In Praise Of Tops

It's a hard life being a top. And I don't mean that sarcastically fo once. From the other end of the stick, so to speak, it really does seem to me like it's a hard job to be a top. You need to balance a scene perfectly. There is a fine line between pushing someone's limits and pushing them beyond their limits, between a scene being at the pinnacle of where it can be and going a little too far. Reading mood is critical, understanding circumstances, judging tolerance, especially when the person you could beat extremely hard three weeks ago is now crying at a hand spanking. Remembering limits that may seem bizarre and strange, but also, if broken, have the potential to turn a scene or even a friendship, sour very quickly.

How much more difficult, is it then, being a top in a group scene where the varying limits of the people involved are enough to make your head spin. How do you deal with all of those limits while still keeping coherency in a scene but making it a good experience for everyone? It's very hard.

I felt particular for Abel and HH at the Yorkshire school over Easter weekend. Apart from the usual "some knickers up/some knickers down", "can't be hit in X place/likes being hit in X place" sort of differences, the setting of the scene bought its own specific limits for me. One is around showering. While I would like to try the whole cold shower thing, never having done it, it's a very, very brave person indeed that messes with my OCD morning shower routine. Basically if I can't shower, properly, in the order I need to, in the morning, before I get dressed, I'm liable to have a bit of a meltdown, and certainly will need to wash every stitch of clothing I'm wearing at the earliest possible point. (Yes, I'm aware I need help!) I totally forgot to mention this until the day before when we were discussing the scene. Doubtless this threw their planning out, but they still managed to conduct the "morning showers" in such a way that 21st century Eliane avoided mental health breakdown and 19th century Louisa was still very much in evidence.

Another difficulty came around the actual activities we had to fulfil. 1824 schools were boring. Lots of reading, writing and rote learning. As a dyslexic (albeit a mild one), some of these tasks can pose small issues that would not cause me problems in daily life, but might well cause me to be punished in 1824, with the potential of reviving too many bad memories of school days pre-diagnosis when I was told off frequently for my "carelessness" when copying from the board, or my "lack of concentration" when forgetting something I'd just been told.

Knowing the approximate format of what we'd be doing, I warned the guys in advance that while I was more than happy to take part in these activities, undue criticism for things I genuinely couldn't help may well result in Eliane being distressed rather than Louisa. Once more, I was impressed at how well they worked these foibles into the scene. I was not punished unduly harshly for my total inability to recall anything about what I had just read out loud, and the trips between masters were organised in such a way that while I still had to do the copying out task, it was not actually going to be reviewed by anyone, therefore removing the need for anyone to beat Louisa for accidentally writing "anal" instead of "and" when doing this task (write anal and and in cursive script and see how easy it is to get the two mixed up).

The amount of care and forethought that HH and Abel had obviously put into the planning to make sure that we all had an experience we could enjoy while still taking into account our "eccentricities" (I speak only of myself!) brought home to me once more how lucky I am to play with people (and not just the two already mentioned) who put such thought, effort and planning into scenes, to make sure that they are the best possible. So (just this once!) let's give those mean, horrid tops a few minutes of praise. Only a few mind you, we wouldn't want them to be getting ideas!

The Continuing Adventures of Alice

As I stood waiting to open the door, I was getting more and more nervous. I knew this was deliberate on his part. I had texted him nearly twenty minutes previously to say that I was ready. I knew he was a mere couple of minutes away. I knew he was waiting for my text. And yet still he would make me wait, make Alice wait, knowing that the anticipation would build.

The scenario was that this was Alice's first day in Mr Thomas's household, after her previous successful interview. She had already been given a whole list of rules, including not being allowed to look at Mr Thomas directly, and having to call him "Master". I had been trying to recall these rules over the past 20 minutes, not wanting Alice to be punished before the evening had even started.

It was not to be though. Not long after Mr Thomas had arrived, I was sitting opposite him at the table, edging deeper and deeper into Alice's head. He dictated all the rules again. Even as he dictated, I earned punishment for looking directly at him, and then for calling him Sir instead of Master. One rule that he dictated was that I must ask for punishment every time I knew that I had done something to deserve it.

It was to prove a hard couple of hours for Alice, and for me. Within the first 10 minutes I had been beaten at least three times, including with a wooden spoon. Most of these beatings were for accidentally saying Sir instead of Master, and it was relentless. Every time I made a slip, I was bent over again, beaten again. At one point I made the same mistake for the fourth or fifth time and the conversation just stopped. Mr Thomas just looked at me, and looked at me, and I knew what I had to do, but I (or rather Alice, important distinction) was already so upset by this point that it was a huge struggle. I picked up the wooden spoon, stood before him, tears streaming down my face, and asked him to punish me for calling him Sir by accident. Probably one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. He made me go and fetch him the cane instead of the spoon. I was utterly broken by that. The five strokes of the cane that followed felt like brands of fire. When receiving 20 strokes of the belt, I moved on stroke 19 and had to suffer all twenty again.

The thing that really stands out for me looking back is that no one has ever been that unrelenting with me. There seemed to be no mercy, no rest, every tiny thing that Alice did wrong met with the most severe punishment. Every stroke burnt like a brand, and was excruciatingly painful. And yet I know looking back that that wasn't the case. There were things now that I know "Mr Thomas" let slide. And the fact that there was barely a mark on me 10 minutes or so after we came out of role is testament to the fact that these beatings that felt like fire were in fact probably some of the lightest I've taken in a scene. All of which goes to show just where headspace can take you! You can go to places and play with characters where people barely need to touch you to achieve their aim, so much in your head, or that of your character's, are they. And while I know that's not for everyone, it works for me!

Role Play: A Means To An End

I can probably count on the fingers of one hand the amount of times I have actually submitted, by which I mean accepted a “punishment” (real or roleplay) in my head as well as in my body. I will pretty much always submit physically, but in my mind is a different matter. I mentally fight what's happening to me, fight the power that someone has over me, swear to myself that I will not let them break me, and sometimes even have to end scenes if I can feel that I'm reaching that breaking point. I will often exhibit signs of this fight as well, as anyone who has played with me would recognise. I roll my eyes, sigh, talk back, am stroppy in tone and body language. All ways of me making my mark on the situation and proving that you may have my body but you don't have my mind. (Anyone reading this who has played with me and seen me doing that, it's nothing personal, I promise!)

The trouble is that this can actually be awfully tiring, for me as well as for whoever I'm playing with. Sometimes I actually do just want to submit, mentally. To know what it feels like. To experience what I've always thought must be a certain kind of peace. Just to accept something and go with it rather than fighting it every step of the way must be actually quite nice. The problem of course being that as myself, I would find that very hard to do. Especially at the moment. I'm in such a place with work and various other things that it feels as though letting “Eliane” break, submit, would be an exceptionally bad idea. So I had to come up with some other way. And that way was to create a character who could, and would submit.

