01/04/2025
I had the privilege of attending Latymer Grammar, a most distinguished senior school nestled in the genteel enclave of North London. The institution was nothing short of exemplary, a bastion of tradition and academic excellence.
Each morning, as punctual as the crowing of a rooster, we gathered in the cavernous splendour of the Great Hall. There, an august assembly awaited us—headmasters and senior teachers clad in their stately robes, evoking visions of medieval monarchs presiding over their court. It was all terribly grand, really.
But one particular morning unfolded with an absurdity befitting the pages of a Wodehousian farce. The headmaster, a man of profound seriousness and a penchant for theatrical delivery, stepped forth with his robes billowing like those of a Shakespearean tragedian. His gaze swept the hall with the intensity of a magistrate preparing to deliver the verdict of a lifetime.
"Latymerians," he began, his voice quivering with gravitas, "I have a matter of utmost importance to address. A heinous act has occurred—a calculator has been stolen!" He paused for dramatic effect, then enunciated the damning evidence with solemn precision: "Its serial number is C3POR2D2."
The hall erupted—nay, descended—into uproarious laughter. The designation was, of course, unmistakably that of a certain droid from a galaxy far, far away. Students doubled over in mirth; teachers stifled chuckles behind the folds of their sleeves. But the headmaster, crimson-faced and trembling with righteous indignation, was far from amused. "Larceny is a very serious matter!" he bellowed, his fury rising like the tide.
Yet, our laughter persisted, unyielding. It was only when a younger, seemingly savvier teacher approached the headmaster, leaned in, and whispered discreetly in his ear, that clarity dawned upon him. His rage evaporated, replaced by a mortified pallor. "Oh," he mumbled, his voice subdued, "it's from a movie."
With a brusque wave of his hand, he declared the assembly dismissed. And so, we scattered, still chortling at the glorious absurdity of it all—a headmaster outwitted not by miscreants, but by the galaxy's finest cinematic treasure.
