The teacher did nothing to help the government's healthy eating initiative for schoolchildren when he announced to the group of seven year olds on the bus. They were on their way to a school trip and discussing the disgusting contents of their sandwiches and what they should do with them.
"When I was a boy," said the young teacher who bore an uncanny resemblance to one of The Proclaimers, "I didn't like jam sandwiches. Come to think of it, I didn't like bread, butter or jam. So when school used to give us them for lunch, I would take them home and hide them behind my wardrobe."
The children sat in stunned silence.
"After several months," he went on, "there was quite a whiff and my Grandma said she was going to have a look." He smiled wistfully.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Grandma, I said. But she did and I got what for."
When I cleaned out the bus that night, there were many sandwiches still wrapped in their clingfilm. It was tempting to stick them behind an unfriendly neighbour's wardrobe, but I was halted by the still vile memory of a so called friend who deposited a kipper under the spare wheel of my car many years ago.
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