Sometimes I think I have a cruel streak.

Take the little image that popped into my mind yesterday, while I was supposed to be writing a document for work. The door of the Headmaster’s study swings open; a girl emerges into the corridor, tearful and rubbing her bottom. A line of four, maybe five, of her friends waits outside.

“He wants you to go straight in,” she tells the lass at the front of the queue, then whispers: “Good luck.”

The door shuts. And within a moment, the freshly-punished girl is surrounded by her friends – comforting, consoling, wanting to know what it was like. She’d try not to worry them – “It wasn’t too bad” masking the reality that being caned had been far, far worse than she’d anticipated.

And at that moment, a master would turn into the corridor. “What on earth is going on here?” The line would slink back against the wall, leaving the punished lass looking up at the Deputy Head. “You must know that talking outside the Headmaster’s office is strictly forbidden.”

“Yes, sir. I mean, I’ve just been in trouble, and I’ve just come out, and my friends… Well, they were checking I was OK.”

“I find it quite astonishing that a pupil can emerge from being punished by the Headmaster, and flout a school rule within a matter of seconds.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“You can join the back of the queue, and once he’s dealt with your colleagues, you can go in to see him again. Explain why I’ve sent you back. And I suspect the Headmaster will teach you what a very dim view he’d take of a girl who misbehaves within minutes of being caned.”