I’m in Year 12 at Eton College, which contrary to what the papers will have you to believe, isn’t actually exclusively for thieving rapists.
It’s a boarding school, which is kind of cool because my buddies live ten seconds away. On the other hand, it means walking in on a friend wanking is a pretty regular occurrence. Also you can feel pretty isolated: the two closest places of human habitation are Windsor, which is full of old people and teachers, and Slough…which is, you know, Slough.
Not all the people are great, I’m pretty sure most of the Forbes list of the world’s richest douchebags are students at Eton, and lots of them listen to James Blunt. Can’t argue with the facilities though, the art department is bigger than the whole of my last school and there are two proper recording studios which is awesome.
Homosexuality faded out as a contact sport in Eton some
years ago, although paedophilia retains popularity. First, there’s the creepy technology teacher who puts his arm around you when you’re soldering. There’s also the ‘F Block Rape Night’ - a popular themed event when everyone is liquored up after the Founder’s Feast.
There’s no actual rape, though one guy was expelled for getting his cock out and telling a year nine to ‘EAT IT.’
The staff list here reads like a who’s who of inpatients at Bedlam. There’s the alcoholic English teacher who stumbles from class to class with stories of how Jane Austen was a man and Little Women was about prostitution. The maths teacher who drew on a Hitler moustache and clown cheeks as a joke, but then forgot to rub them off before parents’ evening.
Most recently, a teacher leading a trip to China (who is obese and in his late fifties) got hammered during a boat trip down the Yangtze.
He tried to do pull some dance moves and instead dove head first into the floor breaking his glasses.
Eton has a weird way of dealing out punishments and enforcing rules, most of them ancient traditions. Not wearing the uniform (which sucks and includes a retarded cloak as a reward for the scholars) gets 100 press-ups in a tailcoat. On the last day of term we have a cross-country race to stop people going out and getting pissed. And an earlier religious headmaster invented ‘Field Game,’ an amalgamation of rugby and football that involves running after the ball for an hour. He thought it’d tire boys out so that they’d be too tired to wank at night and avoid going to hell.
Thanks sir.