Stumbling into the classroom, stinking of cheap red wine after a two bottle lunch, unshaven, sweating in the unseasonal May heat, desperately thinking of a subject to keep the little buggers occupied for the next 55 minutes, the small country school was to stage a scene which would move even the stone cold heart of the genetically cynical and desperately hungover Ronald Combo.
"Please teacher, is for you," said the two little girls who ventured towards the front of the class, proffering a small bunch of rapidly wilting daisies.
"WHAT?" I shouted. "HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU TWO CRETINS? WHERE'S THE PLURAL PRONOUN SUBJECT? FOR GOD'S SAKE, THESE ARE FOR YOU!"*
*Of course I didn't. Only jawkin' chaps!