Hijacked class

Arrived at Fritzonian Institute today to find classroom door locked and huddle of students wondering what was going on. Much speculation. Roof caved in due to heavy rain? Break in over night and room sealed off while forensics look for clues? Lecturer in passionate clinch with another lecturer?

Then lecturer appeared with two security men, everyone ordered to stand back, and with impressive force, door kicked down. Advised to keep well clear, while men entered room, hands poised as if carrying guns, like they do in movies. Awed silence as waited to see what was inside. Then heard exclamation of amazement. All exchanged glances. One security man came out of room and asked lecturer to come inside. More exchanging of glances. Lecturer went inside and let out roar: 'Henry!' Lecturer came to door and told us we could come in now.

Picked up two tartan shopping bags on wheels, abandoned during moments of tension, and padded into classroom with fellow students. Henri was seated at laptop, looking at wall screen, elated expression on face. Lecturer scrambling round room pulling up blinds, opening windows. Then Henri called her over and frenzied conversation began. Everyone sat down and watched in suspense.

Several minutes later, lecturer turned round, ashen-faced, opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. Cleared her throat and tried again. Still nothing. Oscar, gentlemanly as always, poured her glass of water. She frowned at it, realising it couldn't be fresh, but, urged by Oscar, took a sip. Cleared throat and announced:
'There's been a change of plan for this morning's lecture and lecturer. I had planned to teach you more about Jacques Derrida's life-changing theories on deconstruction. However, (break for prolonged clearing of throat and another sip of water), Henry has persuaded me that he has prepared something which has the strongest implications for experimental writers. Henry, please begin when you are ready.'

Stunned silence. Henri put on his blue beret - which Neville swears he found in car boot sale in unsavoury part of Edinburgh - and walked onto podium. Took several bows, adjusted beret to jaunty angle, produced mini shaving mirror, adjusted beret once more, bowed again and fiddled with microphone pinned on corner of bow tie designed in colours of French flag.

'Testing, testing,' he said.
'Get on with it,' Véronique called out in uncharacteristic brusqueness.
'Ladies and gentlemen.'
'And cats and dogs,' Cindy pointed out, emboldened by Véronique.
Henri gave magnanimous smile. 'Ladies and gentlemen, cats and dogs. I present to you today, a ground-breaking idea for unique, experimental writing, which will, I can assure you, take your work to new places.'
'Like the bottom of the slush pile,' Maya barked, winking at Véronique and Cindy.



'Let Henry speak, please,' lecturer said.
There was pause, all of us wondering what hold Henri could possibly have on lecturer for her to postpone what she'd prepared to let a guinea pig take class. Especially when she'd told Henri she hated guinea pigs ( see post of: September 24: Stressful day at Fritzonian Institute)
'Ladies and gentlemen, cats and dogs,' Henri began. 'Today I will talk to you about a novel approach to writing.'
He went over to desk and produced sack from which he picked out bundle of cards.
'As many of you know, Lothian and Borders police, recognising my talent in writing messages for Christmas cards, not using the letters e, s, r, a, t, m, p and i,' and he halted, looking round the class for nods of confirmation. 'These Christmas cards have proved so successful that I have been asked by greetings cards publishing companies to write messages on other types of cards. It was when I was poised to write my first message - an Easter greeting, that I came up with a great idea. We all know about hypertextuality - a postmodern theory of the inter-connectedness of all literary works and their interpretation, in simple language, a text which provides a network of links to other texts that are 'outside, beyond and above itself'.

He looked round the room for signs of comprehension, but only the scholarly Oscar showed any indication of understanding.
Undeterred, he continued. 'I have decided that the ordinary greetings card could be used for such a method, with or without omission of certain vowels and consonants. So, I plan to write a novel, each sentence being written on a different card, and the challenge of readers of high quality literary fiction. I have agreed a deal with greetings cards companies. In expectation of drastically increased sales, they will reduced their prices.'




He stopped and looked round the room, a beatific expression on his face. Then he turned to the lecturer, whose normal colour had returned, though she still looked shaken. 'Are there time for questions before break?'
She nodded weakly. But already all students were heading out of the door to the canteen.
'Henry,' we heard lecturer say to him. 'I don't think you quite understand what hypertext is.'
But Henri was already talking on his mobile phone.

Purrs
Bakhtin