So we pooled our resources. Three sandwiches—one ham in a roll; one cheese and pickle on brown; one peanut butter on Mother’s Pride—two bags of salt and vinegar crisps; half a pork pie; two Mr. Kipling’s Bakewell Tarts; a quarter of Yorkshire Mixture; a Blue Riband bar; a Wagon Wheel; some sweet cigarettes; some Lucozade; and a satsuma. Goldie’s mother always gives him money to buy whatever he likes. Poodle is hyperactive and isn’t supposed to eat chocolate. (Of course, he took the Wagon Wheel. I pretended not to care.)

After that, we talked a bit. I learned that both of them go to our Church. Neither has brothers or sisters. We don’t have much in common, except for those brand-new blazers, but I can’t afford to be choosy. If I’m to fit in here, I’ll need some friends of the kind my father would approve.

After a bit, Poodle spoke up. “We don’t have to stay here at lunchtimes,” he said. “We can go to Mr. Clarke’s room. He plays records and everything. He’s way cooler than Straitley.”

Mr. Clarke is Poodle’s English Master. He has a fifth form, and his room is just above Mr. Straitley’s. Mr. Straitley’s classroom is a lot like Mr. Straitley; messy and covered in chalk dust. There are wooden desks with inkwells, and a squeaky old blackboard. But Mr. Clarke’s room is a little glass room built a bit like a greenhouse, with plastic desks, big windows, and posters on the ceiling and walls.

Mr. Clarke isn’t my teacher, worse luck. He teaches the other group. Mr. Fabricant teaches ours, and although I haven’t been here long, I can already tell that he’s no fun at all. Mr. Fabricant is a goat, all gray-haired and straggly. But Mr. Clarke is actually cool. He has a record player in his room, and a bubblegum machine. He doesn’t mind if boys come in, even boys from another class.

“Come on,” said Poodle. “Check it out.”

We followed him up to Mr. Clarke’s room. It was almost empty. Later I found that the fifth form had their own Common Room downstairs. Mr. Clarke was at his desk, going through a box of LPs, but he looked up as we came in.

“Ah, you’re just in time,” he said, pulling an album out of the box. The name of the album was Animals. It was by a band called Pink Floyd.