Thus Alice was born. As alluded to in my previous post, Alice is an 18 year old orphan who has lived in an orphanage since the age of 1, and who is a shy and obedient girl. The worst she's ever beaten for is reading when she should be working, and she's an innocent and something of a loner. She's never had a boyfriend as the boys at school would never have deigned to go near an orphanage girl, and all in all she's something of a throw back to a former era, even though she is based in today's world. Again, as described in the previous post, Alice is being taken on by a Mr Thomas, strict but fair gentleman, to work as part of his staff, starting on the bottom rung and working her way up. In the role play Alice is meeting Mr Thomas for the first time, to be interviewed. She has been told that he is strict but fair, that this is a wonderful opportunity for her, and that she must show him what a good and obedient girl she is.

I was always pretty sure, as I was creating Alice in my head, that very little of Eliane would be left in there. I deliberately created a shy, easily intimidated girl who wouldn't say boo to a goose. But I wasn't sure. Would “I” creep back in to Alice? Would there be flashes of my obstinacy, my fight, or would I actually manage to submit to someone else's will as Alice? I think the answer surprised me a little and surprised “Mr Thomas” more than a little. From the moment I opened the door as Alice, there wasn't a trace of Eliane. Alice was the most perfectly behaved (and to be frank, pathetic) creature you've ever seen. She was petrified of this gentleman. Even though he was perfectly polite at the start, explaining what the job and interview would entail, and asking her questions about herself, she could barely speak above a whisper to answer him. When he started talking about the discipline regime in his household the fear became even worse.

The poor girl's ordeal had barely started, though. She was forced to take a series of tests on arithmetic, general knowledge, history and geography (proving conclusively to Eliane that I forgot how to do long division a long time ago!). Then she was forced to read out the letter she had written to Mt Thomas on his instruction. She had already been warned several time above speaking clearly and loudly, but eventually Mr Thomas lost patience and ordered her over the back of the chair to belt her. That was not the worst though. Punishment at the orphanage had always taken place with the girl leaving her knickers up and legs together. Alice had never been in a state of even semi-undress in front of a man until Mr Thomas forced her to lower her knickers and then spread her legs. She was mortified. But she did it anyway, and accepted the beating without question or rebellion.

Worse punishments than a belting were to come during the course of the interview, but Alice was utterly submissive. She did not question, she did not hesitate. She just obeyed. There was no talking back, no eye rolling, no sulking, no attitude, in fact no sign that Alice and Eliane were in fact one and the same person. By the end of the role play, Alice was so totally under the thumb of Mr Thomas that she probably would have gone and run around the garden naked if he had told her to. Questioning that instruction would not have been within her capabilities. Not because she is a stupid character (only a little pathetic!) but rather because she (and via “her”, me) had submitted to such a degree that it would not even have occurred to her that there was something to be questioned.

And do you know what? It was liberating. And I would do it again in a heart beat. Because of, and in spite of, the intensity. When we had finished I was shaking and crying. Not because I was upset or hurt, or anything, just the shear amount of adrenaline and excitement that was running through me at what I'd done and what I'd achieved. It took a good 20 minutes of talking for me to start approaching normality again. Even given that, using that role to allow me to experience “real” submission was a fabulous idea. Letting go to that degree as myself is still something that I don't think I would be able to do, certainly in the foreseeable future, but having a character, a headspace, to do that through was exactly the right way to do it for me. So long live Alice, pathetic little wretch that she is, and long live role play as a way of accessing emotions and experiences that you can't always access yourself.

Eliza - An Unintended Consequence

Role play can be a funny old thing. I've talked before about how much I enjoy it. The element of being someone different, even if those differences are only heightened aspects of your own character, can be really exciting. In fact sometimes the role play itself and the thrill of being in character ends up being more enjoyable than the CP element of the play. Lowewood is a perfect example of this. Nowadays, I'm not even that worried about getting whacked during the course of the school day. That's not what I go for, I go for the fun of being Jemima, of being a school girl, of being with my friends. What I really love about role play though is the way that characters that you create take on a life of their own without you even intending it. A recent example of this really took me by surprise as it wasn't even the character that I was creating for the role play that became so real. The scenario I was planning with a friend concerned a girl in an orphanage. This was a very particular orphanage in its ways – when girls reached 18, they were taken on by suitable households, who would pay the orphanage back for the cost keep of the girl during her years there, and then the girl would have to pay back those costs through working for their new “Master” or “Mistress”. In order to set the scene for the roleplay, in which Alice would meet her new master for the first time, my friend and I exchanged a couple of notes in character, him as the gentleman, a Mr Ernest Thomas, and me as the director of the orphanage, Eliza Smith. Eliza was never intended to be anything more than the name at the bottom of a note, a spokesperson for the orphanage, not a fully formed character. In fact to start with she was merely Miss Smith, no first name at all. But as the days went by, and as notes were exchanged, the character came to life more and more. She developed a style of writing, likes and dislikes, opinions, none of which I'd planned for. Just by putting pen to paper, or in this case finger to keyboard, this third character, who was never intended to make an appearance in “real life” in a role play, has emerged, and is in some ways more of a person in my head than the poor wretched orphan who is going to be beaten. For now Eliza will stay as she is, a creation of pen and paper, not to inhabit a real life situation (well, you know what I mean by real life!) But who knows? She has become so three dimensional for me, that it seems a shame to keep her locked away in 2-D forever. Maybe Eliza will have her day. Until then, she remains an unintended consequence of my role play.

Dear Diary

Dear Diary.

It's not bloody fair. Stupid school. I'm so misunderstood. You're the only one who gets me. Even Caoilfhionn isn't on my side any more. It's NOT FAIR!!! You'd think, maybe, that people would have pleased with me, right?! I was in sick bay in the morning, so I missed all of morning school, and all the various pranks they played, so I looked like a mini angel in comparison to the rest of them. I behaved all through the classes. I really tried in Art, even though I'm crap. I listened in history to the new teacher, Major Payne, even though his map of the world was a bit freaky and mixed up... Someone said it was what the world used to look like, but it just looked like everything was sideways to me.

I was really enthusiastic in Religious Education, which was all about the dangers of Satanism. I even acted out a piece on the Milgram experiment. (Or it might have been Mildew. Mr S seemed a bit confused.) in English. Or was it Psychology? I wasn't quite sure. But anyway, I really paid attention and everything, and at the end of the day got not just PLUS housepoints, but PLUS THIRTY! And it still wasn't bloody enough.

I got pink slipped and had to go and see Reverend Jenkins. Some idiot had put pictures of the New Years Eve party I had on Facebook, so I got beaten for allowing minors to drink hard liquor. Like it's my fault if people go and raid the drinks cabinet.

