Not ChatGPT

Kate asked ChatGPT to describe the water-cycle in the style of Ivor Cutler. It came back with a song that was perfectly nice, but rather twee. More McGonagall than Cutler, I felt.

Since then (last Monday) the idea has been banging around in my head, so I've come up with my own version. It doesn't explain the water-cycle, but I hope it is more Cutlerian than ChatGPTs rather bland attempt.

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I was gazing out the school window – which rattled precociously in its frame whenever the wind blew, the putty dried and shrunken – when my reverie – I was staring at the clouds, wondering what Forfar looked like from way up there – was interrupted by Mr MacNally bellowing “THE WATER CYCLE! Ivor One. You! Stand up!”

I started. Even now, years later, Mr MacNally’s voice – whenever I imagine I might have heard it – causes the bristles on my chin to flare alarmingly. Then a sense of creeping terror came running up my trousers. There was no escaping this, I knew. Trembling I rose to my feet.

“Sir?”

“THE WATER CYCLE, Ivor One. Explain to the class the water cycle”.

I stammered. To my left, Ivor Two, my hated foe, stifled a giggle. This brought me a little time, as the chalk MacNally let fly struck him straight between the eyes. MacNally, if raised in Sparta, would have been renowned across all Greece for his skill with the Dory. Ivor Two wimpered but knew better than to cry. It must have hurt. MacNally’s aim was such that the chalk had pinged him straight on the scab from a previous effort, and it was now oozing slightly.

“The Water Cycle, Ivor One.” There was now an unmistakable tone of quiet warning in his voice. I was terrified.

There were further faint sounds from around me. The other children, noting that MacNally was out of chalk, and with his ire directly entirely at me, were emboldened. A sudden fury gripped me, chasing the terror back down my trousers.

“Clouds, sir!” I responded, grasping the last fully formed thought my head had encompassed. “The water comes up off the Clyde sir, and down onto Fife”.

I waited. The silence was total.

MacNally was satisfied with this incomplete answer, bade me to sit, and proceeded to embellish it with an explanation of the water cycle of his own, quite unlike the explanation that you will find in any school textbook. Quite a few of the pupils scored very poorly in their Geography examination that year.

I suppose, looking back, that was the closest I ever had to having a good day at school. When I mentioned it to my father – later – he looked thoughtful and almost said “Well done”. Though you could see the look of scorn on Grandfather’s face the hateful words “Stop bragging” never passed his lips, and I went to sleep that night with almost a smile on my face.