Hello World

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This is my first entry so maybe we should start with an introduction of sorts.

[removes Werther’s Original and clears throat]

I’m Mr Ormsby.

Right then, that’s that done with.

In this, my first ever blog, I intend to write about the people and events I am subjected to on a daily basis so that you, the reader, can decide whether or not my views regarding this life are justified. And just so we’re clear: don’t expect it to be in any way accurate or truthful because that’s no fun. In fact, I’ve always taken issue with that Commandment because I feel it restricts the naturally creative among us who, when the occasion calls for it, display a natural flair for embellishment, be it returning swimwear without the receipt or spicing up one’s court testimony.

Today at work we broke up for the Christmas holidays. Hallelujah. Ten weeks ago I started teaching in a new school so I haven’t had a lot of time to get to know everyone. On top of that, it has been pointed out to me numerous times that I have replaced a very popular member of staff who left “before he was ready to go” (I don’t even want to know). This, now I’m only guessing here, might explain the slights I received in the form of gifts from my Secret Santa: a Yankee candle (they know I’m Canadian), a voucher for 10 free tanning sessions (I’m strawberry blond) and Maltesers (choking hazard). It’s the anonymity, of course, which is the appeal of Secret Santa but if I had to wager money on it I’d ascribe this unpleasant undertone to Jerry, our racist librarian.

In any case, it will take more than a poor man’s version of Cluedo to intimidate me out of St Jude’s School For The Wayward because I am a professional. Teaching has only ever been my true calling and I am not so easily distracted. I will leave you then with a poem I wrote during Period 2 this morning whilst supervising four, or maybe more, visually-impaired children in the school pool.

Secret Santa

The day before The Night Before
The office turned into a store
With gifts galore from Santa’s stock
At lunchtime, right on one o’clock

A furtive glance across the room
As someone tried to wrap perfume
A figure hunched behind a fern
(the new girl had a lot to learn)

A friend will cough to help a mate
Disguise the sound of Sellotape

Shirley’s eyes revealed a glint
Each time she dropped another hint
In knowing just what not to tell
She kept the weak under her spell

And Andy, bless him, the poor dear
Just hoped he’d get it right this year
For Sue, who longed for something French
He’d bought a Jean-Paul Gautier wrench

Old Davey Wilcox saved a packet
He thought the whole idea a racket
His gifts were met with trepidation
Bought at his local petrol station

All dreams of wintry escapades
Were dashed by half-price wiper blades

Still, pity those who drew Pru’s name
The dowager who ran the game
And claimed the true meaning had gone
Then priced her gift on Amazon

Big Tony came to stuff his face
So ate at an alarming pace
Before they wrapped it up for Luke
Whose wife was just as bad a cook

Stollen, edam, Toblerone
Tiramisu in a cone
Baby Jesus, Heaven sent
Now came via the continent

I’ve seen several scars happen
Over a slice of marzipan

Paper plates now put aside
Each festive tummy satisfied
Fiona stood to give a toast
But belched up Captain Morgan’s ghost

So Lenny then began to lift
And sift until he found his gift
50 ml of CK One
Would do quite nicely for his son

Aww, it’s lovely… that’s so sweet
As girls are wont to coo and tweet
With every present they unwrap
And gaze upon whilst in their lap

Which makes guys pause and think a bit:
This Santa thing’s made me a hit
That perfume seemed to animate her
I’ll say ‘hi’ at the laminator

So Merry Christmas one and all
Be pleased you got a gift at all
Enjoy that glass of Triple Sec
In your new purple turtle neck

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