No doubt funding for public schools is needed but let’s not rush to deprive the next generation of kids the pure, character building perfection that was a good class in a classic Aussie demountable.
The bonding achieved by an unruly cohort sitting in an un-airconditioned D-mount while the substitute teacher’s armpits dampened like a Kuta-enthusiasts gooch on day 5 of getting Bintanged 6 ways to Sunday was unmatched.
NRB’s getting tucked into belts, the stationery-dregs of a flogged out pencil case flying high as the teacher held back the rage of a thousand Ranger drivers in a fast food drive through when the 5th whiteboard marker failed to make its mark.
The squalid conditions always meant the chances of the fuckitbucket filling and the TV stand of joy being wheeled out to watch a vaguely educational piece of cinematic mediocracy.
If you reflect on one of these units with the right ears you can still hear the sweet music of a recorder making hot cross buns sound like a Skrillex song.
No doubt 80% of the times class clowns were sent to the principal pavilion were born from these education hotboxes which in retrospect was probably the attitude adjustment you needed.
Not that it’d stop you lobbing a mandarin or the crust or a top-bun cheese at the yard duty teacher after.
They even sowed the seeds of donga living which made Westralia so powerful in the mining game.
Some say it made you the adult you are today.
Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?