David Baddiel - Head Kid

“Only because the stuff that comes out of it looks so much like cream,” said Ryan.

“Yes, yes, it does. Doesn’t taste like it, though, does it? As at least five children who now will never eat puddings again could tell you. Anyway, as I say, top notch. And then there was that time you got the whole school to hum during assembly.”

“Very quietly, so you didn’t notice it at first …”

“Yes. That’s the classic method. What else? That butter you spread on the hallway outside the staff room …”

“Is Mrs Wang’s leg mended now?”

“Not yet. The plague of spiders in the laundry room …

“Letting off the fire alarm while everyone was in tears at last year’s leavers’ assembly …

“Telling every child in Reception that Miss Finch was really the Gruffalo …”

“She does look a bit like—”

“Oh, I know. That’s why it worked so well. And it took two weeks to get them all back to the school without screaming! So. Result. I assume? In your terms …”

Ryan frowned. He wasn’t quite sure how to react. Mr Fawcett – who normally just gave him a detention without even bothering to hear about whatever new naughty thing he’d done – was behaving very strangely.

But then the headmaster turned to Ryan and said, “So. Taking into account all your naughtiness so far – and adding on this latest bit, the branding of Mr Barrington’s forehead – this is what I propose to do.”

Ah , thought Ryan. Here it comes .

He considered shutting his eyes, as it felt like it was going to be a really big punishment, but then he thought that wouldn’t suit his Proud of Being Naughty brand, so he kept them open. To hear Mr Fawcett say …

“Resign.”

Ryan blinked.

“Sorry?”

“RESIGN”.

“Sorry, I’m still not—”

“RESIGN”.

Mr Fawcett said it a bit louder this time. Then he said it again. Well, he didn’t say it. He sang it. To the tune of “Football’s Coming Home”.

“ Resign, resign!

Resign, resign!

I’m leaving!

Fawcett’s Going Home! ”

Although Mr Fawcett was improvising, Ryan was impressed – his words fitted perfectly. He was singing very loudly, and dancing, raising each foot into the air and sticking his thumbs under his armpits, while leaping around Ryan. He continued …

“ Resign, resign!

Resign, resign!

Free of here!

Far away from YOU! ”

The word “you” came with a big point of the finger at Ryan’s face. Mr Fawcett stayed pointing into the chorus.

“ YOU are off the chart!

Now it’s time to get rid!

Thirty years of school

Never seen a worse kid! ”

Then he turned to the window, opened his arms and sang louder, more grandly, like an opera singer.

“ Resign, resign!

Resign, resign!

I’m off now!

Fawcett’s … Going … Home … ! ”

This last note – on the word home – went on for quite some time. And as soon as it was over he skipped – yes, skipped! – across to his desk and starting packing everything on it into his brown-leather briefcase.

Ryan, who had lost some of his cool by now, and whose mouth had been hanging open in amazement, said: “But … who’s going to be in charge of the school?”

“Ha!” said Mr Fawcett, snapping the briefcase shut. “Maybe you should give it a go, Ryan!”

With that he laughed madly, like villains do in pantomimes. And then the head teacher of Bracket Wood School – or possibly the ex -head teacher – was gone, slamming the door behind him.

Well , thought Ryan. That’s never happened before.

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