Slightly early one, but don’t get the wrong idea. I just wanted to get this off to you in case I am a bit distracted later on.
Travelling home the other evening I got out of my seat, as is my want, to stand and stretch a bit during the final leg of the train journey from Audley End to Whittlesford Parkway. This has the added advantage of meaning I am always first off the train, into my car and out of the station car park. Anyway, as I stood there by the door my attention was attracted by a man furiously typing a letter on his lap top. I really couldn’t help it, but through the window between us I was able to read what he was writing. Now you would expect me to turn away and get back to my exercises and of course that’s essentially what I did, but not before I inadvertently gleaned that he was writing to a school-teacher to complain that his daughter was being picked on by a nasty little boy called Robert. I left him to his epistle thinking what a horrid, horrid situation. That said I probably wouldn’t have given it much more thought except that I stumbled just now, in a search for inspiration for something to tell you at the end of what has been a rather dull week, on a story I told you back in 2005. It’s a weird one, but true. Here it is:
Friday 25th November, 2005
“I don’t suppose you’ve heard of Alphabetical Bullying before. Neither had I, but this disturbing social phenomenon was articulated to me the other evening by my 5 year old daughter, Lottie. She bore the tell-tale sign - a nasty scratch on her cheek - of yet another grapple with one of our cats. You would think she would have learnt by now. She has been told off enough times for manhandling them by her parents as well as by the creatures themselves. I chastised her yet again, but, looking grumpy and affronted, she protested. "It wasn’t Pickle or Flowerpot. It happened at school. Charles attacked me in the playground."
Well, of course, I couldn’t imagine such a thing would ever happen at the sweet little prep school we sent our baby darlings, but playing along with her I asked her why Charles had been so mean.
"He doesn't like girls whose name starts with L" was her response. "He always attacks Lillie and Laetitia too".
"Oh dear me", I said sympathetically, " I hope there aren't any other bullying boys at your school."
"There are." she said. " Alexander......he doesn't like girls whose name begins with S".
She followed this with the name of yet another thug who apparently targets the J's.
By now I was beginning to accept perhaps she hadn’t been molesting the cats but still somewhat sceptically I asked her if any letter was safe. She didn’t even blink.
"If you’re an M that's ok......Mary never gets beaten up."
At the risk of turning this missive into something substantive I have a tip for you for 2018. Keep a diary. You never know when it will pay you back, but surely, every now and again, it will do. Mind you I’m now wondering what has happened to Charles and Alexander. Hmmm. I think I’ll get Lottie, Lillie and Laetitia ( who remain Lottie’s best friends ) to track them down.
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