but I'm afraid it's out of the question. I'm just not prefect material... you may place me behind the bike shed with a gasper in gob and a double espresso in hand.

However I will gladly put myself forward to take the end of year photograph. And if any of you run around the back of the group to try to appear in the shot twice, you'll be in big trouble.

for claiming prefect's expenses?

Can I be table ender at lunch? Look - there's an extra piece of gypsy tart.
Quis?

The Beak has grounded me for scribbling "wanker" all over some twerp from the Remove's exercise books, and I'm not allowed outside in breaks until after the weekend.

What he doesn't know is that I've super-glued the tone arm down on the turntable in his study.

who's been kept back year after year so he's almost as old as the teachers...constantly being put in detention for writing "Elbow are shite" on the blackboard and not liking Prog Rock or Richard Thompson.

Any nominations for the caretaker?
Can't believe I have been called in for just 2.30 hours at work today!

(Actually, has anyone outside of a Billy Bunter book ever heard or used the above phrase, the meaning of which I am not even entirely sure, not that that is ever a reason good enough not to use a word.)
Cave was actually used more at prep school than later on, but it is strangely liberating to throw it into casual anew usage, in the off chance that the rest of the remove may pick it up. At big school, strangely scary how the phrase still comes so readily to mind, we were too busy for latin archaicisms, trying more to grow our hair to beyond regulation length, smoking and pretending we liked Frank Zappa and the Grateful Dead for that
We actually had a "remove", so many individuals failing to get the requisite 4 o levels to get into the 6th form that the school had to allow thenm to stay on or go broke. Probably all MPs by now; I haven't felt the need to stay in touch as they were hardly the best days of my life.
I hope the more orthodoxly educated will forgive these flights of fancy......

I'm a prefect. Father O'Shea would have a seizure, even after all these years.

*Dobs in Vulpes Vulpes to Head of Year*

My english and grammars pretty hopeless. I really think I need to stay behind for special one too one tuishion with Miss Mossman.

How many house points do you get for:

A) being mentioned in the Word podcast? **waits eagerly in assembly for announcement**

B) having a blog post published in Word magazine?

I get to sit at the back of the coach on school trips.

... who wears a parka in all weathers, smells of stale crisps and has to sit at the front of the class because he was repeatedly caught playing with himself when he was allowed to sit at the back?

Blimey. I feel like the kid whose been kept out of school by over-protective parents, staring longingly through the fence at the hi-jinks and beezer whizzes being perpetrated on the beaks.

What's that, mama? Father didn't work his fingers to the bone at Widdicombe and Eavis all those years so that I could be led astray by the oiks and yoiks at St. Word's? Oh, well. A career in banking for me, then.

I see this as the role for Mr Hepworth. And surely Mark Ellen is far too naughty to be Headmaster? I should know after all - I teach in an eminent preparatory school in this fair land.

Has just caught 100 lines..
"I must not criticise Mr Thompson, nor attempt to steal his bunnet".
HE is the Chairman Of The Board Of Governors, after all.
And is not Bob Harris the Locum History Teacher?

...for having specs and a beard?

We'd be in for a thrashing at the hand of the oiks from Porridge Court if that was the case.