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.