before, my school beckons. Farewell!
Choules 3

But it's only by fluke!
You see, I decided (well, I didn't have much choice) that what I wanted to do for my weekend at home was to catch cold. Some passing germs, always ready to lend a hand, obliged. I'm going back to school this morning, and I've decided not to keep you lot in suspense.
A much nicer surprise came yesterday in the form of a new keyboard. Rather unhelpfully, it didn't come with any software that could pick up the MIDI signals it sent down its USB cable. I have managed to find a program called SimpleSynth, and simple is the word. Still, it's better than nothing.
I must go, my school beckons.
Choules III

So you thought you could get rid of me, eh?
This is like that part in the horror movie where everyone thinks the monster is dead, but then it just 'appears' again. I can only hope that you take a slightly more optimistic view on me.
Anyway, what was I going to say? Oh yes, exams (shock horror!). Lots of exams (double shock horror!), and some of them one and a half hours long (double shock gulp horror!). And that means revision (double shock double gulp horror!), which is what I've been doing all this time. And when I get back to school (tonight!) I'm going to start boarding (double shock double gulp horror horror scream!). All of this explains my variable mood, jumping between:

• A smidgen worried.
• Mildly sad, rather sad and everything in between.
• Utterly terrified.

I'm sure it'll be alright, though.
But before you go off and feel depressed, some news. We went to see Pirates of the Caribbean 3 yesterday (very good, watch it!), and are going to the Reading Museum today. We were planning on visiting a stately home, but Berkshire is a little on the rainy side today *laughs sarcastically*. On the computing side of things, I have downloaded Jave. A clever little program, it allows you to create ASCII art just like that...
...'Just like what?', I hear you cry. 'Like that!' I reply. I'm smarter than my soft toy looks.
Here is an example:
        ,-------.
     ,-'         `-.
   ,'   _       _   `.
  /    /.\     /.\    \
 /     \_/     \_/     \
;                       :
|           ^           |
:          / \          ;
 \        /___\        /
  \  \             /  /
   `. \___________/ ,'
     '-.         ,-'
        `-------'
Cool, isn't it?
All for now, bye!