My lawyer advises me that I have a strong case regarding the scurrilous and libellous comments that have appeared on the Friends Reunited website concerning my pedagogical abilities. Not to mention the filth-laden fantasies that some erstwhile pupils have constructed around my (non-existent) sexual activities with former members of staff.

Personally, I think that this abominable website should be forcibly closed down. If they can legislate against neo-Nazi sites, then they can legislate against the vituperative gossip-mongering to which I have been subjected.

Meanwhile, several members of staff are up in arms against Richard Dick’s decision to make the school a completely smoke-free zone by closing the smokers’ staffroom. Actually, I applaud the rectorial decision and will be glad to see Room B22 stripped of its nicotine-encrusted wallpaper, to be replaced by a gleaming new common room for the third year.

“Well, ah think it’s a bloody disgrace!” carped Davie McManus, principal teacher of biology. “If ah want tae have a fag, where in Goad’s name am ah supposed tae go? Behind the bloody lunch hall with the fourth year?”

“Maybe you could try giving it up?” arched Miss Tarbet. “It’s a bit rich if I spend half my life explaining to the social ed classes what it does to their lungs and then you, a biology teacher, choose to contravene my advice to them!”

“Ach, be quiet, Tarby,” Mr McManus rasped. “Ah’m planning tae donate mah boady tae the school efter ah snuff it, so they can use mah lungs furr demonstration purposes. So at least some good should come of mah time here, unlike yours!”

It was an ungracious remark and Miss Tarbet told him so. He ignored her and announced his intention to go and light up outside the headmaster’s office as a demonstration of his personal freedom under the European Act of Human Rights.

Personally, I doubt whether Brussels will back his cause.

Tuesday

Darlinda George (third year) appeared at school today with yet another bodily appendage made of metal. She now has four earrings in her left ear (one with a large hoop), five in her right ear, one nose-ring, two tongue studs and (as of yesterday afternoon, when she was off school with an alleged doctor’s appointment) an eyebrow ring above each eye.

Frankly, when she shakes her head it’s like the final bars of Tubular Bells.

“But what’s the point of it all, Darlinda?” I asked, interrupting my lesson on the more effective use of paragraphing during today’s last period. “It looks to me as if it’s really painful and, quite frankly, I don’t think all these rings and studs make anyone look more attractive.”

She eyed me with sultry glare and then shrugged her shoulders. “Ah like them. An’ ma boayfriend likes them. An ah doan’t care whit you think. Surr.”

She emphasised the “sir” just enough to make it grossly disrespectful but I paid no heed because an even greater unpleasantness was unfolding before my eyes.

“An’ ah goat ma navel pierced three weeks ago,” Darlinda informed me brightly as she started rolling up her jumper and blouse. “But it’s just goan septic. D’ye want tae see it?”

“No!” I threw up my hands in horror. “No, I don’t! Just get back to the matter in hand, would you, and copy down what I say in your jotter or I’ll keep you in at 3.30pm.”

As a pedagogical method, it left something to be desired. But it brought the lesson back to order rather effectively, I thought.

Wednesday

In spite of all my best intentions, and like a moth to a flame, I found myself once more drawn to the Friends Reunited website this evening.

I scanned the “teacher memories” noticeboard as quickly as I could, and was relieved to find no further comments about myself. However, there were some highly entertaining anecdotes concerning our former depute head, Ruth Lees, who was compared with Attila the Hun by several former pupils (and staff). I thought it unfair to share in her discomfiture and moved elsewhere on the site, having noticed a new member from the leavers’

class of 1999.

Who should it turn out to be but Marlene Beveridge, once the cynosure of all male eyes in her year group, and renowned for her mini-skirted appearance at all school functions, as well as most of her classes. The girl was always something of a handful, if you’ll pardon the expression, and I read her member’s entry with beating heart as I recalled her undue expressions of affection towards me in her fifth year.

