“A particularly fine bonfire the girls have made for Guy Fawkes’ night this year, Headmaster.” The two gentlemen peer from the window onto the merriment below in the school’s courtyard. “Indeed, Deputy Headmaster. I do wonder what they’ve done to make it burn with quite such unusual intensity.”
Suddenly, the Headmaster utters a disbelieving cry, pointing into the crowd of revellers: “Those girls are drinking vodka from the bottle!” He rushes to his cupboard: “I must go down and sort this out. I’ll cane the lot of them.”

But, dear readers, he finds the armoury quite bare, its usual fearsome collection of canes gone missing. The Headmaster turns back to his Deputy. And their eyes turn simultaneously back out of the window, to the blazing bonfire below…

No, Haron, don’t get any ideas…

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