I am heading up North today. An exciting jolly to my old school for my nephew’s leaving bash.
Talking of schools and stop me if I have been banging on a little too much about Bob. It’s not even as if he has been out and about slaughtering things as far as I am aware anyway. No, as I have highlighted with reference to his election as secretary to the Rugby School wine society, he seems to be developing some slightly more socially acceptable traits, though there is many a slip twixt cup and lip.
He was home for the weekend and revealed that he had a part in a play which he and fellow house members will be performing before the end of term. You have to slightly let your imagination roam at this point though I can help you with the attached photo of Rugby Schools Gothic inspired chapel. Splendid eh?
The school chaplain is a great guy and likes to enliven the daily early morning service occasionally just to keep people on their toes. But even he would probably concede that his suggestion to Bob and his friends, that it might be fun and original if they were to stage an abbreviated dress rehearsal of their play in the Chapel, was a little rash.
As you may be aware I am an historian if that isn’t too grand a boast from someone who scraped a 2:1 in History and Economic History at Leicester University and consequently I would be fascinated to know if any other boy in the last 135 years since Rugby’s magnificent chapel was built has burst through the heavy wooden doors into a service dressed only in his boxer shorts? If that wasn’t ridiculous enough Bob, who told me proudly that despite his state of undress he had managed to remember all his lines, delivered as he wandered down the centre aisle in front of the assembled school, admitted that he was somewhat nonplussed at the lack of kerfuffle caused by his entrance. This was was explained afterwards by the fact that all least three pupils came up to him afterwards saying that their first reaction had been to think that he was even later than usual that day and had probably been in such a rush he had forgotten to put his trousers on. No big deal. Hmmm.
Worryingly, that chat with Bob, over the dinner table on Sunday, one of the increasingly rare occasions when all six of us were assembled – I overheard Lottie, our 14 year old, talking to her grandmother on the phone “Yes, Grannie, it was just like Christmas. I had quite forgotten how many siblings I have” – led to talk of a long standing dare at Rugby, yet to be delivered upon. Only Harry Potter fans will appreciate this, but the challenge is for someone to come rushing late into Chapel shouting “There are trolls in the dungeon”. I wouldn’t put it past him.
Anyway back to the forgotten trousers. The thing is there is form. Hen, I have told you, returning to school once, forgot to pack a single item of her school uniform, so it runs in the family. And the other day the mother of a friend of Bob’s who is at Uppingham told Sophie that she had been at athletics match at her son’s school against Rugby. She had wondered if she might see Bob, but then overheard two Uppingham boys asking if anyone had a spare pair of size 10 running spikes that they could lend someone from the visiting school who had forgotten his. You go to an athletics match and forget your spikes??? She said she couldn’t help asking them. “Is he wandering around barefooted?” They replied in the affirmative. “Is his name Bob Sandison?” she said? And of course you know the answer. The Rugby School hurdles champion indeed. You kind of know where his friends are coming from.
Now, I’d better dash for my plane so have a good weekend and by the way – hip hip hooray - it seems I have already lined up a few of you to come to Shanghai in September. This is a result….come on…you know it makes sense:
“It went well. Mr Dhanda said he’s never had a secretary so good at pouring.”
Attaboy. He’ll make a stock-broker yet.
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