Fortunately, she seems to have overcome the schoolgirl crush that beset her emotions back then and has - unsurprisingly - embarked upon a modelling career. She has even devised her own website and the membership entry gave some thinly disguised hints on how to access it, which I did, out of a pure and affectionate interest in her post-school career.

It was a foolish move. The next thing I knew my darkened study was illuminated with an unwholesome selection of pornographic images, mostly of Marlene (in the “Marlene’s Provocative Poses” section) and sometimes of Marlene and friends (in the “Marlene has Fun” section).

To say that I was shocked by what I saw would be a gross understatement. It was with a growing sense of horror that I gazed upon her scantily-clad - and oftentimes completely unclad - form as it lay spreadeagled beneath the photographer’s lens. I shuddered and directed my mouse to the exit box at the top right corner of the screen.

It was unfortunate that my wife chose to enter the room at this juncture.

“Morris!” she snapped bitterly from behind my shoulder. “What the hell are you looking at?”

I swivelled around in alarm. “It’s nothing, Gail,” I protested, as the images disappeared from the screen. “It was just one of my former pupils. She’s taken up ...”

“Yes,” Gail narrowed her eyes severely, “I can see what she’s taken up.”

She pursed her lips. “And if I catch you accessing that kind of site again, you’ll be sleeping in the kitchen until Christmas! Now go and have a cold shower.”

I sighed, switched off the computer and followed her out of the room. It wasn’t worth trying to explain any further. I got the feeling it would only make matters worse.

Thursday

Darlinda George has once more disrupted my carefully prepared lesson plans, but on this occasion it had nothing to do with her innumerable pieces of jewellery. Rather, it was to do with her brassiere.

To explain, I had just set the class a model examination paper and insisted upon silence, when Darlinda interrupted the proceedings with a plaintive cry for help. Apparently, she had recently been in receipt (from her boyfriend) of the “gel-filled” undergarment. Last night, she had foolishly offered several boys the chance to examine the fluidity of the cups (whether she was wearing the garment at the time is still open to conjecture). Clearly an adolescent nail had punctured the membrane of her proudest possession. Thus, the wail which rent the classroom: “Haw, surr! Ma bra’s leakin’!”

For once, I was lost for words and thought it wise to call upon Miss Tarbet who, happily, was passing my door at that instant. She escorted Darlinda from the room, an ample collection of paper tissue clenched between her left armpit and bosom.

I set the class to work again, but the image of Darlinda’s leaking brassiere kept leaping, unbidden, to my mind.

Friday

My home computer is being rained upon by an unceasing collection of entreaties to enter pornographic websites. I think it’s the “Marlene effect” because it seems that by entering my former pupil’s website I have inadvertently signed up for delivery of a diverse selection of “special membership offers”.

It is becoming tiresome in the extreme to protect my wife and daughter from the obscenities that hit my screen every time I connect to the Internet.

In an effort to escape them (and as Gail was otherwise engaged with Alan Titchmarsh on the BBC), I once again connected to the Friends Reunited site this evening. Imagine my surprise to discover a new member from my alma mater and - more surprising still - somebody who remembered me.

“Hi there, Morris!” read the membership-directed e-mail. “Remember me? Janet Rich. Rich by name, but not by I well, you remember the rest.

“Great to hear that you’re still in the country. And even better to hear you’re quite close to where I live. Fancy a small reunion?

“All the best. Janet.”

I’ll be honest here. My heart started pumping in a way that even Marlene Beveridge’s website hadn’t managed to instigate. Janet Rich and I go back a long time. A long, long time.

So it was with some trepidation that I composed a tentative reply, but eventually I said “Yes.” And then I hit the “Send” button.

Next month: Gregor Steele respectfully points out that Friends Reunited is increasingly cited in divorce cases and urges readers to support Morris Simpson in all matters of conscience. Plus, Mr McManus continues his protest against the smoking ban.