Well I thought that she was referring to my bottom as that last stroke really stung, as it bit into my right bum cheek. The lingering burn seemingly burying itself deeper and deeper into the flesh. But then, as the pause got longer and longer, and no stroke came, I dared to look back over my shoulder. There I saw my pride and joy, the fruits of several hours of labour, being gingerly bent to reveal a split down the middle of the cane.
Barely believing my eyes, I took it from her grasp and when tapping it against my hand, the tell-tale sound of rattling wood confirmed her statement to be true......She HAD broken it !!!!
'Well wadda we do now ???'
Only one thing for it, I shall be re-reading the headmasters' review of a selection of canes and then ordering one online very shortly.
It had been a valiant effort but obviously my homemade cane was just not up to the job, my bum being so pert an' all.......Ha ha.
So the professionally made cane is the next obvious step.
Meanwhile, our only option for the top of the tree implement of punishment is that accursed tawse......
...Please Mr. postman......send a package quickly to me..
Kind regards,
Garyntboy.
