That’s life

It’s surprising how often these sort of things happen.

Having finished my series of pieces about Gillian Gibbons – which I have spent the past twenty-four hours critically assessing in my head – I now make two discoveries, which would have been really useful two days ago.

The first is to find that one of the teachers I interviewed, who had been threatened some days ago with the Gillian-treatment for some minor transgression, has now fled the country. When she spoke to me previously, she was so scared that I agreed not to publish anything she said.

The second achievement was to finally track down the parent of one of the kids in Gillian’s class. I met him playing football, and he gave us a lift back. One particular detail about the case I haven’t seen reported in any newpaper anywhere. He told me that the teddy bear in question – which was chosen by the class for being the most beautiful – was sent to London for a few weeks, and then photographed with all the main attractions.

When asked about Gillian, his seven-year-old daughter said the most quotable thing: “She yells a lot in the class when we are naughty, so I cover my hands with my ears, because I don’t like yelling. But she’s nice because she plays with us and she sings.”

When asked whether she was sad or happy that Gillian had gone, the kid thought for a moment and then said, quite seriously: “I’m sad.”

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