You would have thought that I'd have some support in Caoilfhionn, but no, she was too busy being head bloody girl. And talk about a power trip. All that stuff everyone says about power corrupting, well, they are TOTALLY right. It was like she was possessed or something. Bossing everyone about. She spent all afternoon trying to get me to tuck my shirt in and straighten my tie. She was driving me up the wall. One tiny little bit of power, and it goes straight to her head. I want my friend back.

But worst of all was the end of the day. Everyone else ended up in detention because of the balloon stunt, and serves them right. (Of course I would have ended up in detention for that as well if I hadn't been in the san, but that's not the point.) I thought I'd be safe, not having been in class and all that. But ohhh nooo. Apparently, my uniform was a "disgrace" so that was what I was being put in detention for... I wouldn't mind, but the only thing wrong was my skirt!! I even had black knickers on probably for the first time in my life. And I was only wearing the wrong skirt because I couldn't find my uniform one because Grandmother and the servants had been sick with flu, so I'd had to do my packing myself. And the thing was, it was black, and pleated (though the pleats were in the wrong direction...!)

So anyway, I end up in detention with Mr Brown and Major Payne, and they say we're all getting twelve from each of them. Well, I was seriously pissed off about that, and I didn't bother to try and hide it, so then I got a lecture on attitude. Yawn. I got six from Mr Brown with the cane, and then six from the Major with some strap. I was still seriously pissed off, and was talking back to them, so they said if I didn't show a change in attitude after the next 12, then I'd have to have even more. Well its not me who needs to change my attitude, it's them! They were totally picking on me. All I'd done is wear the wrong skirt, which was NOT MY FAULT ANYWAY, like I tried to explain to them. But they wouldn't listen, and they said I was raising my voice to them and I wasn't and it wasn't fair. And then Major Payne got even more evil. He dragged me up to the front BY MY EAR and then they gave me six more each, and he used the most evil wooden paddle I've ever felt. In the end I said I was sorry, because I wanted them to stop beating me, but I had my fingers crossed so it totally doesn't count.

And do you know what, if Caoilfhionn had been there, I bet she would have said I even deserved it!
Diary, it's not fair, I'm so misunderstood. I try to be good but they all hate me. You're the only one that understands me.

I'm going to go and cry now.

Jems.

(Editor's Comment: Eliane would like to point out that she had a wonderful time at Lowewood, even if Jemima did feel a little persecuted!)

It Gets Into Your Head

I promise Jemima will get to have her say soon, but I just wanted to interrupt for a minute to recount something which I think shows just how much extended role play can get into your head.

On the last day of Finishing School, we were in the middle of the afternoon, taking afternoon tea in the music room, when the three of us who were supposed to be flying home that night got called out, and told that due to the snowy conditions, and known road closures, we would be leaving in 30 minutes, rather than the 2h30 minutes that had originally been the plan. This meant that we had to drop out of role immediately to go and pack.

Thus it was Eliane and not Jemima who rushed back into the music room to pick something up. In my head I had pretty much straight away dropped out of character to enable myself to deal with the practicalities of quick packing, and the worry of the drive to the airport (though in the capable hands of Zille's heroic husband, I didn't need to worry at all).

So it was practical, sensible me going into that room, in a rush, not dizzy, silly Jemima. But as I ran through the room over to a table to pick something up, it felt so terribly, terribly wrong. Running through rooms in Mrs Darling's Academy? In front of the guests? I know it sounds silly, but it really did feel as though I was committing some major and severe offence. It really is amazing how in the course of less than 48 hours, I had started inhabiting my role and the situation so fully that something that wouldn't make me even pause for a second normally felt so alien and naughty.

Of course, this didn't stop me coming back downstairs, out of my uniform, ready to head off, in a Little Miss Bad Tshirt, and Little Miss Bossy knickers, which I proceeded to show to everyone! What can I say? Jemima made me do it.

Eliane At Finishing School

Sometimes I wonder how I manage to lead such a wonderfully charmed life. I have already had several mind blowing play experiences: Lowewood days that I have giggled my way through like a giddy school girl; the dramatic, but beautifully elegant contrast that was the Regency House Party; delightful weekends away and parties with friends; trips abroad to meet like minded people. All of this in the space of just under three years since I first came out, and in reality more like 18 months.

And now I have yet another amazing experience to mull over. A weekend finishing school, led by the esteemed Miss Darling and the wonderfully formidable Miss Hammond-Grant. I think I've probably developed a wee crush on these two lovely ladies, who alternated between scaring poor Jemima silly(ish) and taking every situation in their stride with a twinkle in their eyes.

Jemima will of course be having her say about Finishing School, but in the meantime, Eliane would like to say a thank you from the heart to Lucy and Amy for the most wonderful education a lady could have! I had a fantastic time, got the opportunity to meet several people that I've wanted to renew my acquaintance with, several that I've seen far too little of lately, and several that I was privileged to meet for the very first time.

Jemima may have been the one who was being finished (off?) but I took away some very useful lessons:

• To always count the steps before going down them (courtesy of a little incident in the kitchen on the first night)
• That I am, in fact, also allergic to raspberries as well as strawberries.
• That Mac make up is a wonderful thing.
• That mojitos are also wonderful. Especially now I know how to make them.
• That there are, surprisingly, people out there who are even more adept at keeping on digging
• when they find themselves in a hole than me. Which is impressive.

So, to the Tutors, the bachelors, and my fellow young ladies, you were all wonderful.

Thank you.

Jemima Writes To A Friend

Dear Emily,
You won't bloody well believe what my grandmother's gone and done now. You know I said I was going to visit you next during next weekend's exeat? Well that's all out the window now. She's sending me off to some finishing school. She says that “while Miss Marwood and Miss Cavendish, my etiquette teachers at Lowewood have done a wonderful job with raw material, she thinks I need to spend a period of time purely focussed on the business of being a young lady without any academic hindrances.” I mean seriously, what planet it she from??
So yeah, instead of getting to spend the weekend with you having fun, I'm being shipped off to the middle of nowhere to be “finished off”. Too bloody right it'll finish me off. Not only is it a finishing school, but it's one that uses “traditional discipline”, yes, just like Lowewood. You don't do what they want, they whack you... lovely, eh? And you can guarantee I'll get my share of whackings, just like Lowewood. It's not like I try to misbehave even, it just happens!
And do you know what the worst thing is? I have to pretend to be thrilled by this “wonderful opportunity.” This place, can't even remember it's name, is apparently THE finishing school, and I'm very lucky to have been accepted, as everyone wants to go there. So I have to pretend to be all happy and write polite notes saying how wonderful it is that I'm going. Ugh.
I suppose it could be worse. My friend Caoilfhionn is going as well. I've told you about her, right? She's great fun, even she can be a bit good at times. Anyway, at least I'll know someone, and hopefully we can have some fun among all the “ladylike” stuff.
I hope you have a bloody great weekend, and if I survive, I'll write to you and tell you all about it!
Luv ya loads,
Jem
xx

An Unreformed Reformatory Girl

I got sent to see the governor today. No bloody surprise really. I suppose the only surprise is that it took them that long. They say I'm lippy, and don't show respect, and don't act contritely. Well, what do they expect?! They show no bloody respect to me, so why the hell should I show them any back? As for contrition – well I did what I did because people were bloody stupid. If you're going to leave your car doors unlocked and your windows open, don't expect me not to take the opportunity. And don't expect me to feel sorry about it either. Idiots.

