Tuesday, 2nd July 2019.
Thank God for Ray Davies.
My first thought when I woke up was suicide. My next thought was “No”. I’m way too selfish for something that mundane. There’s just not enough…..? How can I put it?….. Showmanship.
I was half way through the next plan of starting a cult and convincing a load of other people to commit suicide with me when this came on:
I went down the river instead. I watched it for a bit. Smoked a few cigarettes. After half an hour, I wiped my eyes and went home to do the choirs.
I had reestablished control.
Do you want to know what control is?
“It might be better tomorrow.”
For twenty years those five words have stopped me from doing anything stupid.
Now I’m at the school. Louis has been in a fight and I’ve been asked to collect him.
There you go. A reason to be here today.
He’s a bit battered.
Swollen jaw, blackish eye, blood soaked blazer, y’know……….!!!!
Where do I start?
The disciplinary teacher rang. His opening gambit of, “We need Louis to make a statement. “, immediately got my back up.
“STATEMENT! You have 2/3 teachers who already know what happened. You also have the statements of all the 5 other kids that were there. You are implying that Louis is guilty until proven innocent. Fuck this! As far as I’m concerned it’s common assault. I’ll take it to the police.”
I suppose I should explain.
The sequence of events.
It was break. Louis and his usual crew were sitting in their usual place eating their tuck. Louis put his crisp packet on the floor to eat whatever else he had. The kid in question(a kid he had been friends with for over a year) said, “Pick that up. I’m not getting barred from sitting here for littering!”
Louis said, smiling, “make me!”
The kid went right in Louis’ face and shouted, “FUCKIN’ PICK IT UP!”
At this point Louis realised that friendly banter was over and said “alright” and went to pick it up. As he bent down he was repeatedly punched in the face until he fell down and then was kicked in the head until “The Kid” was stopped.
Luckily, the girl who lives next door to Carter’s was walking by and screamed. She grabbed Louis, who at this point was Drenched in blood and found a teacher.
I know we was drenched in blood because I just washed his blazer.
OK. Back to the telephone conversation.
“Mr. Perandin. Please don’t swear. I think we might have got off on the wrong foot. I need Louis’ to tell me what happened so we can decide upon the action that needs to be taken.”
“Action? Expel the little cunt! Listen. You made me sign a contract concerning the treatment and discipline of my son. A part of that contract was your commitment to keeping my son safe. If my son………… Fuck this! Tell me the boy’s name? What’s his address? Where’s he from? Stanwell? The Cross? What’s his dad’s name?”
“OK, OK Mr. Gould[name changed]. As you can understand, I’m upset. My son’s head looks like a bruised potato. Can I get Louis to type his “confession”(I said confession in the most sarcastic and ultra camp way) and I’ll email it?
“……..er,….yes. Of course that should be fine. The quicker we receive it the quicker I can pass it to the head to make a decision. As you know, I can’t discuss it in any way but I do apologise. It’s the school policy….blah-blah-blah…. “.
He didn’t really say blah-blah-blah but I got bored of listening. It was being drowned out by the deafening howl of my Italian blood, screaming, “VENDETTA!”
We sent the statement which prompted another call. I have been asked to attend a meeting prior to Louis’ school day.