Tardy Book

In what has been an unspectacular week, I was almost put on Tardy Book on Tuesday. Only a grovelling apology saved my skin. 

Tardy Book is a punishment, you might have guessed, for being late. Although this is what it's supposed to be used for, in reality it is given for all sorts of low-grade misdemeanours, being the mildest penalty available to beaks and the easiest to process through the school bureaucracy. 

Being on Tardy Book means getting up before breakfast for three days running and reporting to School Office. Missing a day adds an extra two to your tally, which results in some reprobates clocking up ten days or more. The most I’ve heard of is thirty.

I’ve only ever been on Tardy Book twice, once in F block and once in E block. Since then I’ve avoided it, but only just. Amongst a number of close shaves, the most memorable I've had was last year in D block, an episode that involved such an unfortunate chain of events that it deserves retelling in full:

The problem stemmed from the most mundane of activities. It was nearing the end of Chambers(break time) and I was about to head out with ‘Anthony’ to our next div. As you do, we were both taking a slash to make sure we weren't caught short, him in a urinal and me in a cubicle.

I had just finished weeing and was tidying myself up when I experienced what can only be described as the world’s worst pain, ever. 

After a moment of semi-unconsciousness, I looked down and saw to my horror that my lack of concentration when zipping up had caused a large chunk of my foreskin to become trapped between my flies, sending a terrible pain cascading through my body. 

The pain was so severe that I could barely stand up, and I was forced to gasp for breath to avoiding fainting. As I leant there against the wall I was reminded of the movie There’s Something About Mary and Ted’s hilarious zipper trouble - now faced with the exact same problem, the humour quickly faded. I lurched forward, banging against the cubicle door and emitting a low moaning sound. 

Puzzled by the strange noises coming from within, Anthony called out to me, ‘Are you ok mate?’

‘Fine,’ I said, trying desperately to sound normal, ‘just having a bit of tummy trouble. You go on ahead, I’ll catch you up.’ 

With Anthony out of the way, I thought about resolving the situation. Ever so delicately, I tried to remove my foreskin from the zip’s grasp. But the more I pulled the more it hurt! It felt like an evil piranha had latched onto my penis and was biting harder with every struggle! My only option, I thought, would be find some kind of lubricant to apply to it.

With everyone gone by now, I ventured out slowly from the cubicle and made my way toward the stairs. I hobbled forward, wondering what liquid I could use as relief. Out of nowhere, however, I heard footsteps approaching from the house master’s side! In a state of panic, I grabbed a file titled ‘Latin F Block’ and pushed it over my crotch. 

A second later my house master walked in, with a quizzical look on his face. ‘No div for you Eton Boy?’ he asked.

‘Yes sir, but I’ve got a music lesson in 5 minutes’
'Really? I didn't know you do music.'
'Yes sir. I've taken it up recently,'
'But you've never mentioned it,' he said, his eyebrows furrowing.
'Well, I like to keep it myself,' I muttered, scrambling upstairs before he could reply.

After what seemed like an age I reached the sanctuary of my room and stumbled in, planning to collapse on the bed for a few seconds' relief. To my dismay however, I found my boys maid kneeling down cleaning my desk. I stared at her in horror as she looked up.

‘Oh sorry Eton Boy, I didn’t know you had a reader!’ she said cheerfully.

‘That's ok!’ I said rather loudly. ‘I just wanted to get something,' and reaching forward I grabbed a shampoo bottle from among my stash of toiletries.

By this point the pain was becoming unbearable, and I would happily have offered the piranha my left teste in exchange for my freedom. Somehow, I found my way to the toilet on my corridor and flipped open the shampoo bottle. Without any thought to the mess I might cause, I squeezed half the contents of the bottle onto my genitals and screamed in relief as joyously, miraculously, the zip slid downwards!

After sobering up from the euphoria of this moment, I realised that my trousers were now wrecked. I tried to wipe off the shampoo with some loo roll, but this only succeeded in creating a sticky lather of Herbal Essences. As I saw it, my only option was to take them off, and praying that my boys' maid was elsewhere make a dash for my room.. 

As I reached my door though, the dreaded whirr of the vacuum cleaner came from within. With my trousers in hand and my boxers for all to see, I scuttled into the room opposite, intending to wait it out. I had forgotten however that this room directly overlooked my house master’s study, where I could seen him rummaging around. Visible were he to look up, I dropped to my knees, creating the sight of a crouched, half-naked D blocker, clutching a different boy's Latin file in a different boy’s room with a pair of gooey trousers beside him. 

