One thing is for certain, today does not feel like Saturday. It feels more like one of those endless Sunday afternoons, when as a schoolboy, enduring what in those days was considered an education, we were required to wander around aimlessly in the fresh air for at least two hours on a Sunday afternoon, before being permitted to re-enter the house. Nor did it matter what the weather thought it was doing. And it was those Sunday winter afternoons that developed in me an appetite for beer, cigarette smoke, bar rooms and rambling conversations. All of which were activities considered ill-omens by the teaching staff.
One of those Sundays, a fellow scholar reported me to the authority. I
forget which Sunday afternoon activity he accused me of. And here you
should understand the institution I belonged to, was one which regarded walking
with hands in pockets, or unbuttoned jacket while not in the sixth form, a
really quite serious offense, which if repeated often enough, could result in
the whip, as I had discovered. So you might imagine my trepidation while
awaiting the verdict. But I wasn't whipped or damaged in any way shape or
form. As a punishment I was asked to go to bed a quarter of an hour early
for three days, because when I was at school the act of reporting misconduct was
called "being a sniveling little shit" by the teaching staff.