Right Dress

Someone recently mentioned that they had seen a scruffily dressed bloke picking up Cheezo packets after a performance of the Nueva Lazio 40 piece school ensemble.
I objected to this gross calumny, he was just comfortably dressed (actually, the fist time I typed it, it came out as comfartably, which may be wrong spelling, but feels intrinsically more accurate).
Heating in Nuova Lazio is not normally a problem, with our balmy sub-tropical yet temperate climate in our secluded valley. Occasionally we get the odd wind or two coming up from the Antarctic, and this does tend to bring a bit of a nip in the air (no offense, Oh Sons of Nippon)

When this happens, we all tend to wear warmer clothes, disregarding our usual sartorial elegance.
We all have our personal idiosyncrasies of dress.
I know our leader of music prefers to come in in his tuxedo, to lend that touch of class.

I always wear my trusty Harris Tweed "Sports" jacket which has seen me through many a campaign against the fuzzy-wuzzies.
Our PE department are always tastefully attired in the best quality nylon shell/track suits.
(As an aside, an old joke in Scotland;
"How can you tell the bride at a Dundee wedding?"
"She's the one wearing the white shell suit")
Our Art department vary between off the shoulder glam, to warm and woolly, with a bit of Bohemian chic thrown in.
Jeans are completely forbidden at all times (unless you want to make a really good impression at Parent/Teacher Report Evenings .(which is tonight)
Our Technology teachers wear comfortable yet scruffy apparel. Mostly a mix of shorts, trainers and any other rags they can get hold of.(I speak only of the males of the species; the Lady teachers are always well turned out)
Most of us wear what we want. Some with ties, some without. As usual, most blokes wear roughly the same week after week, while our poor female colleagues splurge out on many different variations as females are wont to do.
Our senior leadership team (See, I'm up to date with the terminology, even if our esteemed leaders often forget.)are mostly smartly dressed.



Apart from Ringo.
I am sure he tries his best, always wears a tie, often a casual silk scarf draped elegantly over his stylish Armani suit, with his rakish silver ear-ring glinting in the sun, but it never really comes off.

Surrounding us is a sea of neatly uniformed students, all complying exactly to the regulation of the BOT. Leather shoes highly polished, ties neatly knotted, every one wearing their school blazer proudly, merit and Excellence badges gleaming in the sub-tropic sun.

I tell you, when I was in the Army, I though I knew what uniform was, but I couldn't believe what standards of uniform excellence the pupils here aspire to.

I can remember when I was teaching in Scotland, we had an almost qualified young lady student-teacher sent to us for her final experience. On her second week, we had a mufti day for some charity or other. Everyone, pupils and staff entered into the spirit of the thing and we all came in many varieties of dress.
This young lady, blond, voluptuous (and let's face it, a bit thick) came into school wearing a micro-mini skirt and a see-through white blouse, no bra, or undergarments we could see.
We almost had a riot in her form class, and as the word spread throughout the school, hordes of teaming testosterone-fuelled youth packed the corridors to get a glimpse.
We had never seen such excitement since the visiting chairperson of the council education committee had had an epileptic fit on the podium whilst addressing the senior school on the dangers of drink and sex at the senior parties due that month.(The seniors spread the rumour that she was having an LSD flashback from a student indiscretion)
or
When the stupid unfeeling bastard of a school chaplain had told our juniors (10-11 years old), with a PowerPoint® presentation and scientific and mathematical equations that Santa Claus could not possibly exist. On the last week before Christmas break. We had over 100 crying and sobbing distraught kids to calm down.
I tried to point out to him later in the staffroom while we having a cup of tea, that he could have used exactly the same scientific and mathematical tools to disprove the existence of God or Christ, but I could tell he wasn't listening. I made sure he wasn't listening or even paying attention about 15 minutes later when the phenolphthalein I had put in the sky-pilot's tea began to work. For those of you not of the scientific bent, phenolphthalein is used as an indicator in acid/base titration, where it gives a lovely pink colour at pH 8 - 12. It is completely colourless at slightly acidic pH. It is also an extremely powerful and fast acting laxative, and I hope the hypocritical myth-worshiper has the pleasure of a prolapsed rectum.
However, back to our student teacher. After we had, with some difficulty, cleared the corridors of panting and pawing adolescent males (and a few odd girls), we managed to get the young lady down to the Rector's office. When he could tear his eyes away from the sight of her( now rapidly heaving but splendid) bosoms, he explained about the need for decorum, a professional dress code, using common sense, the dangers of post-pubescent males, and would she please cover up (her rapidly stiffening) nipples. (No I made that last bit up, he didn't actually say it, he told me later that that was what he was thinking.) It seemed that the young lady was unaware of her effect on young males until this instance, and she hastened to make herself decent by the application of a hurriedly obtained lab coat from our Chemistry department.
The whole incident put clothes in a different light, and I know that we guys on the staff were looking forward to next years mufti days, to see what might happen.
Alas, we never knew.
Such was the effect on the young lady of poor dress-sense but magnificent body, that she left teaching, and the last we heard was working in Glasgow at the Club Rogano, where her pole-dancing act is highly regarded by the aficionados.

Teaching is a joy.