So they finally got fed up today. I suppose they'd done pretty well. I mean, I'd been there for two weeks before they got that mad with me. I was lounging outside his office door when he turned up. I don't think he was that impressed. Started going on about bad attitude and standing up straight, and blah, blah, blah. I switched off halfway through. He was also blathering on about how “in the old days” (I mean, what is he, 80?!) I would have been birched on arrival and that would have made me behave and seriously, shut up already, mate, you're boring me!

I got ordered into his office, and he lectured me some more about how I'm going to leave it more contrite and better behaved, then he made me take off my skirt, bend over and he tied my legs down. He started in on me with a slipper. He was probably lecturing me, but I was filtering it out. Why listen to crap when you don't have to? I mean, yeah, it hurt, and I probably showed it did as well, but just because something hurts, it doesn't mean I'm going to change. He put down the stupid slipper and got out some massive strap that he called the reformatory strap. Then he asked me how many I'd been given last time I'd been thrashed by the guards. Well, if the doddery old fool can't be bothered to look in the record books, I certainly can't be bothered to tell him the right answer. He's one of those sadistic bastards that would go “Well, last time you got X, so I'm going to double it.”

I think I judged it about right. There was no way I was going to tell him the truth, which was 24. I thought about going for 6, but reckoned that would be shooting a bit low and he'd just beat me for lying. So instead I chose 12 and that he seemed to believe it. So he gave me 12 with this massive strap. Actually he gave me more, because I moved. Whatever. Of course I bloody moved. It f****** hurt. Idiot.

Apparently I wasn't showing any contrition so he swapped to some “XH” tawse, whatever that is. Of course I wasn't showing any contrition. Do you really think that thrashing me is going to get me to show any?! I tell you what, 12 with that tawse was bloody horrible as well, but I don't give in that easily. I'm not some mealy mouthed mouse like some of the girls, practically offering to lick the dirt of the guards feet. Sod off.

He reckoned he still wasn't getting through to me, which is fair enough, because he wasn't, so he moved onto the cane. I was jumping up every other stroke this time, he was laying it on thick, but I could still barely bring myself to be civil. I got 18 in total. I can still feel the stripes as I write this now. As I was bent over, he told me that he didn't think I looked so big and clever from where he was standing. That's all he knows. All my mates think I'm really brave for standing up to the bastards in charge, and for not crying when he was beating me. I'm a real heroine to them, and I love it.

He finished off by lecturing me (again!) and telling me that if my attitude and behaviour didn't improve then the next step would be for him to tie me down in front of the whole reformatory, and give me fifty strokes of the birch. Then “all the girls who admire me now would see how feeble I really was when I was crying my way through a punishment.” Yeah. Whatever. He doesn't understand us at all. You'd think after working here for so bloody long he might, but no. If I ended up being birched in front of all the girls, I'd dine out on that for months, no matter how badly I took it. Well, not exactly dine, give how rotten the refectory food is, but you know what I mean. So yeah, bring it on, Mr Governor man. I'm a leader here after two weeks. There's no way you're bringing me down.

Jemima's Plea For More Knickers

Dear Grandmother and Grandfather,

How are you both? Another term is passing swiftly at Lowewood. The weather continues to be fine, which means we can enjoy the beautiful school gardens at break times. Of course we have to be careful that we don't step on Mr Fingerham's carefully tended beds, but apart from that we can enjoy the clement weather.

I am sure you will both be delighted to hear that my grades are continuing to improve. Mr Shaftebotham was delighted with my rousing speech in English the other day. We had been studying the use of rhetorical devices, and I employed many to wonderful effect when arguing for the abolition of restrictions on our internet access. I think he was very pleased with my good showing.

We have also started learning Chinese, and I am finding it very interesting, though I feel the teaching methods of Dr Billeslaan are somewhat unusual. He insists when we are learning to write the Chinese characters that caning us in an appropriate manner (e.g. one rule is “horizontal strokes before vertical ones”) will help us remember. I really fail to understand his logic, myself.

Grandmother, I'm afraid you will need to send me more knickers. Miss Marwood keeps confiscating them and giving them to Mr Fingerham to burn. The latest pair you sent me were the correct shade of blue, but you may not have seen the “Supergirl” logo on the rear. Unfortunately Miss Marwood did, in detention. She had already made us take our skirts off, and when she saw my knickers, she was very cross, as they had been the cause of much hilarity during uniform inspection that morning, but she had not seen what we were laughing at. So she made me remove my knickers as well, and would not give them back. I was quite naked from the waste down, it was awfully embarrassing. Despite her undue (she paddled AND caned us!) for really quite a minor issue (it was only a little party that we had in the dorm with the local boys football team!) I still quite like Miss Marwood. She seems quite fair.

Well, letter writing time is at an end, so I will bid you goodbye for this week, and send you both my fondest regards. Please also give my love to Mummy if you hear from her, and also if you do, please remind her that it is six weeks since she last wrote to me.
Oh, and please send new knickers!
Your loving granddaughter,
Jemima
x

Lowewood - In Which Jemima Behaves?

Hi Frannie,

How's life back at the old dump?! Sorry I haven't written for ages. Things have been so busy. I'm home for the weekend so I thought I'd take some time to catch up, and tell you how things are going at school. One of these days I suppose I'll be able to come home on exeat and tell the grandparents that I've had successful few weeks and behaved impeccably and all that. Not this time. I don't even know how I manage it to be honest. It's not like I *try* to misbehave. It just seems to happen. I suppose a good illustration would be one day this week. Did I tell you that at Lowewood they rotate the Head Girl position? Well this term I'm head girl. Which is not as good as it sounds. It's an honour that everyone tries to avoid to be honest. Especially because if you get punished as Head Girl, you get double!

So, the day in question looked quite promising. We had Stats, Logic, English, Physics, History, Etiquette, General Knowledge, Latin and Games. I love most of them, so surely I could behave?

