Juniper Boothroyd-Smythe was in trouble with her Form Mistress at
St Vitus’ School for the Academically-Gifted Girl. She had been
witnessed in the act of grabbing a particular cupcake ahead of a
First Year who had been standing patiently in the snack queue at
break. The child had practically achieved ownership and had actually
licked her index finger and had pressed it into the icing, but to no
avail. Rank and age had been pulled.
Drusilla Fotheringay-Syylk was not amused. She told Juniper that she
would be expected to write the Junior an apology in an afternoon
detention, which she would have to supervise, much to her
annoyance, as there were no other delinquents in the Staffroom
Record Book, surprisingly.
Well, she thought, that’s because no one
wants to have to sit in that stuffy room at the end of the school day.
However, self-gratification over altruism, as she lectured Juniper,
was something up with which she and the school would not put.
(She thought that she had avoided a final preposition in that
statement rather adroitly.)
And in that self-congratulatory mood, she found it incomprehensible
to accept that any pupil of her esteemed educational establishment
should so discard the rules of civilised communication that she could
submit a document of such superlative impertinence. What was the
meaning of the following?
Hey Little Monster!
I had a dream and saw a cupcake of great beauty and edibility and I
wanted it instantly, just like our Mother Monster, Lady Gaga, whose
whims have to be indulged immediately, if not yesterday. She lusted
after some pretty fish after her hip operation- and I don’t mean
Luckily for the school, my cravings are not in the £40,000 koi bracket
as hers are, and I don’t really fancy Japanese pond life. So, all you
first years are usually safe around me.
My selfish gene controls me. You just have to ask Richard Dawkins
why. I was just Born This Way.
Talking of carp, let’s hope that this shuts up the nagging member of
staff. I bet she wouldn’t reprimand Kate Middleton if she were to
snatch a cupcake before some minion in a Garden Party line-up.
Okay, the Duchess has admitted that cupcakes are her pica of the
moment, but why doesn’t she lick a lump of coal, or eat a bar of
soap like ordinary expectant mums? It appears that she is following
the social trends of her sister.
Admittedly, I am not pregnant, but it had been a long time since
breakfast and a double period with Stinker in the Chemistry lab is
enough to cause uncharacteristic psychopathic behaviour- not
confined to the scientific one herself.
Sorry about the sugar heist, but accept this as an IOU in lieu of
assistance with your next difficult prep-so long as it is not Chemistry!
Drusilla felt that she was going gaga herself. How could this dreadful
student think that this was an acceptable climbdown? Did Juniper
think that her Form Mistress was some kind of Justin Bieber fan who
would roll over and purr, no matter the disrespectful behaviour
No, she would take this to Senior Management. The girl might be
gender-fluid, but- was she a girl today?
Drusilla went into the staffroom and in the little kitchen she saw a
plate with some childish offerings from Lower 2 or 3’s Food Tech.
project. Staff had paid a couple of pounds towards some charity,
such as Anacondas in Adversity in order to have something to
accompany their break-time beverages. Amid the crumpled cake
cases and crumbs there was one cherry-topped fairy cake remaining.
Without waiting for the kettle to boil, she stuffed the iced sponge
into her mouth, praying that whoever had beaten the mixture had
scrubbed her nails.
Then Drusilla nearly choked on the dry texture as the Deputy Head
entered the kitchen, poured herself a mug of coffee which bore the
motto: Old Teachers Don’t Die: They Just Lose Their Class.
Where’s that cupcake? she asked.
Drusilla didn’t think it was a good moment to ask her to take a look
at Juniper’s letter. Mmmpgh! she said and ran out, clutching an
important folder of what anyone would consider to be marking, but
which was actually her downloads of promising summer holidays.
Maybe Juniper wasn’t the only one to have a selfish gene.
The Deputy Head shook her head. Oh well, she observed: I was only
going to put it in the bin, as no one in their right mind would eat
anything concocted by Harriet Bogstruther in Lower Three G.