Time Out, London’s new-free listings magazine, contains a weekly column called ‘Word on the street’, listing “things we’ve overheard in London this week”.
They vary from funny to quirky to downright bizarre. A couple of my favourites in last week’s issue included:
“They need to get some decent mirrors in this place. I don’t look good in any of these ones.”
“She had the most unfortunate face I’d ever seen. Until I saw her mother.”
And then there was the one that intrigued me:
“I had to take my clothes off four times.”
Once on admission to the Reformatory Centre, before she was showered and made to dress in the institution’s light tunic?
Once when she was stripped and thoroughly, roughly inspected?
Once after she’d been led into the punishment chamber, as she stood before the whipping bench, before they tied her naked in position.
And the final time an hour later, after the flogged girl had been left in prison garb in a cell, when they made her own clothes back on before sending her back onto the street?
Time Out was around in London back in the late 70’s when I began studying at South Bank Polytechnic (now university) for my HND in Electronic Engineering.
It was Fresher’s week. Time Out did a wonderful piece on how students could survive in the big city.
Meanwhile, myself and John (my new mate – not his real name) got down to planning more serious things.
The word on the street was that a certain Mr Jones (Applied Mechanics lecturer – not his real name either, by the way) an Afrikaan who was, frankly, bloody racist, was upset at the overseas intake this year.
I must admit that I had never spoken to many black folks before, but when I spoke to David from Kenya in the student’s union bar, he came across as one of the nicest guys I’d ever met.
I think it was then that John and I came up with the plan.
One screwdriver. One bag of Homepride flour. Carefully placed in the fan casing of the overhead projector.
Later that afternoon, as Mr Jones began his lecture, he was utterly floured.
The rest of the lecturers hated Mr Jones, which is probably why John and I got away with it.
All my spanking fantasies are those of a top.
But should I be punished for that escapade all those years ago?
If so, how?
Any suggestions?