Mercifully, she left not long afterwards and went downstairs. All that was left for me was to change into some fresh trousers and made a dash for my div.

In the end I arrived over twenty minutes late. Upon entering, the beak looked up at me with his eyebrows raised. ‘Dodgy curry Eton Boy?' he asked.

‘Something like that, sir. Sorry sir,' I stammered.

‘Well,' he said, looking at his watch, 'you appear to be so late that I can’t give you Tardy.'

And that was that.

Clearly, it would have been a huge travesty of justice. Not that I would have pleaded innocent mind you.

Trials

The first two weeks of each half is when all the sports teams hold trials to pick their new squads. It is always a period of uncertainty, as previously heralded sportsmen are sent down to the B’s or C’s, and late bloomers are promoted to the top squads. No-one knows where they stand, and the atmosphere in the school is one of anxiety.

I myself am a footballer, a very average footballer, who has reached the heights of the B team, but have mostly represented the C’s and the D’s. Whilst my preferred position is right-back, I have played across the park as a type of utility player.

Trials in C block are different to previous years, as you now join forces with the B blockers to form mixed teams. This is a culture shock, as many of the older boys are completely unknown to you. Furthermore, they are that much taller, stronger and rougher, and feel threatened by the young pretenders trying to steal their places.

Instead of A, B and C teams, the top squads are ranked by number – 1^st, 2^nd, 3^rd etc. Based on my experience, I was summoned to the trial for the 4^th, 5^th and 6^th squads out on Dutchmas 8.

Trials at school bear little resemblance to those of professional teams. There is no warm-up, no skills exercise, no mention of tactics. Instead a full 11-a-side game begins immediately and doesn’t stop for the next two hours.

I was positioned at right back on one of the teams, and was in the action from the off with a strong sliding tackle on my opposition number, a B blocker called Asquith. Although perfectly clean and applauded by the 4^th coach, the tackle did not go down so well with Asquith.

What followed over the next hour was an exhibition of misconduct from Asquith that would have made the bastard child of Vinnie Jones and Joey Barton blush in shame.

It began with verbal intimidation. Apparently my boots were crap. I had no left foot. I was uglier than Carlos Tevez. I was stupid. I was gay. My face looked like a bulldog chewing a wasp. Whilst trying to ignore him, it was difficult to concentrate with these comments running through my brain.

When he realised this was having little effect, things turned physical. He left his foot in on every challenge. He elbowed me in the ribs when I marked him at a corner. He gave me a dead leg two seconds after the ball had gone.

The peak of his poor sportsmanship though came when play had stopped for an injury. With everyone using the stoppage as an opportunity to get some water, I walked over to find Asquith holding my water bottle.

‘Get off my bottle!’ I shouted at him.

‘Oh sorry,’ he smirked, ‘I didn’t know it was yours.’

‘It’s got my name on it!’ I said.

‘Oh yes, so it does,’ he said, pretending to notice for the first time. Then, very deliberately, he took a long gulp before emptying the contents all over the grass.

Witnessing this tipped me over the edge. Asquith’s aim had been to get me riled, and he had finally succeeded. My only thought now was about getting revenge.

Fortunately I didn’t have to wait long. As play recommenced one of Asquith’s teammates sent a long pass to him on the touchline. Asquith went to control it, but the ball went further in front of him than he was hoping. In fact, it was right in the middle of him and me.

With the blood rushing to my head I took my chance. I sprinted forward and leapt into the air like a long jumper. With my feet ahead of me I saw my landing target as the area of the ball, and in mid-air glimpsed Asquith’s terrified expression. Before he could react, however, I had reached earth, the studs of both my boots smashing sickeningly into his unprotected right ankle.

If two-footed challenges are an art form then this was a masterpiece. I didn’t need to be told it would be my last involvement in the trial, and with Asquith writhing around on the floor in agony I trudged off without remonstration.

Only when I got back to my house did I feel regret. My horror tackle had probably ruined my chances of making any team at all. Although it had been great to almost break Asquith’s leg in two I didn’t fancy the prospect of twiddling my thumbs for the rest of the half.

In the end though my worries were misplaced. The 5^th coach was a self-proclaimed admirer of aggression, and although he told me I had gone overboard in this instance he selected me for his squad.

There’s only one problem, though. Asquith is in it too! It seems like a major reconciliation plan is needed.