I am back in my old school, for what seems to be the last day of term. I am sitting in the old home-ec-cum-music-Room 128 (before it became a computer suite). I seem also to be in a Modern Studies class. I am disappointed that the bell rings for the end of the period before I am given back my marked Advanced Higher paper.
The class decamps to the corridor. Some think that going to an empty room would be entertaining, some prefer to go to the next class. I am in the latter group, of about eight or nine people. My friends and I seize an urn-sized block of vanilla ice cream. One of my friends runs down the corridor, spilling the ice cream everywhere as he crashes into walls and stairs.
As we pass the social area, the other group of people chase after us with a tea trolley. Everybody careers into the wall outside the staff room, and the block of ice cream is reduced to the size of a cricket ball.
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