Well, the day started off with Assembly and uniform inspection. Miss Cavendish knocked off five points at the start for my tie being messy... EVERY time, seriously?! I HATE ties. Hate them.
Stats was great, we learnt about something called Ishikawa diagrams, which was really interesting, and then Logic. Now logic was really good, except for the fact that my logic problem at the end didn't work, and I told Reverend Jenkins (he's also my housemaster) that it wasn't working and he WOULDN'T believe me. Turns out I was right in the end though, as he came up to me at lunch and told me that the puzzle had printed out wrong and we were missing a clue. Hah! Stupid teachers. Bet it's because he doesn't even know how to operate a printer.
We had English and Physics before lunch. In English we were talking about rhetoric, which to me just sounded like another word for all the rubbish that politicians say. In Physics we were studying heat and motion, and got to play with mini steam boats in baths of water in the physics lab! My team, which was me, Sylvie and Caoilfhionn who I've told you about, and then a new girl Holly, went first and got extra house points!

Up until the end of Physics, I'd been doing pretty well. I'd had my phone confiscated a couple of times, and lost a few points, but I'd also earned loads. And then we hit lunch. Like at total idiot, I sat opposite both Rev J (actually, we call him Unstable Abel behind his back) and Miss Cavendish. Now Miss Cavendish is normally really nice, but for some reason she was being REALLY strict yesterday. I chucked a tomato at Caoilfhionn because she asked for one, and Miss C took off 5 house points. Well, a bit later on I did it again, and this time she took off 10! Seriously! Later on Beth asked for a bread roll, so I threw one at her as well. And Miss C took off -15 and said she would keep on doing the same thing if I didn't learn to behave. So I told her she was mean. To be honest, I really should have called her a mean cow, because that was the truth! Anyway, Unstable Abel heard me and took off -20 as he was being "Gallant to Miss Cavendish". Whatever! So between the two of them, I lost -50 house points in one hour! I couldn't let that continue, could I? So during the afternoon I added enough point to my book that I had an extra +30. Ha!

History was hard - I'm never very good at writing stuff in lessons, but it was quite interesting: all about some girls who rioted in a training school in the 1920s! Sounds like their teachers we're really awful, so they totally had the right idea. Bet we wouldn't get away with doing something like that though, more's the pity. I made up for history in general knowledge though! I came second top, and as we marked each other's tests, I even got away with the rude answers!

You won't believe this is me saying this, Frannie, but I was quite looking forward to Latin...! I know, right?! What's happening to me?! Anyway, that meant I was even more upset than normal when I got dragged out of Latin to go to Miss Cavendish for private detention. I didn't even know what I'd *done* this time, but it turns out they'd found those facebook photos of that last party I threw when Grandmama and Grandpapa were away... whoops!! Anyway, she gave me this really long booooorrring lecture about "appropriate choice of guests" (that's you out then!), all the time smacking away. I know you've never been whacked, but believe me, it really hurts! And this was just her hand. I hoped I might just get away with a spanking, coz it wasn't as if she was going lightly on me, but I think I really annoyed her, because, well, I'd decided to put on four pairs of knickers that morning! I had a really skimpy blue lace pair, then a frilly turquoise satin pair, then a Little Miss Fun pair, but, covering them all were a MASSIVE great big regulation black pair, so you couldn't see the rest! We all thought it was a scream, but Miss C didn't seem to think so, and ended up giving me six with the cane and telling me to get out of her sight, but not before docking me another ten points for the knickers! SOOO mean.

I wasn't doing Games that day as I had a cold, and I was actually quite gutted, as the girls were doing creative dance and it was really good fun. Trouble was, the batteries in the CD player died halfway through the first group performing, and no one had an extension cable long enough to reach outside. And they I had a brainwave and remembered I'd read in some book that you get more life out of a battery by warming it up. So I distributed the batteries among the girls and told them to hold them in their hands under their armpits, and damn me, but it worked! I was REALLY impressed. Go me, right?!

After the girls had got changed from games, it was time for final Assembly. Amazingly, most people ended up with plus house points. For once, I ended up with 0, but that was only because I faked 28 and the teachers didn't notice. Must be their age, can't read and all that. Anyway, I would have been on -28 if they'd counted properly. Turns out I was apparently still in detention. F*** knows why. Seriously, I could NOT remember being put in detention, and that made Unstable Abel even more unimpressed. I got a huge long lecture about conduct unbecoming the head girl, and how shocking it was that I couldn't even remember being placed in detention and blah blah blah. And then he strapped me with a MASSIVE great big strap and not only that but landed all twelve strokes in the same place. That probably doesn't mean much to you, but believe me it hurts like hell. He gave me double because I was head girl and said if I was ever lucky enough to be head girl again and end up in such a position again he'd give me even worse... sigh. Seriously, Frannie, you don't know how lucky you are to be still at Wingfield. The teachers were *nice* there. They breed this lot in some sort of evil farm. Oh well, at least the girls are great!

Well, I'd better go do something useful before someone else decides I'm in trouble! Miss you loads, sweets, and hopefully we can meet up again soon! Maybe for another one of my legendary parties in the summer?! And this time I *won't* put the photos on facebook ;-)

Luv ya forever,

Jems
xxx

How To “Cure” A Fantasy

I've always found prison-type fantasies somewhat hot. Workhouse girls, being trapped, unable to escape, at someone's mercy, powerless. Even the cold shower thing, though I protest that I can't think of anything more horrible, holds a certain appeal as something to be tried, at least once.

The last few days, however, have cured me of any notion of prison fantasies being hot. For those who have not already seen me whinging on Twitter or on here, the South East of England, where I live, has been suffering from the worst snow that we've seen... well, probably in at least 20 years. Not only is it the worst snow, but during the last 20 years, money that used to be allocated to things like gritting and snow plows is now allocated to other things. Of course, most of the time we have one or two days of snow which melts very quickly, so this is fine. It's not fine though, when we have 15 cm of snow, live in a town that is basically built on both sides of a very steep hill, and the town has no grit. Even the main roads through the town are not being properly treated, let alone the mile of hilly side roads you have to negotiate from my house to GET to the main roads. So, for six days, I've been pretty much unable to go in my car anywhere. Which in itself is not a problem. I have legs, I can walk. Well, I have legs, but for reasons far too complicated to explain, all my hiking boots and shoes with grip were not at my house over this period. They were 2 miles away. Uphill. On icy roads and pavements. So in order to walk anywhere safely without doing myself some sort of major damage, I would have needed to first walk to get my boots. So, effectively, I was trapped.

This in itself was somewhat frustrating, but I could cope. I mean, how long does snow last round here? No more than two days... (The answer to that question is, in fact, one week, and counting!)
The situation was compounded, though, on the evening of the second day of the snow when I noticed a damp patch in the house. Investigations revealed a leak in the pipes that led to my bathroom, so the tank that fed them had to be drained by a kind plumber who had walked to my house. Leaving me with just the cold kitchen tap. So I soon learnt what life was like when you were having to fill toilet cisterns from the tap to flush (believe me, you flush a lot less!) and washing in an inch of lukewarm water in the bath, having boiled the kettle six times. It is, to be honest, not that much fun. Obviously there are a lot worse things that can happen in life, but being trapped in your house with just the one cold tap makes you pretty quickly stop thinking prison or workhouse fantasies would be in any way hot!
I'm sure once these memories have faded I'll be back dreaming of workhouse thrashings and cold showers again, but just for now, no thanks!

