2004-10-06 - 3:15 p.m.

I�m so obsessed with the L@ngley Schools Music Project. If there�s anything more life affirming than a couple of hundred schoolkids from the 70s belting out Beach Boys numbers in a school hall just for the snot-flying fun of it, then I�d jolly well like to know what it is. If you could inject this stuff, I�d have track marks all over my feet.

I wish our school assemblies had involved David Bowie and Neil Diamond. The closest we ever got to pop music being played was a tape recording of that 80s cover of Spirit in the Sky whilst one of the physics teachers bellowed �Listen! Jesus is number one!� � not quite the same as harmonising a Brian Wilson number but we took what we could get. Or rather what we were given.

Usually we would just screech through Colours of Day or Bind Us Together, or some other religious dirge whilst the trendier of the music teachers tried to groove it up to no avail on his semi-acoustic guitar. We firmly got the message that Jesus had no time for pop sensibilities, thus rendering assemblies the most mind-numbing activity since Moses decided to review his sand grain collection.

The only exception I can remember was when the headmaster dragged out Dennis Holden, put him over his knee, pulled down his pants and thrashed the living wotsits out of him. Dennis was the class bully, and so no-one really cared to remark on the inappropriate use of lower half nudity.

The headmaster was very proud of his crackdown. As he fingered Dennis for the crimes and hauled him out before us all, he boasted about his detection techniques, which we all knew really comprised of listening to crying eight year olds in his office. �I make MI5 look like Kermit and Miss Piggy� was the mystifying claim, the head taking full honours for this investigation, despite the fact that Dennis had been enjoying a reign of terror for about three years in a class of 25 pupils. There evidently wasn�t much of a radar to dip below.

After the head had warmed his palms on Dennis� bare cheeks, he instructed Dennis to apologise. Pulling up his brown corduroys, Dennis began to say sorry in front of us all. �No,� said the head. �I want you to apologise to everyone personally.� And so began an enjoyable day of the vanquished bully facing his victims, though on the down side, Dennis did use the exercise to work out exactly who had grassed him up, dish out some covert chinese burns and threaten severe physical discourtesy should anyone ever think of going to the authorities again. It was business as usual soon after.

See, if only we�d have been able to sing Good Vibrations, none of this would have been necessary.