Victory is Ours

So, a bunch of us run into the dining hall.
'Harvest festival display!' I shout, 'follow me!' Dexter and me leap over the neat rows of tins-of-food-that-you-never-eat-unless-you-are-absolutely-starving.
'Get behind the giant vegetables!' I yell. We are quite lucky because, Oliver-James's mum and dad are very keen on growing big veg. They brought in the biggest potato in the world on their roof rack. It took 10 juniors to lift it down.
I peep round the side of a monster cabbage.
Mr Bagnall strolls in. I think he is smiling but the moustache makes it difficult to tell. 'Well children, I have locked the outside door - you're safe.
Somewhere inside the school, some baby children scream.
'I don't think a locked door will stop Mrs Trundle,' I point out. 'She keeps a laser cutter in the caretaker's shed.'
'She's in!' shouts Tyler. Mrs Trundle charges into the hall. He arms himself with an oversized carrot.
'This is brilliant,' says Dexter, picking up a tin. 'It's like all those battles in Lord of the Rings or world war 1 or something.'
Mrs Trundle does some impressive Stick of Doom manouvres as she thunders towards us.
'Come out!' she screams. 'Those giant vegetables won't save you now!'
Mr Bagnall and his moustache leaps in front of her and we cheer. 'Remember your training! The children are your friends!!'
'HA!' she cries, then 'HA!' again.
'Don't make me say it,' says Mr Bagnall, 'just give me the stick and I won't say it...'
I look at Dexter and he looks at me.
'HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!'
'PUT THE STICK DOWN ... PRUNELLA!' shouts Mr Bagnall.
It is like the pause button has gone on until Dexter stands up.
'Prunella!' he says, 'is that her name?'
Everybody starts mouthing the word, 'Prunella.' I think it must be like when you know the real name of a demon or a wicked fairy and just by saying it, it takes away their power.
'PRUNELLA!!!' we all shout at her. 'PRUNELLA! PRUNELLA!'
She drops the stick and runs from the hall. Victory is ours.

Run For Your Lives

Itisham has a gerbil called, Lewis. He likes to put him in a green plastic ball and watch him charging all over the kitchen floor. He runs like mad in a straight line until he hits the broom/wall/cooker etc and then tumbles backwards to go the other way until he hits the broom/wall/cooker etc. Lewis reminds me of Dexter playing British Bulldog. He goes in a straight line until he hits a person/wall/the ground and then changes direction until he hits a person/wall/the ground. He is quite rubbish at playing this game because he gets over excited.

- he forgets where his home is
- he forgets who is on his team
- he forgets he is in school with teachers and dinner ladies all over the place

So, there he is forgetting everything. He has knocked over 5 baby children, got a whole load of girls to be on his team - most of them run round screaming, except for Alice Taylor who tries to be a nurse - and caught NOBODY, even though it is his turn to be bulldog.
THEN
Alice Taylor has me in an armlock. 'Just pretend you have a broken leg,' she orders, 'I'll mend you.'
'I've got you!' cries Dexter and he wraps his arms around me.
'Get off me, you idiot! It doesn't count when you're injured!'
'Yes it does!' yells Dexter, 'and you're my first catch! British bulldog, 1,2,3!'
'Shut up! It's stripey jumpers!'
'Oh, what a delightful game!' trills Mrs Trundle. She has appeared out of nowhere, her good eye twitches. 'Stripey Jumpers! I've never heard of that!'
Dexter jumps away from me and knocks into Polish Jacob.
'Yes,' says Polish Jacob, who knows nothing about British Bulldog and is even worse at it than Dexter, 'and you get to use the stick of power - here,' he says and thrusts a ginormous tree branch into her hands. I manage to stop myself slapping my hands to my head in utter despair. We are pushing her too far.
She trembles and I know she is trying not to use the stick of power on the nearest child.
'Back away slowly,' I hiss at Alice. 'She's going to lose it.'
'I can't stand it!' she roars. She runs at me with the stick. I scream a tiny bit and head for base.
'Don' do it! Mrs Trundle, resist - you know you can!' It is Mr Bagnall. His big moustache is wobbling as he shouts and runs to come between me and the Trundle. 'Don't give in to your violent urges!'
Too late. She is laughing and wielding the stick like a Gandalf.
Mr Bagnall blows his whistle. 'Get in,' he screams, 'run for your lives!'