As usual, I don't own All Saints, Channel 7 and others do.

Warning: The contents of this fic may be found squicky by some readers, so I warn you now that this fic will contain various incidences from all 12 seasons of All Saints where various forms of spanking—in my opinion—probably should have occurred. These incidences are all corporal punishment of adults. You have been warned. This chapter sets the scene, the next chapter will begin the first season's incidents. You'll probably meet one or two implements per chapter, but I'll try to remember to keep a list at the end of each chapter so you can keep track of them.

There will also be other controversial issues tackled in this fic. It is a diary of sorts, where varous characters can chronicle what happened in various episodes from their viewpoint, what might have happened if various conditions had been met, or various circumstances had occurred. So hang on to your hats, because this could get messy!

The 'Kit'

Hi, Mitch.

The ones for the Maternity neonatal ICU and kids' wards came in pastel pink or blue. (Kids' wards ones had a limit on what was to be used on the patients... Frankly anyone who needed to be told what could be used on the kids and what couldn't be should be a patient themselves. They need to have their brain checked, at the very least.) Cardiac ward's came in red. Other specialities got their own colours. The general wards' kits came in black. And the ambos had kits too. Theirs were red and white striped. Well, specifically the cases. We were allowed to choose the colours we wanted the contents of the cases to be. I chose pink and purple. So I was going through a girly stage then... sue me.

This was, you understand, back in the days when the Church ran the hospital. One of the last things the Church did was abolish the use of the "Kits'" contents. Of course, a few of MY 'Kit's contents didn't get used at all, at least while I was its owner. Mainly because I just didn't believe in them, or because I could get the same results (Often better!) by using a far less severe implement for a longer time.

About six years later, the hospital board decided the staff and patients were a little unruly, and the wards' 'Discipline Kits' (The board's reference, we on the wards would only ever call them THE kits.) were reinstated.

After my ward closed down, apparently my kit got transferred down to the ED, ahead of me. The Head of Emergency Medicine claimed it, and the hospital's board decided to allow him to run his department how he saw fit. He saw fit to use the Kit... a LOT. A few of the members of my ward thought the contents appeared to be familiar. The first time I had encountered it, well, in the ED anyway... (because I was no stranger to it on the Ward... Any doctor or nurse who believed I needed or deserved it could, and often would, confront me, discuss the situation, and then swiftly administer justice—I rarely hesitated in doing the same to them, after all! And I saw the Kit day after day; it belonged in my office, of course. Oh yeah, and of course anyone who felt they needed to be dealt with could request 'corrective therapy'... and whomever came up with that moniker probably had a thing about so called 'corrective therapy' but didn't want to be outed as a pervert! 17 never used such a silly euphemism, we just called it what it was.. a damn good spanking. I think I even asked for a couple myself, on REALLY bad days.) I instantly recognised it.

Well, it was hard not to, really. I had seen it every day for some years, used it at least three times a month... well, it surely felt that way. It was probably a lot less often, but you know what I mean... so it was kinda hard not to recognise it instantly. Especially as it was open... I knew the order of the implements; I knew their names and their colours. Hell, I remembered, just by looking at them, what they felt like... from both sides of the equation. I had used almost all, and received almost all. The few which had dust on them had never been used on my staff... no, my friends, but I still knew them.

I knew, and identified, all of the implements. I even explained why the metal rod had pastel blue, pink and green ribbons tied around it—it had only ever been used as a costume-prop, when someone suggested I go as Bo Peep to some kind of party. It was tucked away after that and never used again... Until the next costume party which required a shepherdess, in this case Mary and her Lamb.

The 'Community House' I lived in for some of my Ward years had one too. Theirs was black and unadorned. Many of the hospital departments gave that rod different names, mostly derogative or clearly contemptuous, (not that I really blamed them!) but to 17 it would only ever be "the Crook", because that was all it ever was to me. I would never use it, or allow it to be used. The 'house's' Crook had been used on me, perhaps twice during my years there. I'm going to recount one of those times soon, but not right now.

It was called 'The Crook' because it was shaped like a shepherd's crook. The 'house's' "Crook" was used for the purpose of guiding wandering feet back into the narrow path of Righteousness. Having said that, you needed to stray pretty far to get the 'Crook', especially since Marguerite was a strong believer in the hairbrush, a trait she would eventually pass down to Bernard... After all, the Crook could only ever be used for the very lightest, or the very most serious, of discipline. Even the very lightest of taps stung enough to let you know you were in trouble and had better shape up quickly, there was no middle ground with the Crook... But that's another story, for another time.

Anyway, I was talking about recognising 17's old 'Kit'. I guess the most obvious sign was the tag on the handle. The label which had 'owner' and 'Ward' on it. I don't know why, but I'd put my full name on the 'owner' slot. It was big enough to take three lines, TES. Therese Eileen Sullivan. The ward slot proudly displayed '17'. Well, it DID belong to MY ward, and Ward 17 was my ward. Frank laughed when I pointed that out to him. Then he informed me that not even being its former owner would protect me from its contents. I laughed. I told him that being the Kit's owner had never protected me from its contents before, and I saw no reason why that should change.

Apparantly Frank considered that cheeky, because the next thing I knew my hands were flat on his desk and I was getting fast, light swats over the trousers of my royal blue scrubs. Of course, I knew the paddle instantly, even if it was by feel rather than sight, although I think Frank took it as a challenge when I laughed and said "Harmless"... Until the stupid thing broke in half, that is. At that point, he actually asked what the procedure for replacing it was, and then asked me whether I had been challenging him. Well, he did when he'd finished swearing at the split paddle, anyway. I almost made a sarcastic comment about Harmless being one of the few times it really DID cause the giver pain too... Then I noticed the four raised points in his hand.

