Bourbon biscuit, Carpe Diem, cojones, Eliza Doolittle, Gobi Desert, Harley-Davidson, Humber, hypogonadism, John Humphrys, Larkin, Low T, Marvell, Mastermind, Sarah Montague’, Stephen Colbert, Today Radio 4
Hypogonadism, Snod read.
So, The Head”s not coming back, he said to himself.
‘It means he needs to have continued treatment for the condition.’
The Headmaster’s wife added that her husband had self-prescribed a
Harley-Davidson and a trip through the Gobi Desert with a friend who
had been similarly challenged. Apparently she seemed very happy
about the outcome, as he should be away for some weeks, if not
Virginia came into Gus’ office quietly and put his rolled tie on the desk
and left him his tea tray, before exiting like a shadow.
He had removed the said garment at her house the previous night, but
had not removed much else and he had left ( in the early hours it must be
Being of the old school, he had not stayed the night chez Virginia.
In the morning he had nearly been late for the first time in his career, as the
only tie he could find was one that Diana had given him, which bore a tiny pig
and the initials MCP.
He thought that had been a joke. Had it?
He looked in the mirror in his private loo. He had felt an old rush of
testosterone last night. He knotted his favourite tie and smoothed his hair.
He looked younger; his skin looked fresher than John Humphrys’ and yet
that old dog had scored in later life. What did the presenter have to be
grumpy about? He was raking it in from Mastermind, no doubt. Mind you,
he had to work with Sarah Montague on the Today programme.
So, the job advertisement would have to be published in order that interviews
could be held in May. Would he apply? As Eliza Doolittle nearly said:
Not By our Lady Likely! ( Snod always censored himself, even in quotations, which
amused his pupils.) But was that adjustment blasphemy instead? Hmm..
He sat down to drink his tea and eat his Bourbon biscuits- ‘Back to two now’,
he noticed. Well, Lent was over and the flesh was operational again.
He typed ‘hypogonadism‘ into Google. Yes, he had been tired recently.
Apathetic, even. Grumpy? Well, he had been irritable for years. Pupils- he
would not use the term ‘students’ for boys in L5-9- such as Boothroyd-Smythe
had been grit in his oyster for decades. No wonder he was a little impatient.
What didn’t kill you made you stronger, however.
He read a comment from a comedian called Stephen Colbert who quipped that
Low T, or a dip in manly hormone, was ‘a pharmaceutical-company-recognised
condition affecting millions of men with low testosterone, previously known as
Was that why he had bought the leather jacket in Turkey? It didn’t look the
same in this cold Northern light. Maybe he should get it out again?
Smiling to himself, he thought that he would ask Virginia to High Tea at
Bradley Manor some time. It was a seduction technique that would
overpower most women, he suspected, never mind any age-related
inevitabilities of Low T.
And he was getting to be such an expert on women. Anthony Revelly’s genes
were still spiralling around his son’s DNA, like moths round a guttering flame.
Anyway, if Life was Too Short to Stuff a Mushroom, as he had read
somewhere, and goodness knows, he had never felt a desire to perform
such an activity, one’s mortal coil was definitely too short to allow his
vegetable love to grow vaster than empires yet more slow, or however
Marvell had cavalierly put it. He should seize the moment- by the cojones,
if necessary. Where had he learned that word? Carpe diem and all that.
He could even take up fly fishing. He didn’t have 30,000 years to appreciate
Virginia’s quaint honour. (He was uncomfortable with the etymology of this
adjective, but no matter..) No, they would make the sun run.
Complaining by the side of Humber he would leave to miserable poets, such as
Larkin, so he would serve out his time as Senior Master only. Let others take
up the accursed mantle of Headship; he was going to take up his life-and walk,
He may even apply to be on Mastermind. Maybe it was the moisturiser he had
taken to using recently, at Diana’s insistence, but-yes!- he definitely had fewer
wrinkles than the Today presenter. It couldn’t be attributed to post-coital
relaxation, as the activity had not yet taken place.
Life’s too short to stuff a mushroom was one of my late brother’s favourite expressions. No idea where it came from. Very entertaining read as usual.
I believe that it was Shirley Conran who coined the phrase- just to put you out of your misery!
Ah! Thank you. Then Molesworth 1 must have borrowed it from her. I might have known.
Male Chauvinist Pig!
As we say in North America,”Duh.”