The title of this piece, if it means anything at all, will
be meaningful only to those who were mid 20th century pupils at Nottingham High
School. I was one such; another was Kenneth Clarke. In the Winter 2016 issue of
the “Old Nottinghamian” magazine, a short item about the Rushcliffe MP’s
autobiography appears, as follows:
Perhaps he should have spent less time revising for his
EU-levels.
As for Slob, the
teacher known to generations of boys by that focused, descriptively perfect
name, his History ‘O’-level lessons were so boring that I wrote down everything
he said, verbatim, without engaging conscious brain activity, scribbling away
at speed, filling five fat exercise books during the year. At the end of it,
what I had was illegible, and my ability to write neatly was ruined
irreversibly. Fortunately, that was all that Slob ruined for me, and these days
I can happily enjoy a good history book.
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