I told him the truth, that because of how easily it broke, and how lightly it had to be used, the entire ward had named that particular paddle "Utterly Harmless". I also pointed out the two paddles which were more useful for actual discipline, and told him that 'Harmless' was good for one thing only—the 'shape up FAST or you're in even bigger strife' stingers I generally favoured for minor infractions and first offenses. I also told him that, due to its very low durability, Harmless should never be used without at least one layer of clothing between it and the target. He raised one eyebrow, and I just said 'Splinters. Target area is a delicate one. You just DON'T want them there.' He looked a little sceptical, but maybe that was just because he needed a few minutes to work out what I meant by 'target area'.

I pointed out, then removed, the four which had stuck in his hand when the damned thing broke, before sending him to clean and dress the wounds, because knowing Frank he wouldn't have tolerated being nursed, even if it WAS by a fully qualified Registered Nurse. I think he saw my point though, because he was mumbling something about preventing splinters in delicate and inconvenient places. I told him that's why you always keep at least one layer of clothing between the paddle and the target when the paddle's that damn flimsy.

Actually, I lied about Crook. (I'm sorry, my thoughts seem to be all over the shop right now, so I'll be bouncing from one topic to another for a while, I guess.) It was used once, on me. A month before the incident, Colin and I got along famously. Then suddenly, his attitude towards me, and my ward, takes a complete 180 degree turn, and suddenly he hates me. I couldn't do anything right, and it was so confusing. Still, I was never one to back down from what I believed was right, no matter how much trouble it got me into.

I know now, that Colin's attitude change matches up with (For it could HARDLY be called a coincidence, no matter what anyone says!) the time he started having an affair with Mitch's ex-wife. (Mitch being Mitch Stevens. I guess I'll use another time to explain the triangle between the three of us.) Yeah, Rose Carlton-Stevens was a vindictive little bitch. Colin turned against me and 17 on HER say-so alone. I know, because of a lot of the things he quoted to me. He always said "Rose says blah blah blah" or "Rose believes blah blah blah" or "Rose was right about blah blah blah" never once realising that he was falling victim to the very things he was accusing me of, by the very woman he was quoting. I yelled at poor Vincent Hughes about it, I thought HE was the one who was causing Colin to hate me. I still don't know who tattled about Carmen, but it might well have been ANYONE.

Anyway, I'll tell you all about the time when Colin got mad enough to use Crook... another day. I don't really want to think about it right now. It was about Carmen, though, and even though everyone involved had acted in Carmen's best interests, and according to Carmen's wishes... Well, it was cold comfort to me and Charlotte when Colin was that mad. At least Colin let Nicola stay on the case' so to speak. Carmen's agoraphobic, so I was glad there was one face she knew, even if it was the one face she DIDN'T want to see. It turned out later that Nicola was the very best person to stay on the job... well, that's another story too.

Now that I think of it; that should have made it clear to me that it wasn't Vincent. No matter how much he disliked me, or why, he wouldn't have tattled on Charlotte over something so petty. And he would have done his research. Colin apparently didn't know that it had been Nicola who eventually convinced Carmen that coming to hospital would be the best thing to do. That we couldn't do what Carmen needed at home, it just wasn't safe. Even being on my ward wasn't safe, because All Saints is a teaching hospital, and despite my orders, one of the idiot professors decided to take some students into her room. Carmen went catatonic.

She aspirated on some rose petals a few days (I guess, I don't really remember) later. Turned out she'd swapped one terror for another. I think Nicola was able to help her eventually, but as Nicola said, swapping being too scared to leave her home for being too scared to leave the hospital wasn't really an improvement. I'm not really sure it's important to tell any more details about Carmen right now. I'll try to recount that story as I remember it.

I've been on leave from my Ward a couple of times, and each time my friends have kept me up to date with anything that went on in my absence. Which includes any time the Kit was used. I'll try to relate those times as well. But not right now. Right now, I don't even want to really think about the Kit. Or about Crook. I'm tired, and I'm having nightmares. I've turned one of my pillows into a chew toy, because I can't yell out. I can't scare Lucy.

Yeah, I'm Lucy's step-mum, and now I guess I'm her actual mum too. And not a day goes by when one or both of us doesn't desperately wish we still had Mitch and Victoria. Lucy adored Rose, but I think she was a little scared of her at the same time, because she sometimes has nightmares about 'mummy's strange moods'. One day I'll tell her all about bi-polar, until then I just have to tell her that her mummy was very sick, and that her medication wasn't properly monitored. I also tell her that no-one knew about her mummy's illness until after her mummy was pregnant with her, because until Mitch found that prescription, no-one had any idea Rose was on lithium, or Rose had bi-polar.

My nightmares are about an unpredictable parent too. My father, to be exact. But I guess that can be saved for another day. I don't feel like thinking about it right now. I think I can go to sleep again now, so I might try to record a bit more about this some time in the next week.

Until then old friend, Sullivan, signing off.

Well, I guess it's fairly clear that this is going to be a long-running (I hope) diary-type story. Sometimes it's going to have different narrators, but its regular narrator will be Terri Sullivan. And don't even bother asking ME why the diary's named Mitch, because I had planned on calling it Diary, or something entirely unrelated to the series, but my muse decided it wanted the diary's name to be Mitch.