According to Harrington, their removal will create more space in the Quiet Room, which needs to be refurbished and supplied with staff workstations—here the Bursar paused in his speech to show us a series of diagrams to illustrate the new desks and the cubicles, each one supplied with a computer, in which we are to sit like battery hens, efficient and productive. For members of staff requiring extra training in what he calls “developing technology,” there will be an after-hours surgery with Mr. Beard, the (beardless) Head of IT, to which we are all invited to bring our ideas and suggestions.

I, for one, shall not do so. I’m far too old a dog to learn that kind of new trickery. If necessary, I shall remain at my desk in room 59 during my free time, with a bag of licorice allsorts and only the mice for company.

However, there was more to come from the Bursar’s budget. Most of it I’d heard before—consolidating of resources; sale of School assets; streamlining of departments; maximizing efficiency—all Bursar-speak for less money and less space for some department or other. I’m used to fighting my corner, and the prospect of doing so again was, if anything, invigorating.

But it was his next statement that made me sit bolt upright, clutching the armrest of my chair with a deathly grip as he announced “an exciting new development, which we hope may be the beginning of a long and successful partnership with our sister school, Mulberry House, and which, as you will already know, begins as of next week in Sixth Form—”

I said: “Excuse me, Bursar. But what exactly are you talking about?”

The Bursar gave me a look. “I’m talking about Mulberry House,” he said, “and our plan to introduce a system of consolidated classes in certain subjects at Sixth-Form level.”

Consolidated classes, forsooth.

“You mean mixed classes, Bursar?” I said.

He gave a rather narrow smile.

“Our boys and Mulberry girls?”

“That’s usually what we mean by mixed, Roy,” said the Bursar, playing to the gallery. “Don’t worry. I’m sure you’re more than satisfactorily equipped to prevent any inappropriate behavior.”

I made a sound much like the one favored by the Old Head.

“Don’t say you didn’t know about this,” the Bursar went on impatiently. “The details were e-mailed to you months ago.”

“I don’t do e-mail, Bursar,” I said.

“Don’t do female, did you say?” The Bursar was hitting his stride now, playing for laughs at my expense. “Well, you heard the Head, Roy. We’re all facing changes. Besides, with class sizes as they are, I thought you’d be grateful for the extra bodies.”

I suppose he had a point there. Last year, my Lower Sixth Latin set consisted of four boys, one of whom dropped the subject at Christmas in favor of Business Studies.