Souvenir of France
Ever since he'd escorted the school visit to France, the wretched Mr Austen-Smith - our Deputy Head at Bexhill - had been waiting to use the martinet at the drop of a hat (or at least at the drop of a skirt). And today it's a bit of an irony that he's thrashing me for wearing non-regulation knickers: the rathers sexy thong which I bought as a souvenir of Paris on the same trip. I don't even know how he suspected I wasn't wearing the usual white cotton drawers, unless he'd been peering up my thighs in the classroom.
Anyway, back to the damned martinet. We first learned about it on the boat back. We were all sitting around in the saloon, having a nice relaxed time and a bit of a laugh, when someone asked what we'd all bought as souvenirs. Naturally, I didn't wave the thong around: luckily I'd bought a really tacky 'Eiffel Tower in a snowstorm' thing. It was a hideous bit of tat, but when you shook it, some kind of white flakes flew around in the liquid surrounding the plastic tower. My kid brother would love it. My God! Are we really related?
Anyway, after we'd all shown off our stockings, scent, scarves and snow-storms, someone asked Mr Austen-Smith what he'd bought. He gave us a sort of arch look, rummaged in his hold-all, and produced the martinet. Of course, we all gasped, but he passed it round so that we could examine it. It looked kind of stingy.
"Are you really going to use that on us?" someone asked.
"Of course. Think of it as cross-cultural enrichment," he laughed at his own joke: only the real brown-nosers joined in. "I'm sure you're all wondering what it feels like, so let's guess which of you will be the first to be able to make a report?"
Need he have asked? It just had to be muggins here. And my report will confirm that the bloody thing stings like hell.
Ouch! That's five. I hope there's only one more to go.