Premier League Dream School

6 Mar

Dearest Mother,

It’s been a spiffing start to the term and I thought I’d take a moment to write to you and Papa to let you in on some of the fun things all the prep boys have been up to over the past week. I’m so glad you chose to send me here instead of that awful school down the round that has just opened its doors to the smelly oiks who can’t even manage to get a C-grade in woodwork. Apparently it’s run by a chef! Goodness me! After all, what an earth could he know about teaching a gang of hooligans about the benefits of simulation and backchat! You’re so lucky, that I’m going to turn out just like the splendid examples of humanity we have here!

After you dropped me off in the Rolls here on Saturday, it was wizard to see all my old chums. ‘Wazza’ Rooney was there too. We’re allowed to call him ‘Wazza’ because we’ve known him for quite some time but the scroats have to call him ‘Basher’ on pain of death. He’s so much fun and a top pal to have around when things are getting tough although he does seem to have a problem with sleeping in the dorms with the lights out. Some of the other boys call him a ‘pansy’ behind his back and he does speak in rather a funny accent but I think he’s ace. When nobody was looking on Saturday afternoon, he rammed his elbow into a younger boy’s face. That was such a wheeze because even though our schoolmaster ‘Clatters’ Clatternburg saw it, all ‘Wazza’ had to do was look at him in the eye, call him a ‘wonker’ and remind him just how much he was paying to be here and it was all forgotten. The softie who got smashed cried like a woolly woofter. Hilarious!

Then on Sunday, that boy from Chelsea who used to spend time behind the bike-sheds with that pretty little girl from the provinces, took an air rifle into prep and fired it up the bottom of one of the fags who was here on a trial week. The headmistress called Cole in to explain his actions and although he said he was sorry, everybody knew that he wasn’t. After all, why should we even bother about all these dreadful people who don’t even pay to come to this school? Everybody in the dorm thought Cole a top marksman and looked forward to his next jolly jape. He’s thinking about using one of the littluns as a horse for the next gymkhana. He’s so inventive and I do so love watching and learning from him!

Old Blotchy, our deputy headmaster, wasn’t in the best of moods on Tuesday. Apparently, he felt that everybody who doesn’t understand how our school works is determined to bring us down and ruin our good name. He spent half an hour in assembly boring us all about the importance of ‘fairness’ and we all found it difficult to stifle our yawns. I spied JT and Stevie G texting their girlfriends. Or was it their agents? I can never tell with those two rascals.

There was a bit of a kerfuffle on Wednesday night. Two of the students from the Highlands found it difficult to control themselves during chapel time. Heavens above, mother! One would think that they were worshipping different gods like those awful Muslims who have moved down the road from us in recent years (yes, I know they’re rich but they do also wear dresses) or even those godless polytechnic types who go on marches and destroy poor old Winnie’s memorial. Anyway, Ginger and Tubby had to be separated, although none of us could understand what either of them was saying and they’ve promised to not spit at each other or slap each others’ cheeks for at least another two weeks.

There was also a small incident concerning banned substances with that boy from the colonies towards the end of the week, mother. ‘Rolo’ Kolo was caught taking something that the school rules wholeheartedly frown upon although he was adamant that he didn’t know that he had taken it. His housemasters have suspended him for the time being but we’re not sure whether or not he’ll be called in to see our sweet headmistress, Fanny Adams. We’re hoping he is, because she is prone to leniency and it’s not as if ‘Rolo’ Kolo was trying to gain any kind of advantage from it. He’s on the tubby side anyway and could do with shedding a few pounds. We thought it was hilarious that Old Wenger, the bursar, blamed the drug-taking on a woman. He’s right. You can’t trust any of those! They smell and eat worms and can’t even hold a flag up properly.

But the best thing to happen all week was when we had an old alumnus from France come to visit. Although he sometimes spoke in riddles (something about ‘sardines’ and ‘seagulls’), it was quite clear that he was a bonza chap. He told us all that the best thing he ever did in his time at our school was when he booted one of the riff-raff plebeians in the face during a league encounter. He said it was like a dream come true and we’ve all been practising kung-fu kicks since he spoke to us. He really is a fine example to us all.

So, that was my week, mother. I do so love being here. The people are fabulous and we really don’t have to converse very much with the commoners who congregate on the outside to watch us. It truly is one of the finest educational establishments in the land. Who knows what fun and japes next week will bring, eh? I must dash though. Rio Ferdy and Lamps are preparing a Sunday roast and none of us like to miss those. I’ll film it for you, so you can see what all the fuss is about.

Love to Papa and Nanny.

Your loving and dutiful son,

David (although my pals now call me Dave)

Follow Dispatches on Twitter: @gregtheoharis

One Response to “Premier League Dream School”

  1. SpursSimon March 6, 2011 at 17:34 #

    I can not describe how excellent that is this week Greg.
    Cracking writing.

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