BEXHILL SCHOOL

I know I should give up smoking - everyone goes on about it - but honestly: how bad is a couple of quick puffs every day? The problem is that I'm forever getting caught and the consquences are becoming increasingly painful.

Take today, I made absolutely sure that the coast was clear before I ducked behind the sports pavilion for a drag. How on earth was I to know that the bloody sports mistress was in the pavilion's toilet and my smoke went straight in through the window of her cubicle. Of course, she tippy-toed out and caught me red handed. She hauled me straight in front of the Headmistress, whose only comment was "What? Not again, Samantha?"

So that was it: knickers down and over that wretched stool which I've lain across so many times. The HM isn't exactly an Amazon, but boy! can she lay it on, especially with that Dragon of hers. Twelve stripes later I was howling like a Fourth-former and promising never, ever to smoke again (at least, not until next time).

Of course I was expecting trouble when I showed the Discipline Report to my parents. I knew it would mean a session with dad's belt or mum's hairbrush, but it caught me completely by surprise when dad announced that he and mum had finally had enough of my tobacco kick, and he was going to teach me a lesson I wouldn't forget in a hurry. Then he produced this cane! When the hell did they acquire that? Now this was a whole new ball-game: knickers off, over the chair, and another dozen whips of the rattan across my poor, battered bum. Honestly, it's enough to turn one into a non-smoker. Except there's twelve left in the packet.