Harrrington's - being the collected thoughts of the Hon Sec, by way of excuse and explanation.

  The fear of invasion has gripped blessed England on more occasions than were would like to be reminded but we have never been found wanting.   The Jacobite hordes turned back at Derby, realising that if Bonnie Prince Charlie went beyond that place, he ran the risk of being assailed by patriotic muggers, with which North London abounded.   The threat of the Swastika saw men rushing to the LDV and digging pits in parkland off the Piccadilly Line with the hopes of stopping tanks with a surfeit of optimism to fill the place of such mundane items such as Boyes anti-tank rifles.     Thank the Lord the Bosche were such duffers at sailing.   It was in that kind of mood that the nation faced the threat of Revolutionary France in 1796.   To be honest the court of Louis XVI had it coming, rank bad hats to a man, with little understanding of their fellow man but being French themselves they should have known what a tetchy blighter the average Parisian was...

  All the world is indeed a stage, as Stratford’s favourite son declared, and all the men and women have many parts, and voices.  I, for one, have my ‘talking to idiots’ voice – something I am increasing forced to rely on when shouting at those buffoons who seem to imagine the wireless news should be a branch of light entertainment at best, and creative fiction otherwise.  I have my ‘bucking up underlings’ tone, a mix of fellow feeling, firmness and unwarranted optimism and, of course , my ‘listening to’ Mrs the Hon Sec tone.  Today, I was using my ‘talking to accountants’ voice – which begins with reasoned murmuring and eventually contains a heavy note of exacerbation.  Perhaps I should explain.  I had been called to St Audrey’s as Chair of Governors to explain to the auditors why, against all financial expediency, we send any teacher who announces they wish to retire home, at once, on full salary on the single condition they do not return to the hallowe...

Somehow I feel calling the security guards was an overreaction, especially at Christmas, but maybe that is starting at the wrong end. 'It will be fun' opined Mrs The Hon Sec. Fun is a word used by clammy eyed and frightfully over optimistic distant cousins when trying to sell the charms of standing in a field, doing the sort of thing you felt was amusing when you were six and wearing a tabard in the sort of colour dyers ought to know better than to attempt. And all in the name of charity. It was on that basis I was plucked from 'Thought for the Day' and the warmth of an English bedroom to the Grocers to buy, as she puts it 'the last touches.' This is a tradition, which is presumably the only reason it is allowed to go unquestioned, which dates back and makes her feel she is in some mystical way the mistress of the Yule Tide Feast – even after F&M hampers have been delivered in due time with 95% of the makings therein. It is good to see the nation unite...