bitterness, inexplicable burst of repressed

We always used to sing Bod instead of God in every hymn. The deputy head stopped a hymn halfway through at one point and lectured us about it. He was called Mr Gatwick. I made a 'Mr Gatwick Head' in my pottery art class and we ran a "who can smash Mr Gatwick's head in?" event at the school fete that was a bit like a coconut shy. Mark Beaumont won. I hated Mark Beaumont. He died a couple of years ago of lung cancer. Ha.

There's a time and a place, Graeme. And this was both.