Barty climbed onto a stool with a teaspoon for a baton. He demanded silence. We had to record his demonstration so he could listen back later.
“Mic closer, Grumblewick. You might actually learn something, mate.”
He started with open, lifting one bum cheek. Grumblewick stuck the mic behind him. Straight into shut. Barty clenched like mad.
“My mouth, you muppet! The introduction comes out of my mouth!”
Next came pump up. His belly started fighting his belt. Barty stood rigid, pretending everything was under control. We were already biting our lips.
Let down wiped the teacher look off his face. His eyes closed, his shoulders dropped and out came such a happy sigh that we almost envied him.
“Oh, that’s better. Bloody lovely.”
Grumblewick bent down for the spoon. Cue raise hairs. He straightened up with a tuft sticking out and glared at the ceiling.
“Who’s opened a bloody window?”
The music started low and ended in a tiny squeak. Barty reclaimed his baton and kept time with his arse. Now he thought he was conducting an orchestra.
We were doubled over laughing. Grumblewick had come to complain about the noise. Now he was holding the mic at full arm’s length.
Then came the stink. No warning, right in the middle of our applause. Grumblewick kicked the door open and fled, pinching his nose. We stumbled out after him, laughing. Barty kept bowing to the empty stools.
From inside, he asked us to play the recording again.
“Put it on! That came out beautifully!”
Grumblewick poked his head round the door from the garden.
“We’re replaying the recording, Barty. Your arse gets one performance!”