The Mata Hari Institute of Culinary Excellence

[Pleater]

Mister Brown went off to 'Have a word' as he put it with The McGeek, and I went to phone home, check the emails and assess the sunset. For some reason they have been particularly glorious recently.

From my window I can see the squat shape of The Rotunda - the oldest building on the site and due to the fact that Cromwell's forces did not manage to destroy it when they were in the area, it is used for the weekly disco dance.

We do have male students here - for obvious reasons the name on the Institute letterhead does not include 'Mata Hari'. The usual expression on their faces, after the first week, is a sort of stunned grin and they seem to float through their eighteen month courses in a state of euphoria. It is no wonder that chefs in later life are notoriously bad tempered and any who gain a celebrity status do so despite their perpetually foul mood.

The present set of male students were making their way along the topiary lined avenue like a rag of colts, throwing eachother into the neatly clipped double rows of chessmen which had required decades of diligent care by the gardeners, and punching eachother's heads. What was strange was that they were all clad in an assortment of garments, from former dressing gowns to table cloths and in a deranged way each one was almost like a kilt.