November 2009 - (Oh What A Night)!

Well, the whole weekend, actually... apologies to the Four Seasons for the title inspiration, by the way.

If you'd like to read Lady Francesca's diary of the event, look below. As for my thoughts - well, it's hard to express really. A whole 48 hours of role play? Some of the best food I've ever tasted? Regency finery? Dancing? Spanking? Saying indeed and efficacious far too much? Going from being a little scared of the servants to ringing the bell and demanding drinks with the best of them? Spending a weekend in the company of dear, dear friends, (though there were some absent who we wish could have joined us)? The fun we had in the "chaperonee" bedroom dressing and doing our hair? Having champions to protect our honour? Settling once and for all that we women are indeed the fairer and superior sex? Knowing that with some people I will forever more be able to say certain "trigger" phrases and have a bunch of ladies swoon in unison?

Can any of these recollections, which probably mean little out of context, sum up even for me the fabulousness of this past weekend? No, I don't think they can.

Suffice to say, that I would like to extend my utmost gratitude to my fellow guests for their company; to the servants for putting up with our constant demands for water (and stronger things), and for their tireless labours in the kitchen; to Chef for those amazing feasts; and last, but oh so definitely not least, to my host and hostess, Lord Fawcett and Mrs Derby, for being two of the most amazing people I know. You rock my Regency world, guys!

From The Diary Of Lady Francesca Aubrey

My carriage has finally brought me safely back home to Papa's country house. I am a little weary, but I must commit my thoughts about the weekend I have passed to my diary whilst they are still fresh.

Lord Fawcett's House Party was indeed an exhilarating experience. Mrs Derby, our chaperone, met us all after dressing on Friday night to ensure that we would do credit to her. I believe I met with her approval, and she commented very kindly on my good posture. With my dear cousin, Lady Grace, and my new friend, the Honourable Miss Dorothea Latimer, I entered the drawing room. I was delighted to be reacquainted with certain guest who I had previously met at Lord Fawcett's house in Town. I was also introduced to some new friends. My escort for dinner was Viscount Fitzwarren, a gentleman new to my acquaintance. Over a delicious meal of soused herring, hare soup and stuffed quail, the table enjoyed scintillating and witty conversation, which continued long into the evening.

As part of the weekend's entertainment, Lord Fawcett had decided to furnish each lady with a champion to protect her honour and settle any gambling debts she accrued. The champions for the ladies were decided by luck of the draw, and between you and I, my dear diary, I was a little distressed that the name drawn for my champion was a gentleman by the name of Sir Abel Cadogan, a guest about whom I heard heard not a little from my dear cousin Grace. Sir Abel is the newly appointed Chief Punishment Officer to His Majesty, a post which seems to involve overseeing the flogging of young women offenders as an alternative to gaol, a practice of which I do not approve. In addition to these duties, he has very recently been engaged by my uncle as some sort of disciplinarian to my dear cousin, who is much distressed by this development. I was to appreciate why as the weekend progressed.

The Saturday dawned bright but cold. After Kitty, the housemaid brought the morning drinks, we dressed and breakfasted. After we had breakfasted we practised some new dances for Sunday's ball, though as I was feeling a little unwell, I reposed on the sofa during some of the rehearsal. After the practice had finished, the ladies sat in the drawing room and took part in our usual feminine pursuits of embroidering and letter writing, though some took up the challenge of a game of croquet, while the remaining gentlemen gambled.

Until lunch, the day had proved most delightful, but after lunch, I was much disquieted to be taken aside by Sir Abel, who had a matter to discuss with me it seemed. He had been unimpressed with my comportment at dinner and during lunch, and, as he believed he had already wrought some changes in cousin Grace's behaviour with his techniques, he proposed to use those self-same techniques on me. I was not at all taken with this notion. I do not approve of the corporal punishment of young ladies of breeding. It is all very well and good to discipline the servants, but young ladies should be treated with all the respect and affection due to them. However, it appeared Sir Abel was not of the same opinion. He led me to his chamber, where he proceeded to subject me to the most trying ordeal. He had with him a variety of implements sent to him from abroad for testing before use in his punishment centres. He ordered me bend over the day bed and raise my dress, a most shameful position for a young lady of my station. He proceeded to beat me with all manner of things - a flogger, a martinet, a spoon made of coconut wood, a strap, a crop, a cane. I was determined, though, not to give him the satisfaction of having his theory (that discipline is most efficacious at correcting behaviour) proved right. I steeled myself to take his unkind ministrations with as much stoicism as possible, and I believe I was successful in this endeavour, though when he whipped my hands I was a little distressed. I believe my determination angered him, for he then made me remove my dress altogether, such a terrible notion for a lady such as myself, and whipped my back as he would some offender in his centre. It was most mortifying, though I did not express that sentiment to my tormentor.

Eventually, my ordeal was over and I was allowed to retire to dress for dinner. Unfortunately, the trials of the afternoon had upset my equilibrium a little, and I may have imbibed rather more champagne than was wise at the reception before dinner. To add to my unfortunate predicament, the ladies were being partnered for dinner by their champions, my champion, of course, being the architect of my disgrace and distress earlier in day. The champagne had made me silly, it must be said, and on reflection my behaviour at dinner, which involved the throwing of bread at my cousin, was inappropriate. This was not reason enough, though, for Sir Abel to drag me up from the table and spank me in front of the whole room. I was indeed embarrassed. Most upsetting however, was that I barely partook of Chef's most wonderfully prepared dinner. I believe I may be more circumspect in my drinking of pre-prandial champagne in future.

Sunday was a quieter day, though we had the delights of the ball to enjoy. I danced with Lord Dorchester, which was delightful, but unfortunately I did not manage to renew my acquaintance with Lord Plymouth, with whom I had practiced the dancing the day before. It was such a joy to see the beautiful sight of the guests gliding across the ballroom in their finery, participating in the latest dances, including, most racily, two waltzes, a new dance from the Continent!

I was most sad this morning when my carriage arrived to bring me home. The company at Lord Fawcett's country seat had indeed been of the highest calibre, and I hope I may be invited to the next House Party he holds, in order to experience such delights again.

Off to 1809

Lady Francesca is nearly ready to depart for Lord Fawcett's house party. She has packed everything. That is, she hopes she's packed everything. In an unfortunate turn of events, her lady's maid ran off with the boot boy two days ago (they were last seen absconding over the kitchen garden wall), so Lady Francesca has had to pack for herself. She nearly forgot shoes, which would have proved a little embarrassing. She has 15 pairs of underthings packed and hopes this will be sufficient. Her carriage is prepared, the horses fed and watered, she is ready for departure once she has breakfasted.

