Skip to main content

It wasn’t me sir

Its the end of term at Westfriars School and the Headmaster wants to clear up a serious financial crisis at Red House, where Gordon Frowne is the House Captain.

“I want to get things cleared up before the term ends,” said the Headmaster, sternly. So, Frowne, what’s all this I hear about financial irregularities with the petty cash in Red House? I hear your pocket money account is massively overdrawn. And there are IOUs all over the place. How much are you overdrawn?”

“No sir, not overdrawn, sir. The money is being wisely used to maintain support while we get on the road to recovery, sir.”

“Answer the question, boy. How did you get into this mess?” demanded the Headmaster.

“Please sir, it wasn’t me, sir. It was the boys from the school across the pond – they started it all. It’s not my fault, really it isn’t, sir, it’s a global problem that nobody saw coming,” exclaimed Frowne.

“Don’t try to make excuses, boy. As Head of Red House you were in charge of the pocket money register. Is there a problem or isn’t there?”

“No, sir, of course not, sir. It was all their fault. They sold us the sweets saying they were Triple Toffee. They are our friends and we believed them. That’s why I said it was OK to sell them in the playground to the boys in Bankers House.”

“On credit,” interjected the Headmaster.

“Well, yes, sir, no sir, you see sir, it happens all the time. I didn’t think our boys would sell them to their mates at other schools, really I didn’t sir.”

“Then what happened? Come on, I want a full explanation.”

“Oh, you’ll never get that from me, sir. I mean, I don’t really know, sir. Some twerp decided to unwrap one of the sweets and discovered there was horrible things inside and they were all worthless. It wasn’t my fault, really, sir – you have got to believe me,” whimpered Frowne.

“Go on,” said the Headmaster.

“Well, of course, sir, when I found out that the Triple Toffees were full of horrible debt and sub-prime sugar I acted immediately,” said Frowne.

“What you did, Frowne,” retorted the Headmaster, “was to raid the games cupboard and take all the Monopoly money to use to pay off your debts. Not only that, you compounded your financial mismanagement and made the situation worse by blaming everybody else.”

“No, sir, no. I take full responsibility for everything I do. When things go right, that is. Using the money was the right thing to do. All the prefects agreed, sir. We needed a concerted effort to save the petty cash from bankruptcy. QED sir.”

“QED?” enquired the Headmaster.

“Quantitative Easing Demonstrandum, sir. It’s the answer to everything.”

“But not your dishonesty and bad management, Frowne. You have behaved disgracefully and now I hear you are planning more shenanigans.

“Oh no, sir. Not me. It’s Dave Macaroon of Blue House that is telling fibs, sir. He’s got all the big boys supporting him. He is deceiving everybody with false rumours of how he can save the school from catastrophe, but he can’t sir. He can’t. I won’t let him. Only I can save the world – I mean the school.”

“We will see about that,” said the Headmaster. “What I want to know is what you intend to do before the end of term.”

“I’m going to carry on supporting the boys with cash, sir. I’ve got a printing press in the bicycle shed and it’s churning out cash like there’s no tomorrow. Macaroon wants to stop. To make cuts. Drastic cuts. But this would undo all the mistakes I have made in the past. We have to go on giving support like we do with injured footballers until the crisis blows over and we are able to stand on their own feet again. You can see that, can’t you, sir?”

“I can see nothing but scheming, smoke screens, mirrors, intrigue and deviousness. You are a disgrace and deserve to be expelled. I will deal with you on May 6th. Tell Macaroon I want to see him.”