The Paint Fight

Art was like no other lesson. Art was an hour to relax and enjoy doing something I loved. And I liked Mister Brown whose easy going style brought a peaceful ambience to his classroom. Sometimes he’d stand behind me, watching what I was doing. Occasionally he’d ask me a question. Most of the time, he left me to get on with it.  

The whole process was a joy; fixing the paper on a drawing board; selecting a brush; applying a wash; the smell of fresh powder paint; the bubbles in the palette as water mixed with paint, and the anticipation of letting my imagination flow. 

3A1 had just entered the Art room on the ground floor near the main entrance. As yet, there was no sign of our teacher but eager to get started; I set myself up at a spot at the far end of the room with my back to the windows that overlooked the hockey field. I didn’t bother to look up when a sudden racket across the table told me Brian Lack and Raymond Wright had taken the chairs facing me. With just a few jam jars and an assortment of powder paints separating me from a double dose of mischief, I kept my head down and hoped Mister Brown to arrive soon. With those two in high spirits, anything could happen…

Splat!

Hoots of laughter accompanied the arrival of messy blob on my drawing board.

Splat!

A second blob appeared. Indignant, I leapt from my chair and plunged my brush into the nearest paint tin and then flicked it, fully loaded, at the terrible twosome. It was the worst thing I could have done. In seconds there was paint everywhere.

Sod’s Law decreed that this should be the moment that Mister Brown should enter the classroom and see three boys discharging paint in a rainbow coloured cloud. Oh, the misery. I wasn’t blameless, but even so, fate could be cruel sometimes. Being a calm man of even temperament, there was no ranting and raving from Mister Brown. He turned nasty quietly.

Oh f*** 

I don’t know where it came from, but when Mister Brown produced a block of wood that he could barely stretch his fingers around, I guessed what was coming next.

‘Bend over.’

 Thwack!

‘Argh!’

‘Bend over.’ 

Thwack!

‘Argh!’ 

‘Bend over.’

 Thwack!

‘Argh!’

The pain was excruciating, yet bizarrely, there was great amusement too. Indeed, the three of us shed tears of laughter before the dance of the burning buttocks was over.

 And for the rest of that gloriously fulfilling hour? We cleaned up the mess.