So, how will Lady Francesca fare at the house party? How will she take to those guests she has not yet met? Including Lady Cecily, about whom there are some disturbing rumours. Will she keep out of trouble? Will she please Mrs Derby, her chaperone? And, most pressing of all, will her cousin Lady Grace manage to behave, and not drag Lady Francesca into trouble?

Stay tuned to find out!

What's So Important About The Truth, Anyway?

During my role play with my fellow Winterbrook writers last weekend, Sir George told Lucy that she seemed to have a “somewhat fluid relationship with the truth.” Now in all fairness, I think this probably is true of our Miss Middleton. Untruths fly rather easily out of her mouth, albeit unsuccessfully. (“What did you just write?” “Nothing” “Then what's that word on the piece of paper?!” “Um...”)
Untruths also seem to out of Jemima's mouth, in a fairly similar way. She will quite happily barefacedly (is that a word?) deny her actions, even when the evidence of said actions is there for everyone to see.
This is all fine. After all, both Lucy and Jemima are role play characters, they are not real people, they are not me. I don't have a “somewhat fluid relationship with the truth”.

Or so I thought. On Sunday, I was at the delightful Jessica's house. I happened to be sitting in front of their “implement drawer”, which should probably actually be christened “drawer of pain”. Some lovely young lady or other, I forget who, was getting dealt with, when Jessica's HWMBO asked one of us to pass some evil tool of doom from the drawer. At which point I put my foot in front of the drawer and blocked anybody's access to it. All well and good, but when questioned, I immediately denied any ill intent, and claimed that I was merely resting my foot on the table. Which leads me to believe that maybe this ability to lie without a second thought is not just confined to my characters... eek!

At this point I'd like to point out that I'm generally a very truthful person. For anything “real life”, I always tell the truth. It's just in these spanking type situations, my bottom seems to take control of my mouth. There seems to be a direct link from said bottom to said mouth that bypasses my brain when there is any possibility of a spanking. Being kind to myself, I will call it a self preservation instinct. My bottom does everything in its power to avoid a spanking without realising that it might (is always?) be making the situation worse. Needless to say, I did receive a spanking for blocking the drawer and then lying about it. Stupid bottom. So yes, if anyone witness me telling a lie to avoid a spanking, please feel free to beat the tendency out of me! Because at the end of the day, the truth is quite important.

The Headmaster's Study

Eliane was nervous. She hadn't had to visit Headmaster Higgins study before, but she'd heard tales of the girls who had. On reflection, going along with EmmaJane's idea to go to the college disco in town dressed in their school uniform had probably not been the brightest decision in the world. The idea had seemed even worse when Mr Jackson, their young history teacher, spotted them in the disco, drunk and dancing with abandon in the middle of the dance stage.
And so retribution fell the next day, as they were summoned to the study. Standing outside waiting, they were tormented by two of the other pupils who were passing, and so the first thing heard by the headmaster was the voice of EmmaJane remonstrating with the other girls. This earned her a hand tawsing before anything else happened. Eliane screwed her eyes tight shut and winced as she heard the tawse slam into her friend's hands four times.
Then the head turned to them both, and began a stern lecture on their stupid behaviour. He pointed out that the school worked very hard to keep up a good reputation, that breaking bounds was bad enough, but to behave in such a manner in their school uniform was appalling. That EmmaJane should know better as she had been in trouble before. Eliane could take in very little of this lecture. Standing in the head's study, knowing she would at the very least receive a strapping, she could barely even raise her eyes to meet those of the formidable man standing in front of her.
Then the lecturing stopped, and he pulled a chair into the middle of the room. He took a seat, and Eliane wondered what he was doing. She was horrified to realise that he was going to spank her over his knee like a little girl. She was 17 and in the sixth form, not some little first year. This was mortifying. She had enough good sense not to protest though, and went over his knee. The smacks that rained down from the very start were like fire, each one stinging unbearably. All thoughts flew out of her head as she just prayed for the pain and the embarrassment to be over. Eventually she was told to get up, and was set to stand facing the wall, holding her skirt up, while EmmaJane received the same treatment. The sound of the smacks on EmmaJane's bottom was so loud that her ears were ringing.
Eventually they stopped. Eliane held onto a small hope that this might be the full extent of the punishment, but that silly notion was soon corrected when she was called over and instructed to bend over the desk. "Twelve".
The three tailed tawse slammed into her bottom twelve times, and Eliane focussed entirely on counting correctly and not moving too much. When all twelve had been dolled out she was instructed to stand and adjust her clothes. But instead of the instruction to get back and face the wall, she was ordered to stand at the side of the desk, and watch what happened to girls who appeared for a second time in the Headmaster's study.
When EmmaJane was in position, the Head informed her that he would tawse her until he felt she was sorry, and then she could start to count out the strokes. With each slap of the tawse into her friend's bottom, Eliane felt more and more upset. She tried to watch, but ended up flinching and closing her eyes as every stroke fell. She could see EmmaJane writhing and trying so hard to stay still. She desperately wanted to hold the hand that was so near to her, bring some comfort, but she did not dare move for fear of how much more retribution she would bring on their heads. Eliane had no idea of how many strokes fell before the Head informed the prone girl that she would count 18 more. The pain could be heard more and more in her friend's voice as the strokes rained down, and tears welled up in Eliane's eyes as she witnessed the punishment. Every fibre in her body was telling to interrupt, grab the strap, scream at the Head to stop hurting her friend, but her sense of self preservation prevented her. Finally, the last 18 strokes had been dealt, and the girls were standing next to each other once more. They managed to squeeze hands briefly as a last admonishment to never find themselves in such a position again was issued, and then the torment was over.

Lady Francesca

I think the time has come to introduce you to Lady Francesca Aubrey, the better behaved cousin of Lady Grace Altamont, who you may already have come across. You may well see more of Lady Francesca in the weeks to come.

Twenty-two year old Lady Francesca Aubrey is the youngest daughter of Lord and Lady Aubrey of Bradenham. For the first seventeen years of her life she lived a sheltered existence at her parents' Buckinghamshire country estate. Being considerably younger than her siblings she was a lonely child, given over to the care of a series of strict nannies and governesses. They were charged with raising a biddable and accomplished young lady, but, in spite of much effort and the application of many a hairbrush, they only succeeded in making Lady Francesca accomplished in those areas that she wanted to be accomplished in, such as singing and French. Through the years, Lady Francesca has perfected her own particular type of insolence, and tends to ignore any instruction she doesn't agree with, regardless of the consequences. Due to a lack of company of her own age, she was rather shy around other people. Her world changed forever at the age of 17, with the arrival of her wild cousin, Lady Grace Altamount, sent from Ireland to be refined after a childhood spent running wild. The cousins immediately recognised in each other a kindred spirit, and became close confidantes within a matter of weeks. Upon Lady Grace's arrival, both girls were sent to London to learn the refinements and social graces expected of young ladies of their standing. They very soon realised that London was full of more delights than they ever could have imagined, and learnt how to evade their governesses and chaperones for several hours at a time. Francesca was reluctant at first, but the more ebullient Grace persuaded her to explore these delights, and she is now as keen as her cousin to make the most of all that London has to offer. Having contrived to meet Mrs Derby in a salon, they are overjoyed to receive an invitation to the party of the year, and even more delighted when Mrs Derby's generous offer to chaperone the girls is accepted by Lady Aubery, who is much taken by Mrs Derby, and her assurance that the house party will be an important step on the girls' path to advantageous marriages.

