I thought I had made it clear enough that I wanted nothing of the sort. Damn Minerva and her pink paper hats. Damn Flitwick and his terrible singing voice. And most certainly damn Vector for giving me those boxers with cauldrons on which there were some terribly unrealistic cauldrons depicted.
Thank God I left the staff room before they had finished singing, otherwise I might very well have been locked up in St Mungo’s by now, diagnosed with instantaneous insanity and inexplicable rage towards all things able to open their mouth.