My many readers (read: my family) have often asked why I established a secret organisation intent on taking over the world (and whether I’m doing any real work at Uni, and whether I’m going to get a proper job and move out any time soon, and so on…). While few things could possibly be traced back to a single source, there is no denying a certain pivotal character in my life, and with recent news of his unfortunate passing away, I feel a tribute is necessary if only to show just how truth can really be stranger than fiction sometimes.



The identity in question is none other than my year 11 English teacher, Mr T, as he shall be called. We just so happened to get him in what he believed to be his final year of teaching before retirement, but whether this really had as much influence on his behaviour as he would have us believe is probably up for debate. The bottom line was he loved teaching English (amongst other things) to young and malleable minds. He had no time for “scrotes” and would not hesitate to send anyone that attempted to be disruptive, outside to play football for the rest of the lesson. That said, he repeatedly explained how if your marks were not up to scratch then he was entirely open to bribes. Not just any old bribe however. His only currency was that of European type of “Mozart” chocolates, a box of which he would routinely show us and describe as being “better than an orgasm”. He also apparently had a fondness for schnapps, as highlighted by his desire to bring some in for us to sample as we studied Peter Goldsworthy’s Maestro.



Some substances he was not quite so open to consuming however, if his militant attempts to cram veganism down our throats were anything to go by. This ranged from articles about how a lady cured her terminal cancer by simply removing dairy from her diet (in slight contradiction to his love affair with chocolate), to showing us videos of abattoirs in action. The scene of the intact, yet unseeing cow head slowly rolling across the pile of moving mince was especially poignant. Of course, he then contrasted all of this with a story about a surgeon-turned-drug dealer who gets stranded on an island with nothing to eat except his own limbs, using his stash as anaesthetic. An interesting dilemma to be sure, but it’s a tad hard to ponder when you’re busy trying to avoid throwing up.



Mr T was also unique as a proudly Buddhist teacher in a Christian school, to the extent of having his own Zen garden at home and being so devoutly against killing animals that a couple of students in our class caught him releasing rats he’d caught at home in the staff car park. Consequently, having him teach a religious education class probably wasn’t really in the school’s best interests as he proceeded to fanatically elaborate on the virtues of anarchy for the whole lesson. Indeed, one fine Friday when the weather was lovely and we were all feeling quite relaxed and cheerful, ready for the last lesson of the week, he walked in, took one look at us and then spent the rest of the lesson describing the great many ways in which humanity is doomed. As the siren finally sounded at the end of the lesson, he explained to our stunned silent stares that we’d been in such a cheerful mood when he came in that he’d decided he had to put a stop to it. We even had the scenario put towards us of whether upon learning that Armageddon was only minutes away, would we cast aside social norms and get it on with each other? I don’t think you could blame someone for performance anxiety in that situation.



It’s probably no surprise that many of us wondered whether he’d had a CAT scan any time recently. This concern was especially highlighted by the case of one of the girls in the class being told that her recent submission was so good he’d like a copy to keep. She gladly left a copy on his desk later, only to have it handed back with a really low mark and a note telling her that she could do much better.



Regardless, we all survived the year, with only one of us being converted to vegetarianism as far as I recall. We were definitely all much more cultured as a result of being exposed to significant diversions from mainstream content with Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (There’s a great Simpsons scene that makes sense as a result), If…, Slaughterhouse-Five, Brave New World (original) and so on. I think it’s safe to assume that several of the titles he showed to us had their roots in significant consumption of illicit substances, but despite that I would certainly say he inspired a strong incentive to examine the logic behind typically unquestioned human motives. Failing that, he gave us some interesting memories. I think he can safely rest in peace, knowing that none of us will ever be at peace again.