High Jinx at Lowewood

As I have noted in previous posts, Jemima was feeling in a particularly mischievous mood, in time for going back to start the new school year. And so events on the first day proved this out.
I'd painted my nails the night before in various fetching shades of blue, but claims that I'd shut both sets of fingers in the car door fell on deaf ears and resulted in the loss of house points during uniform inspection in assembly. I was, however, rather glad that I had chosen not to don my "One Tough Cookie" knickers, complete with a large picture of the Cookie Monster on the rear, and had instead opted for navy knickers, albeit frilly ones.
Assembly also contained the worst piece of mischief Jemima has ever been responsible for, but more of that later.
To class, where the first lesson was etiquette, and apparently, "Let the servants do it" was not the right answer to every question posed, much to the confusion of Jemima and Sylvie, who thought it *should* be the answer.
Over the holidays, Jemima had purchased animal noise boxes (that make noises when you turn them over), and several times we managed to open our desks and set them off all simultaneously, simulated a farmyard in the classroom.
We had also been challenged by someone to call each other on our phones in class and answer. My answer of "I'm sorry, I can't talk now, I'm being shouted at", was particularly good, I'm told. As this was in RE, with the ever strict Reverend Jenkins, I'm not quite sure how I got away with that.
The last lesson before lunch was biology, with new teacher Mr Brown, and we had an interesting lesson on plant reproduction, including dissection, though being docked house points for "inappropriate wielding of scalpel" was vastly unfair.
Jemima was dealt with during the day for an incident in the school holidays: bringing the school into disrepute with excessive drunkenness. I was informed that 3 glasses of wine for ladies at dinner is plenty. Pointing out that I'd only had one and a half did not go down well with Miss Cavendish (not helped by my repeatedly calling her "Sir"!)
And so the day continued, via flavoured condoms, water, coins and paper cups and games (where Jemima's grass allergy meant that she ended up being sent back inside) to prize giving and detention.
It was deemed in end of day prize giving that despite our generally good behaviour during that day (seriously, who were they teaching?! Don't think it can have been us!) we would all be caned for our behaviour in assembly that morning.
So, now we come to Jemima's master stroke. In assembly, we sing the school hymn, the name of which I can't quite recall at the moment. Jemima's inspiration was to replace the CD of the hymn in the CD player with a CD of "The Internet is For Porn" from Avenue Q, and have half the school do the female lines, and half shout "for porn", up to the first chorus. All the girls agreed it was a master stroke, and played along. So when the time came for the "hymn", the strains of the replacement rang out and we all managed to get through with straight faces, despite the look of shock reflected on the teachers faces. The Head was not impressed, and called the school anarchist (amazingly, not Jemima) out to the front for questioning, at which point I confessed. We were told that it was obvious we were all in it together, so would all be dealt with in detention. I tried to claim I'd bullied them all into it, but he wasn't buying it.
He then said "Let's try again, shall we?" which was not quite specific enough for Jessica, who, in a stroke of utter, unplanned genius, played The Internet Is For Porn again. We were laughing a bit more this time. He then instructed us to sing without music, so Jessica started us singing "The Internet Is For Porn" AGAIN! By this point, we could barely stand up we were laughing so hard. Mr S was the only keeping even a remotely straight face. Rev J had disappeared behind his hymn sheet, which was shaking suspiciously. And so it was that we left assembly victorious, even though we knew the price would be paid later.
And so detention arrived. I was sent to Reverend Jenkins. In deference to my (Eliane's) recent offness about all things whacking related, Jemima only got 6 strokes. However, the evil so and so pointed out that every single girl in the school was now receiving the cane because of me. Ouch. That one hit home. Afterwards, sitting on the stairs, waiting to get back into the dorm, I could hear sounds of whacking reverberating around the school. And counts. Of more than six. At which point I started to feel really mortified and burst into tears. Jemima had not planned on everyone else getting more than her, when she had been the ring leader. A generous extra six from Miss Cavendish in the dorm, plus hugs all round reassuring that the joke was worth *much* more than 12 strokes, and they would do it all again in an instant, restored Jemima's equilibrium.
So, staff, were we sorry for "The Internet is For Porn"? Ahem, yes. Of course. Terribly sorry. Won't do it again. Snigger.
But as always, thanks should go to Miss Bellend and Mr S for their wonderful hospitality and hosting. They were, as always, stars, and it was a fabulous day.

Being Jemima

It's strange, really. I've always loved acting, but until my first Lowewood day in May, I'd never really done any role play. It looks me a while to come up with a name, but during a conversation in the pub one evening, where various suggestions were being thrown around, Rebecca suggested Jemima Puddle-Duck, and lo, Jemima was born. Minus the puddle duck part, obviously! It was strange. As soon as I had the name, somehow the character was there, fully formed, within my head. I know her history, her strengths, her flaws. The fact that she's not that bothered about trying in lessons, that she can't resist making a come back, that she has that belief that you do when your 16 or 17 that the world should be fair, and get indignant when it's not. She isn't cynical or jaded. She's incredibly cheeky, and hasn't had many limits in her life, so doesn't always know when to draw the line or keep her mouth shut. She can be sulky if things aren't going her way, but she's also more than up for taking part in (or masterminding) any mischief going. She's more competitive in lessons than in games, but even then not particularly so. In short, she very quickly became real to me, somewhat to my surprise.
I think the lead up to this weekend has illustrated this particularly for me. Eliane, as you will have seen from my whinging posts, has not been much into spanking over the last few weeks, and secretly is a bit worried about tomorrow. Jemima on the other hand, is looking forward to tomorrow. It's back to school time, she will get to see friends like Caoilfhionn, Rebecca, Jessica and Sylvie again, plus other friends, and meet the new girls. For weeks she has been planning various bits of mischief to celebrate the beginning of the school year. She knows she's going to get into trouble. In fact, she knows if caught she will own up to her crimes, and pay accordingly, but that doesn't bother her. Why let the thought of a caning get in the way of an excellent plot?
So yes, Jemima is a fully formed person who I've become very fond of. Some aspects of her character are similar to mine, some aren't. She's a separate entity in many ways, even though she looks like me. And she is, dare I say it, rather out of control!